Chance: Mating Fever (Bears of Kodiak Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 3

Chance

Just before jumping, he looked at her, really looked at her. He looked at the sensual curves of her lush body, and at the play of sunlight dancing across her burnished hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders.

Her face was part avian part Greek goddess, and all feminine sensuality. She had a gently rounded chin, a sharp yet delicately pointed nose, cupid-shaped lips, slashing cheekbones, and inky black, almond-shaped eyes.

The bird wasn’t as busty as he normally preferred his women, her breasts a little smaller than what he typically liked. Yet on her, the perfectly shaped, pearlescent orbs had bounced alluringly as she’d kept her pace timed so she was precisely an arm’s length ahead of him. She had granted him the perfect view, aware that she moved in a way that displayed her body to its maximum potential.

She had long, shapely legs that looked as if they went on for miles. Her strong, milky white arms didn’t have the slightest of spots or blemishes on them. In fact, none of her was freckled.

She was porcelain fine, looking as though she’d been crafted by the hands of a master and breathed to life by some ancient god of yore.

When she’d stopped running, so had he. He could no more control himself than the sun could resist rising each morning, as if he was tethered to her in some way, from some instinctual place deep inside of him. He already felt his breaths beginning to time themselves to the rise and fall of her chest and felt the powerful surge of blood rush through his veins. Power—raw, primitive, and ancient—came to life inside of him. The slumbering grizzly had risen from his long hibernation. Colors, once dull and muted, now sparkled every shade of brilliance. Something inside of his brain clicked, and he stopped thinking completely.

She’d turned to him, unfathomable dark eyes as deep as the darkest ocean had gazed on him with challenge burning bright in them.
Come take me
, she said, and he had no choice but to obey.

Chance launched himself at her.

If she tried to run, he’d chase her down again, and again, and again. He would always find her no matter where she went because her scent was deep inside of him now. Wildflowers and sweet almond—that smell of woman, his woman, had driven like a spear through his brain. Her scent obliterated all reason, common sense, and even his survival instinct.

Nothing mattered to him at that moment but having her.

Tempting. Alluring. Seductive. She was all that and more.

Then Chance was on her, rolling her down to the ground with him, holding her tightly to his strong chest, shielding her from the impact of the fall. He barely even felt the scrape and cuts from the stones gouging into his back.

She was on him, her legs twined with his. Her palms flattened, and her fingers splayed wide across his bare chest. His heart was a hammer, beating inside him—
boom, boom, boom
—and the music was hers alone. Forever hers…

She laughed, the sound as bright and clear as a pretty spring day.  And he kissed her. She tasted of sunshine and sweet berries. Her little tongue darted between his lips. Her touch was as manic as his.

The air grew redolent with the smell of flowers and her need. The crow was in season.

He growled beneath his breath, sliding his palm down her spine slowly, sensually. His touch was meant to incite her to a riot of want and need, stopping only when he reached the gentle dip where her back met buttocks.

She squirmed, and the cutest trilling sound slipped from between her luscious lips—a bird song, in human form. He’d never heard such a thing. But his woman was singing for him. Her song was so beautiful and tender that it was all he could do not to lose himself in the cadence and rhythm of it.

His woman—what was her name?

“What is your name, siren?” he half-moaned. Her hand slid between their flushed, excited bodies, and she delicately scraped at the tip of his excruciatingly hard length.

She smiled, exposing beautiful white teeth. In an instant, he noted that the very middle tooth on her bottom was slightly crooked, overlapping her other tooth just a little. But even that was adorable.

If he’d been able to think just a little, he might have questioned his sudden “everything was just so cute” train of thought, but Chance was firmly gripped by the instinct to mate and claim. He was as brainless as a one-celled organism at that point.

She was cute. And he wanted to stick his cock in her. That was pretty much the extent of what he was capable of thinking at the moment.

“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She nuzzled his nose, then in a move he had not expected, she clenched her thighs and rolled him on top of her.

