Melted By The Bear: A Paranormal Shifter Romance (8 page)

“And, then—to make another long story short—a half-million shares and re-posts from my social media pages, a big record company offering a deal, and then the assembling of a band. Literally, within a few weeks, I was in the studio, recording an album. A few months after that, we were touring. My grief had become a commodity. And for a while, maybe the first three or four years, that was fine. It helped, even, to put my pain out in public, letting other grieving, hurting, pissed-off people know that they weren’t alone. But then I stopped grieving and hurting so badly, and my anger about what had happened started to cool, and I started to think that Gothic Essence had served its purpose. For me, anyway. I’d been able to work through a lot of things, and I’d been able to memorialize my mom and sister, and I’d saved more than enough money to fund a project I’d begun to plan and really get excited about. I wanted to start several dozen free music schools throughout the country, where any child could take lessons, regardless of their ability to pay. I was even going to run one of the schools personally and teach there full-time... and I was well on my way to doing when the nuclear blast happened.”

I stared into the twin flames of the candles, only remembering after a moment or two that Cormack was even there. With a sharp intake of breath, I turned to look at him. “Anyway. I guess this was a very drawn-out way of telling you that I was definitely
not
born with a silver spoon in my mouth. And as far as coming up with ‘angsty’ song lyrics, I had plenty of material to draw from, and I can assure you that none of that material was sourced from the trials and tribulations experienced as a ‘poor little rich girl,’ because I wasn’t.”

Not frowning, though with his expression somber, Cormack just looked at me for a long moment with candlelight dancing in his deep green eyes.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry for what I said. It was just a very lame attempt at some very lame teasing... teasing while trying to hold you at arm’s length from me. I can see now how asinine I was being, and again, I’m so-”

“No,
I’m
sorry.” I flew up from my seat, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed. “I’m sorry for completely overreacting to a little teasing. Maybe I drank my wine too fast, or-or I don’t even know what, but it wasn’t your fault. But no matter why, I just feel like I went way overboard in my sharing, and now I guess I just want to be alone. Please don’t follow me this time.”

With that, I turned and all but flew out of the dining room, having to force myself not to break into a full-tilt sprint. As I’d genuinely wanted, Cormack didn’t follow me.

I made it to my room and my bed before crying, burying my face in my pillow. But what made me cry wasn’t the resurrected memories of my mom and sister; well before the disaster, I’d finally gotten to a point where I’d been able to think of them without tears soon starting to flow. What had made me cry was the thought of how Cormack had looked while apologizing. He’d looked truly pained, as if sincerely sharing in
my
pain. And for some reason, this, combined with the knowledge that he was trying to hold me at arm’s length for reasons I still didn’t understand, made me feel as if my heart had been slashed with a razor-sharp bear claw.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next day, it rained buckets. I stayed in bed for most of the morning, only getting out when Cook came to check on me and bring me an early lunch around eleven. Once I’d assured her I was fine, just a little sleepy because of the rain, which was true, she left, and I ate lunch at my desk, watching the silvery downpour beyond the windows.

That afternoon, I braved the rain and more withering glares to go visit Abby at the bookstore again. The rain had let up a bit, though, and an umbrella helped shield me from what was still coming down. The rain itself helped shield me from as many glares as I probably would have gotten normally, if more people had been outside.

Walking along the shoulder of the road, and then the sidewalk, with yellow leaves swirling around me and the rain pattering on the ground, I actually enjoyed my walk. The air, crisp, fresh, and earthy, gave me a little spring in my step just to breathe it in.

Autumn had always been one of my favorite seasons, and it was definitely getting into full swing, making me wonder if Halloween was still celebrated so many years after the nuclear disaster and all the resulting changes to the world. Despite the fact that it was one of the holidays I loved the most, I hadn’t asked Cook yet or anyone else if it still existed, so I resolved to ask Abby first thing, before I forgot.

It turned out I wouldn’t have to. A large sign on the door of her shop, a sign that hadn’t been there the day before, proclaimed
Happy Autumn!
in bright yellow lettering across the top, and
Happy Halloween!
across the bottom in orange. In the middle, a big pumpkin had been painted with a devilish grin, and a pale gray ghost peeked out from behind it.

When I entered the bookstore, I was greeted by the sight of four small children literally running circles around Abby, each of them waving orange, yellow, and red streamers, shrieking.

Abby looked up at me and grinned, then said she was glad to see me. “You’re just in time for the annual Halloween decorating of the store, which will be followed by the first Halloween Saturday story hour of the season. And, no pressure, but I may need an extra set of hands on deck to help. I think kids here in Michiana get more excited about Halloween than kids back in our time and place did.”

