Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 6)

by Isadora Montrose

Emily looked upward. The sun was getting low and had turned the sky that pale blue-gray that presaged sunset. She shook her head. “I don’t like the look of that sky.”

  He didn’t see much wrong with it, just an ordinary Pacific Northwest fall afternoon sky, gray and gloomy, but not suggesting a storm. He pulled out his phone to call Zoë. No fricking service. And a dying battery.

  “I’ll plug it in and call her after I take a shower,” he told Emily.

  “You’re not going into that bathroom and covering it in sawdust and grease,” she returned grimly. “If you want to get clean, go swimming.”

  He stuffed his uneasiness down and hurtled down the stairs with the other guys. Wolfmann and Benoit were in the water practically as soon as they hit the dock. Howard folded his clothes neatly and jumped in. Mitchell joined them in the water.

  Emily followed more sedately and went into the boathouse to shift. That surprised him, Zoë was so certain that shifting during pregnancy accelerated the normal development of talent. But it wasn’t his place to comment.

  Benoit’s missing foot didn’t seem to hold him back in the water. He grabbed Mitchell in a hold that took all his training for him to get out of. When he did, Benoit and Wolfmann were chasing each other, Benoit just a fraction behind the wolf’s tail.

  Even the porcupines were frolicking in the bracing ocean. Howard signaled for him to dive down. The sight that met his eyes underwater astounded him with its beauty.

  Just below the surface, tiny pink corals grew on the green and brown seaweed-covered rocks. Tinier, translucent jellies propelled themselves through clear water turned green by the setting sun.

  A shoal of yellow and blue fish burst out of nowhere, bumped into Howard and Emily and sped off in the opposite direction as one. Lungs bursting, Mitchell surfaced to gulp air and return.

  An enormous orange octopus oozed along the sea floor as fluidly as if it were an ocean current itself. It was casually hunting the small silver fish feeding among the corals. Long tentacles seized them individually. A marine gourmand delicately sampling the buffet.

  He couldn’t wait to share this with Zoë.

  Eventually Wolfmann and Benoit hauled their furry asses out of the ocean and shook to dry themselves. Benoit strapped on his prosthetic foot and dressed. Wolfmann ran up to the cabin to get his toolbox and came bounding down.

  Mitch and Howard shifted back into human. “Keep an eye out for Zoë, will you?” he called to his buddies as they cast off.

  “Sure enough. She’s probably just going slow in the mist,” Wolfmann said easily.

  “Probably.” He was afraid Zoë was punishing him. And terrified that she wasn’t. Where the heck was she?

  “Come on, we’re clean enough, Reynolds,” Howard said. “Let’s give Emily some space and get our phones.”

  The battery was slowly charging at the new outlet. But Mitchell still had no service.

  “You need a satellite phone,” Howard said. He called Benoit on his, and reported. “They haven’t seen her. Let’s give it five more minutes and then go looking.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He looked around. “Where’s your wife?”

  “Emily?” Howard smiled fondly. “She went home in porcupine. She’ll get her clothes later.” He pressed buttons on his phone and told his wife what they were planning.

  Five minutes later, Benoit checked in with Howard. Mitch listened to Stickney’s end of the conversation.

  “No sign of her? – No debris? – Okay. You guys go home. We’ll go looking. She must have taken a wrong turn.

  “No. Let’s not involve Search and Rescue until we’ve had a look ourselves. – Yeah. We’ll call if we find anything. – Or even if we don’t.”

  “Zoë’s an experienced sailor,” Mitch said, as much to reassure himself as anything. Experienced sailors drowned every year.

  “Anyone can get lost in the mist,” Howard said comfortingly. “And there are a heck of a lot of channels off this stretch of coastline. Easy to take the wrong one.”

  He was right, so why was Mitchell so antsy? His bear intuition was pinging hard and fast. Zoë was in trouble.

  Mitchell found a powerful handheld flashlight to serve as a searchlight. They set off in the small motor boat, Howard at the tiller. It didn’t go as fast as the Zephyr, but they didn’t need speed for a search.