He sat flush between her pretty, and very naked thighs. He couldn’t help himself. He had to look down. Then he gasped like a virgin stumbling into the girls’ locker room. His woman was shaved. Bald, wet, and…

“Gods, you’re cute,” he mumbled, then dipped a finger between her slick folds. He hissed as his entire body shook from the overwhelming sensations running rampant through him.

It took a second for his brain to process what he’d just said. Had he really just called her vagina cute?

His woman laughed, tossing her arms out wide as her cute little breasts bobbed enticingly.

“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. Now listen up, grizzly. I don’t need to be wooed, given flowers, chocolates, or anything like that,” she said in a deep husky voice that caused him to look up, momentarily distracted from the pretty jewel gleaming wetly for him. “All I want is for you to take that delicious-looking, hard cock of yours and slide it deep inside of me. Think you can do that, big boy?” She squeezed his biceps gently.

He couldn’t help but flex in return for her, stupidly delighted when laughter danced through her fathomless eyes. He nodded. “I think I can.”

“Good.” She used her nails this time and scratched at his biceps, hard enough to make him wince and hiss, but not with pain. Dear gods, not with pain.

A growl of hunger tore through his chest, dropped off his tongue, and he attacked her lips with his own, ravishing her, devouring her. He used his tongue, his mouth, and even his teeth.

Bears mated violently for the first time, almost brutally. They rarely went outside of their own kind because of the ferocity of the joining. Few shifters could handle what they gave.

But his woman could.

She was a fierce warrior, scratching, nipping, and clawing. Wrapping those mile-long legs around his middle and locking them at the ankles, she gave him the kind of come-hither stare he’d only ever dreamed of seeing in a woman’s eyes.

Chance couldn’t think anymore. He sank his cock deep inside her slick heat, clenching his back molars hard at the way she gloved him.

“Gods,” she hissed, trembling in his arms.

Pride surged through his bones. With the strength of the bear rolling through him, Chance somehow found himself back on his feet with her still locked tightly to him. He didn’t think about what he was doing. The only thought in his head was to claim her forever.

He walked them toward the trunk of a tree that’d had its bark rubbed bald from years of bears scratching themselves on it. Then he slammed her up against it.

She laughed, banding her arms so tightly around his neck that he could hardly breathe. But who needed breath anyway? Breathing was highly overrated during such a time.

Grunting, he widened his legs, clamped one hand to the base of the massive tree, and held her tightly with the other. Then Chance moved his hips, dancing deep inside of her, thrusting with animalistic intent to dominate and own.

But his woman was no silent participant. Her teeth marked up his shoulder. She would clamp down, bite almost brutally, and just when he felt as though he couldn’t tolerate the pain anymore, her tongue would come out to soothe him.

Sweat coated their bodies as the woods came alive with the sounds of their mating.

Soon, her breathy whimpers turned into lusty moans, then a bird-like trill that made his skin pebble with goose flesh.

“You’re so… you’re so…” he trailed off, lost for words.

She looked up at him, her breathing seesawing in and out of her lungs as the corners of her lips tipped up in a half-smirk. “Cute?”

He almost chuckled, but then she did something with her hips. She swiveled down on his cock in such a way that it felt as if she was trying to pull him in completely into her body.

Darkness descended over his vision, pain and bliss coiled tightly through his balls, then his seed exploded deep inside of her.

She screamed, her sharp black nails gouging deeply into his biceps. He felt them cut through his flesh, felt the warmth of blood slide slowly down. But he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the waves of ecstasy still rolling through him.

When he could finally make sense of the world around him once more, he opened his eyes, staring at her as she stared back at him.

Sweaty strands of hair clung to the side of her face and shoulders. A crooked smile tipped her lips. “That was—”

“Epic,” he finished with a heavy gulp for air.

She nodded, swatting hair out of her eyes. She probably wasn’t aware that she was still slowly rocking on him as though she was trying to squeeze the very last drops of pleasure out of him. He didn’t mind.