I said I’d love to help, and soon Abby and I had the four kids actually hanging streamers various places around the store instead of just wildly waving them.

Before long, several more kids showed up, Natalie among them.

Squealing, she bounded over, red braids bouncing, and gave me a hug. “My new cool babysitter! Even though you haven’t officially babysat me yet! But you will sometime, won’t you?”

I hugged her back, smiling, and said that I would.

Jane, who’d just stepped inside the bookstore, asked me if I might be able to walk Natalie home later that afternoon and stay with her an hour or so. I said sure, and Jane thanked me and explained that she normally didn’t work Saturdays but had been called in to finish a shift for a nurse who’d gotten sick. I said I’d be glad to watch Natalie for however long I was needed, prompting another round of squealing from her.

Soon another wave of kids arrived, and then another, and Abby and I got everyone organized into groups with different decorating tasks. Later, Abby and I took turns reading Halloween-themed stories to the kids, some of the books in brand-new condition, published in DC, and some of them hundreds of years old, their pages as delicate and crisp as dry autumn leaves.

Late in the afternoon, after the kids had played a game, and then had cookies and punch, their moms began coming to pick them up, along with a few dads. Hesitantly, I offered some of the parents refreshments, and a few of the dads actually spoke to me, saying gruff no thank yous. The women didn’t, though. All of them completely ignored me, focusing on their kids and the decorations. Trying to look on the bright side, I counted it as a victory that at least they weren’t glaring.

Once I’d helped Abby clean up, I walked Natalie to her and Jane’s small, ranch-style house just a short distance from the downtown area of the village. Once inside, Natalie showed me her room, which was decorated almost entirely in pink, and her new cat, which was a black-and-white cuddler named Miss Sparkles. She’d come to Natalie all the way from an animal shelter in Louisiana, which was apparently its own nation now.

Natalie and I spent over an hour playing games, playing with Miss Sparkles, and even singing a few Halloween songs Natalie taught me. Several times, she remarked that I had a “super pretty” voice.

Jane came home around six, offering me money and a ride home in her car, but I refused both of those things. I’d enjoyed watching Natalie far too much to get paid for it, and now that the rain had slowed to a drizzle, I looked forward to a misty walk home just as nice as my first of the day.

About halfway home, my phone sounded with a text alert, and I paused in my walking to read the text, which was from Cormack.
Dinner at eight again? I promise not to make any more lame jokes or asinine assumptions.
Holding my umbrella in the crook of one arm, I just looked at the phone screen for a few seconds, thinking, before hitting reply.
Okay. See you at eight
.

I did still need a few explanations from Cormack, of course, but more than anything, somewhat to my surprise, I just wanted to see him. I even felt like I
missed
him in a funny sort of way, funny because he’d made me irritated and angry almost from the moment we’d met, and I had no idea where we stood with each other, had no idea why he hadn’t wanted me thawed when I had been, so it seemed funny that I should have any feelings of actually missing him. Up to this point in my life, I’d only missed people I’d felt genuine affection for.

I had feelings of unabashed lust for him, that was for sure. Images of his face and body had appeared in a few of my dreams the previous night, dreams that had definitely been on the steamy side of things. I’d dreamed of being in his arms, naked, while he kissed me with such passion and intensity that I moaned with pleasure. When I’d awoken from this specific dream around two in the morning, I’d been so aroused I was vaguely embarrassed, and even more so when I heard sounds of someone stirring in the bedroom next to mine. First, heavy footsteps across the floor, and then water running briefly, then more heavy footsteps, followed by the sound of a man with a rich, deep voice clearing his throat. It sounded like Cormack, which answered the question I’d had about where exactly in the house his bedroom was.

Staring up at the ceiling in the dark, I’d wondered if maybe he’d awoken because the moaning I’d done in my dream had actually been out loud. I didn’t think it had been, though; I just didn’t get the sense that I’d moaned out loud, not to mention I’d never been told that I made any kind of noises in my sleep, even while dreaming. But just the thought that I
could
have possibly moaned out loud, waking Cormack up, left me mortified. Although at least this had had the effect of tamping down my desire for him, allowing me to fall back to sleep.

But once back at the house, my desire for him returned while I dressed for our dinner. Just
thinking
about him while I selected a dress made me develop a frustrating ache low in my stomach, an ache that was near-impossible to ignore. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to fare at dinner, when he was actually right in front of me, in the flesh.

Initially, I didn’t fare well at all. While we ate quietly, making only periodic polite conversation about the food, like we’d done the evening before, I found it difficult to stop taking peeks at him, peeks at his face and body both. I found it difficult to stop imagining what his long, hard body might look like not covered by clothes.