  They went far enough that the lights of Mystic Bay loomed large. Howard throttled back. “She had to get farther than this. We need to backtrack.”

  “Yeah.” Where the hell was Zoë?

  They turned their boat slowly, keeping an eye out for the running lights of other boats. Nothing. Just the pale-yellow glow of cottage windows, high up on the hills. Howard knew every side channel and inland passage. He guided their little boat up an astonishing number of them in the gathering darkness and cold wind.

  Benoit called to inform them that Harvey had seen Zoë set off with his own eyes two hours earlier.

  “That’s good,” Howard said tucking his phone away. “Now we know she’s lost.”

  “She could have hit a sandbar,” Mitchell said.

  “In which case we’ll find her stranded,” Howard pointed out.

  “Tide’s coming in.”

  “Which would lift the Zephyr,” Howard said coolly. “If she’s stuck she’ll float free come high tide.”

  But they heard the Zephyr before they saw her. Out of the fog came the sound of a motor catching. Reversing. Coughing. Once. Twice. With that ominous grinding note that indicated a seized propeller. And then silence again.

  The Zephyr was stuck in the seaweed. The speedboat was rocking slightly in the water. There was no sign of Zoë on board. Mitchell’s heart cramped.

  “Hear that?” asked Howard.

  His flashlight illuminated a medium-sized bear coming up for air with paws full of stringy weeds. Her wet fur was black in the poor light. She slapped the water to get their attention.

  “Told you,” Howard said, bringing them alongside the Zephyr. Their boat had a much shallower draft, so they were in no danger of getting caught in the weeds.

  Mitchell’s sense of relief was tremendous. Nevertheless, he had an overpowering urge to shake his she-bear for causing him so much worry. Zoë waved a casual paw at them and dove back down. The Zephyr’s stern dipped low as she fought the weeds.

  “Go on,” Howard said. “Join her. I’ll take the wheel.” The porcupine anchored their boat and stepped across to the Zephyr, so he could engage the motor.

  Mitchell stripped and dove into the water, shifting only when he got into the ocean. Zoë greeted him with a merry shoulder bump. With the two of them, it would not take long to clear the remaining plants from the propeller.

  Was it his imagination that she kept smacking into him accidentally on purpose? This was no time for frolicking, yet it was his first time shifting with his mate. A traditionally exciting time for any bear pair.

  Even underwater, Zoë’s rich scent was enticing and all-consuming. Concentrate, Reynolds. Even if Stickney wasn’t topside with a ringside seat, this was no time for courtship. They weren’t home safe yet.

  Working together they unwound the last of the weeds from the propeller blades. He urged Zoë out into deeper water and waved to Howard who started the Zephyr again. This time it chugged easily away from its unwanted anchorage.

  “I’ll take the other boat,” Stickney called. Once he was back in the smaller boat, he bundled Mitch’s clothes together and tossed them into the Zephyr. “Follow me.” He zoomed away into the curling mist.

  Zoë shifted and clambered back into their craft and began to pull her clothes onto her damp skin.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Aside from freezing?” she asked wryly.

  “Aside from that.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for coming after me.”

  “You’re my...” he wanted to say mate, but that sounded a bit crude, “Fiancée. Of course I went looking for you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENr />
  Zoë~

  Being in bear had totally revved her up. The whole time she and Mitchell had been underwater she had been so turned on it was a wonder she could do anything, much less perform the fiddly task of unwinding the stringy plants from the propeller.

  Now that she was back in her human form, she thought her over-excited feelings should ease off a bit. Not so much. Although Mitch’s response to her thanks was more than a little dampening. What had she thought? That he would suddenly realize he was in love with her?

  Not that they were going to have much conversation right now. He had turned on the Zephyr’s engine and was slowly following Howard’s wake through the narrow channel where she had come to grief.

  She shut her mouth and concentrated on thinking warm thoughts. She was almost as cold now as she had been when she stood naked and shivering at the controls, between bouts in the water, trying to get the boat free.