He had more plans for her. He wanted to lie her down on the forest floor and feast from between her thighs, then spread his legs and let her return the favor, and—

“Yeah, so that was fun. Thanks, grizzly.” She patted his cheek like one would to a naughty five-year-old, then unhooked her legs, wiggled her hips until his lax girth slipped out of her, and squeezed out from beneath him.

His eyes widened. “Wha—”

Again, she smiled. And again, he found it more radiant than sunshine. Stretching her arms high above her head, she flexed her spine, stood on tiptoe, looking as though she gave obsequiousness to the sky above, then gave him a cocky bow. “I hope you didn’t expect one decent lay to get me all twitter-patted over you, grizzly. Did you?”

“Decent lay?” His face screwed up into a confused scowl. His brain still wasn’t working right. Surely, he was hearing wrong.

She snorted. “Oh you did, I see. How tragic. Well, my darling, it’s been fun and all, but I do think it’s time to run along and go on about your day.” She waggled her long fingers then winked at him.

And he knew what she was about to do. He felt the gathering coil of magick whispering on the wind. The high he’d experienced just moments before was gradually fading into confused surprise.

“So what you’re saying is…” he said slowly, trying to gather his muddled thoughts.

Planting her hands on her hips, she grinned. “Grizzly, in my world, sex means absolutely nothing. You see, we crows don’t bond for life. We merely slack our lust and carry on. I’m afraid a little bit of twig and berries isn’t enough to change a million years worth of instinct. Though I did have fun, if that’s any consolation to you.”

Then she walked over to him, cupped his cheek, and kissed his lips with the type of gentle warmth she hadn’t demonstrated during their rutting. The magick he’d sensed building in the breeze suddenly flared to life. But instead of the gorgeous woman who’d just rocked his world, in front of him flew the bird.

A bird he’d once thought vermin, he could now see as nothing other than beautiful.

With a sharp cry, she twirled and flew into the sky, disappearing from sight just moments later.

And he stood like an idiot in the meadow, watching her go, with a raging hard-on for the first woman to have ever walked away from him.

Chapter 4

Bronwyn

Bronwyn hopped off her branch, staring moodily off into the distance as she strained to hear the growls of the angry grizzly off in the distance.

Two weeks had passed since that night. She rubbed her stomach idly, staring at the beautifully crafted walls of her home, which had been built by fae magick. Crow shifters lived in immaculate houses carved inside of mighty redwood trees. She gripped the polished banister of her outdoor balcony and frowned at the blue sky.

The day was sunny and beautiful with nary a cloud to mar it. And she hated it. She scowled. Until further notice, she was grounded from flying, her wings temporarily clipped, and by her own mother, no less.

Bronwyn had done as all good crows were expected to do. She’d found a partner to rut with during her heating period. She’d ensured the survival of her people. She was a good little girl and made the clan proud. She gnashed her teeth.

What she wanted or needed didn’t matter. Everything was about what the people wanted, what the people needed. None of this had ever been about her.

Her heart twisted as she remembered the utter incandescent freedom and joy she’d experienced in her grizzly’s arms. His body and hers had fused so perfectly as though they’d been crafted by the gods for one another.

From the moment he’d touched her, her soul had awoken from a deep slumber. In his arms, she’d found the type of freedom she’d only ever found in the skies.

But then she’d had to leave him, to shatter his heart, to watch as his soul had crumpled in front of her. Bronwyn had let instinct guide her the day she’d flown to the grizzly’s cabin.

She’d known all along there was something special about him. And she’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to make herself known to him.

Lifting her hand, she stared down at the bit of red string she now permanently wore tied around her ring finger. He would never know the truth.

Her heart clenched when she heard his roar again.

The grizzly was furious, desperate. He wanted his woman back. He’d claimed her, and she’d let him. She’d felt the mating bond move like magick through her bones. She’d known that letting him fuse himself to her in that way would mean he would forever remain tethered to her.