Judging by a few looks he was giving me as well, I guessed that maybe I wasn’t the only one having a few racy thoughts. Cormack even seemed to be chewing with more force than the main course of incredibly tender citrus-marinated chicken required, as if the action wasn’t so much about breaking down the food as it was a foil for him to be able to grind his teeth, like a person might do if they were trying to resist something, or resist having certain thoughts.

I
had
chosen a slightly more revealing dress that I’d worn the night before. This dress, which was a dark, maroon-ish red, was scoop-necked like my plum dress had been, but it was maybe a little lower of a scoop. Low enough of a scoop that my full cleavage was definitely visible, at least a few inches of it. This area seemed to be drawing a majority of Cormack’s glances.

Once we’d both finished eating, he refilled my wine glass before getting up, going over to a small bar on one side of the dining room, and pouring himself a whiskey.

He then sat back down and finally started saying something of substance. “Eleven years ago, my shifters and AntiCormack’s were all one people. We were all one very large group of bears under the command of AntiCormack’s and my father, Arthur Blackthorn. He was a good leader, for the most part, I suppose, though he wasn’t always the kindest of men, and I often thought he made a lot of decisions based on what
he
wanted, and not necessarily what was best for our community. We weren’t very close, and once I reached adulthood, I even began calling him Arthur, not Dad or Father. But, despite this, we got along well enough to not have any major fights or disagreements, emphasis on
major
, and with me as the oldest of his two sons, he planned for me to take the reins of power once he died, which happened sooner than he expected. He died suddenly after a very brief illness when I was just twenty-one, and AntiCormack, who was still being called Jamison then, was twenty.”

A grandfather clock in an alcove out in the hallway chimed the quarter-hour, and Cormack used the interruption to knock back half of his whiskey at a gulp.

Not grimacing in the least, he set the glass back on the table before continuing, deep green eyes reflecting golden light from the candles in front of us. “The year after Arthur’s death wasn’t a good one, to say the least. AntiCormack began behaving erratically, then even more so once our mother passed away only months after our father.”

“Well, what was he doing? How was he ‘behaving erratically?’”

“Well, it started with picking physical fights with men at random, completely unprovoked, and usually entirely sober. Then it escalated to attacking
me
physically at different times, then trying to sexually assault women here in Blackthorn City, then attacking citizens in neighboring villages. Despite my best efforts to contain him, even jailing him at one point, it soon became clear to me that AntiCormack was determined to cause problems, and when I issued him an ultimatum, which was basically, behave like a good little boy or be banished, he informed me that not only did he have no intention of ‘behaving,’ he wasn’t going to rest until
he
was leader of Blackthorn City, not me. Well, completely unable to help myself, I laughed in his face, which I later deeply regretted.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it angered AntiCormack to the point that it drove him to do what he did later that night. Which... I realize that
he
did it, and he alone was responsible for his actions, but I’ve never been able to shake a guilty feeling that I drove him to it.”

“What did he do?”

“He first assembled a group of about a hundred men that he’d been able to convince to go along with his plan to take the reins of leadership from me. Most of these men were like him—unnecessarily aggressive and prone to starting fights completely unprovoked. Some of these hundred-some-odd men had also taken to copying AntiCormack by trying to assault women. Basically, these men had become AntiCormack’s ‘gang,’ and when I’d threatened to banish him, I hoped he’d take all these men with him, kind of ‘taking out the trash’ for me. But, back to the night I laughed in his face... I
hadn’t
yet banished him at the time, and after the laughing incident, I think he wanted to take some sort of revenge on me, but being that the men still loyal to me greatly outnumbered his own, he decided to anger me and take his revenge in a less direct way. He secretly rounded up all his men and left Beaumont City, heading to a little village called Shiloh that used to sit about ten miles west. This village was inhabited by fully-human, non-shifter men, and their wives and children. And since man-made weapons can’t kill shifters...”

Cormack lowered his gaze from my face to his whiskey glass, dark brows furrowing, and seemed hesitant to continue. And when he didn’t after a long moment or two, I asked him what had happened.

Frowning, he finally returned his gaze to my face. “The people of Shiloh were essentially defenseless. AntiCormack and his gang attacked and slaughtered two hundred and fourteen souls, women and children included.” With candlelight still dancing in his eyes, Cormack shifted his gaze away from my face and seemed to stare off at some scene just beyond my shoulder, grinding his teeth briefly.

“When my men and I learned of the attack, we went racing to Shiloh, desperate to help any survivors, but we found only one, an old woman named Laurel, who was barely clinging to life. She was a sorceress, known far and wide for her magical powers, which she’d used to try to defend herself and the rest of the villagers. She’d held off AntiCormack and his men for a short while, and she
was
able to injure many of them, but in the end, even her strong powers weren’t any match for a hundred-some shifters.”