  Mitchell needed to concentrate in order to stay in Howard’s meandering path. Obviously their neighbor knew exactly where the deep water was. Nothing else explained why he was waggling all over the place instead of staying midway between the banks.

  Following Howard got them out into the main channel without snagging the launch again. The wind had picked up and was blowing the fog off. At least it seemed less dense to Zoë. Unfortunately, that wind was also blowing straight through her damp coat and clothes. Her teeth were chattering like castanets long before they were anywhere near home.

  Mitch held out an arm to her. She ran over and snuggled against his side. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t cold. Of course he hadn’t been out in the weather or in the water as long as her, and he was a lot bigger. She decided to enjoy the shelter of his arms.

  “Wake up.” He kissed her temple. “Come on, Zoë, wake up.” Mitchell sounded urgent and anxious, but she couldn’t muster the energy to care. He shook her.

  “Hypothermia,” said Howard’s deep voice. “You better carry her up to the cabin. Emily will know what to do.”

  Know what to do about what? she thought sleepily. But she wasn’t averse to being carried. Not if Mitchell was doing the carrying.

  “You have to wake up,” said a soft, firm voice.

  Hot broth sloshed against her lips and she swallowed involuntarily. The salty wet heat felt good, so she took another gulp.

  “Slowly. That’s the way,” coaxed the voice.

  Zoë forced herself up through the layers of apathy. A woman with a shock of blonde hair like a warbonnet was bending over her feeding her with a spoon. When Zoë focused on her, she smiled shyly.

  “Can you sit up?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Where’s Mitchell?”

  “He and my husband are still hauling supplies.” As she spoke, Emily Stickney was pulling Zoë into a sitting position on the couch which had been moved close to the new woodstove.

  The porcupine also adjusted the knitted afghan that was draped over Zoë’s shoulders and tucked her feet back under the one on her lower body. “What’s your name?” she demanded.

  “Zoë Worth.”

  “Good.”

  “How many fingers?”

  “Three.” She thought through her headache. “I didn’t hit my head.”

  “You were a little disoriented when Mitchell brought you inside. Can you manage the mug now?”

  Feet stomped on the porch. Mitch’s voice called. “Is she awake?”

  “I am. You don’t have to talk about me as if I wasn’t here,” Zoë complained. She sipped the hot broth.

  He bent over her and kissed her forehead. “You haven’t been.” He turned to Emily, “Does she need medical attention?”

  “I don’t think so. But she should stay warm and eat and drink. Come on, dear, drink up.”

  “I’ll be back,” Mitchell announced. “Last trip.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Emily said. “Take your time.”

  But Mitchell’s footsteps were gratifyingly rapid. She could hear the staccato rat-tat-tat-tat as he galloped down the staircase. Using her elbows, she fought fully upright despite being swaddled in knitted blankets.

  “Thank you,” she managed. “I guess I fainted or something.”

  “Or something. You were chilled to the bone. Not good for anyone, but terrible for a pregnant woman. What would you like to eat?”

  Zoë struggled to think. “I bought a couple of rotisserie chickens and three kinds of salad for tonight’s dinner.”

  “Okay, if you feel all right, I’ll get that started. More broth?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Emily was back in a few minutes. “Tiresome to have to heat everything on the stove,” she said.

  “Tell me about it. I miss my microwave.”

  “You should have one before long.”

  Zoë looked around. A single electric bulb hung between the kitchen and sitting area. “They wired the cabin!”

  “Sort of,” Emily said. “I put the chicken in the oven to reheat. And the roast potatoes. I don’t think you should have cold food tonight.”

  Zoë remembered her manners. “Will you stay for supper?”

  Emily shook her warbonnet. “I have a pot roast at home. I’ll just go set the table.”

  The men were stomping up the staircase. Much more slowly than they had gone down them. Then they were placing something heavy on the porch. Mitchell came in. “How’s the patient?”

  “I’m just fine.”

  “Her color’s better,” Emily said. “You shouldn’t have tried to swim in human,” she scolded Zoë. “The water’s far too cold at this time of the year.”

  “I didn’t, but I had to keep switching back and forth between bear and human to start the engine,” Zoë explained. “Heaven knows what I did to the baby.” She laid a protective hand on her tiny bump.

  “We warmed you through fast enough. I’m sure the baby is fine,” Emily said bracingly.

  “I meant all that shifting back and forth,” Zoë said.

  “Saved your life.”

  “All the same, I’m not looking forward to the effects on the baby.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Howard. “What effects?”

  “Shifting makes babies develop their talent early instead of at puberty,” Zoë said. “That effect.”

  Emily laughed merrily. “That’s an old wives’ tale. Shifting is good for pregnant women and their babies. Does them nothing but good.”

  “Emily takes porcupine most days,” Howard said fondly. “Keeps her fit.”

  “Oh. Good to know.” Not that Zoë believed him for a minute.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mitchell~

  Zoë was drooping long before she had finished her meal. Whatever boost taking bear had given her had clearly worn off on that cold boat ride back. He cursed himself for not having been more urgent in his request for a closed-cabin cruiser. Not that there was much point in second-guessing himself.

  “Hey,” he jostled her elbow. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  She smiled wanly. Lifted her fork and took a small bite of salad. She nodded off in mid-chew. Dinner was over. She didn’t protest when he carried her into their bedroom. Didn’t open her eyes either. She was a pleasant weight in his arms, but he set her gently down and began to remove her clothes.

  She stood like a docile child while he pulled her nightgown over her head and put her slippers on. Didn’t protest when he took her to the bathroom and back to bed. He tucked her up carefully, not sure if the new woodstove was making the bedroom any warmer. Her eyelashes fluttered but she didn’t speak, just drifted off.

  Maybe he should have ignored Emily Stickney’s opinion and taken Zoë to the hospital? Of course, getting her there would chill her even more. For once their isolated location did not seem ideal.

  Even when he got into bed with her, she did not stir. Not even when he checked under her fleecy nightgown to make sure she really was warm. He gathered her close and lay quietly in the darkness holding her and t
rying to keep the demons at bay.

  It was always harder at night not to think of might-have-beens. Suppose Zoë had drowned out there, trying to extricate the Zephyr? Suppose she had been injured by the propeller in the deep, dark, icy water of the sound? Zoë hurt or dead was an outcome too awful to contemplate. And yet the images behind his eyes refused to go away.

  She was here with him. A soft and relaxed form in his arms. Safe. Warm. Trusting. He breathed in her lovely scent and was reassured. Until the dreams began.

  “Wake up, Mitchell.” Zoë’s hands shoved at his chest.

  He hauled her closer, willing her not to be dead. She squirmed. Wrapped her arms around him and hugged tightly.

  “You’re safe,” she said a little breathlessly. Probably he was squeezing her a bit too hard.

  He loosened his arms fractionally. “I’m fine,” he lied. His panting was loud in the dark room. He was damp from the cold sweat of fear.

  “Yes, you are. You’re stateside,” she said calmly. “Everything is okay.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “I think so. Headache’s gone. I’m warm.” She wiggled her toes against his shins. “You’re the one who’s cold.”

  “Yeah.” He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The comforter tangled and exposed parts of him and swathed others.

  “Hang on.” There was laughter in her voice. “I think you are trying to turn me into a mummy.” She sounded fully awake. “I have to go to the bathroom. But I’ll be back.” She wriggled out of the covers and padded away to the lean-to carrying a lantern.

  He remade the bed. Dried himself with yesterday’s T-shirt. And was ready for her in every sense of the word when she returned. In the twilight of the lantern she looked flushed and rosy and delightfully rumpled. Not the waif of last night.

  The lantern blinked out. She got into bed. “Nightmare gone?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah. Pretty much.” He rubbed her tummy in the dark. “Wanna play?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Her nightgown made a soft whoosh as she tossed it to the floor. Her wet pussy dampened his six-pack when she mounted him. She scooched down and her bottom bumped his erection as she leaned forward to kiss him.