She’d let him do it because she’d selfishly wanted him bound to her, even knowing she could never reciprocate. The moment she’d allowed him to take her and had conceived, she’d known she would never again get to see him.

Her mother would never approve. Bronwyn already had a betrothed, chosen during the time of her infancy—Rolo of the Blackfoot Clan. Their union was meant to strengthen both their tribes.

The problem was, Bronwyn had never loved Rolo. She cared for him as a sister for a brother, and he for her. Neither of them wanted the marriage. She knew why she didn’t want Rolo, but none—other than herself—knew why Rolo didn’t want her.

Rolo loved another—Thanatos, a stable boy from the neighboring human settlement. Rolo was as desperate to break this union as she was, but the heavy obligations of royalty ran deep in their bones.

Her sister Casia arrived then, alerting Bronwyn to her presence with a gentle clearing of her throat.

Sighing deeply, Bronwyn turned, leaning against the banister as she watched her sister walk in gracefully. Where Bronwyn was dark, her sister was fair. Bronwyn was somewhat on the thinner and lankier side, while Casia was an extremely curvy and busty brunette.

“That damn grizzly has been pacing our boundaries for the past fortnight,” Casia snarled, looking toward the horizon over Bronwyn’s shoulder. “Clawing at our trees, uprooting our stumps, and making a fu—”

Bronwyn’s jaw clenched. “He is my mate.” She looked behind her, watching the horizon forlornly, her heart aching to get back to her bear.

One taste of him hadn’t been enough to quell her desire. Bronwyn rather feared she would never get enough of her addiction to him. Each night, she had dreamt of him, of what he’d done to her, how he’d touched her, how his breaths had sounded as he’d pumped deep inside of her.

She swallowed hard.

“No.” Casia dug her nails into Bronwyn’s arms, twisting her around so that she had no choice but to stare at her sister eye to eye. “He is not your mate. You know Mother would never approve of a grizzly. You should never have even allowed that filthy animal to touch you, let alone lay with you.”

Bronwyn’s green eyes blazed with fury. She slapped Casia’s hands away, shrugging away from her sister’s frosty glare. Her hands framed the soft swell of her belly. “Our rules do not state who I get to claim as the father of my child. You know this. I choose him.”

Casia snarled. Her disgust was evident. But then she closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and sighed deeply, as though she too wore the cares of the world upon her shoulders.

“I am sorry, Bron. I did not mean to snap at you. I know your duty cannot be an easy one. It is only that I fear that bear’s presence so close to our kingdom will cause Mother to declare war upon her return. You know how much she hates them after what they did to father.”

Ophelia was in Blackfoot territory until the next night, hammering out the final details of Bronwyn’s union to Rolo. Their hand fasting ceremony was scheduled to take place in a week’s time.

Panic beat desperate wings in her throat. “You couldn’t possibly understand how frantic I feel,” she squeezed out, hugging her belly both for protection and comfort.

Unlike humans, crows only gestated for a month, which meant she was halfway through and already as round as an inflated balloon. That very morning, she’d woken up to the first sensation of movement deep inside her belly. The reminder was potent that she carried the product of their union within her.

But still, a choice was to be made. Well, so far as her mother was concerned, there was no choice. Bronwyn would give birth to a crow shifter. But the truth was, she didn’t have to. The choice was hers.

All male crows were born infertile. It was why females sought mates beyond their borders. That infertility was also why females could choose the species of the offspring.

If they remained in cooler temps, they would birth a crow. If they were kept in warmer, hotter places, they would birth whatever species the father was.

So far as Bronwyn could remember, no crow had ever chosen a species outside her own.

Female crows hand fasted for life. Mating and hand fasting, in her culture however, were two completely separate things. Mating was required to ensure their line lived on but meant nothing more. Partners outside of crows meant nothing to any of them.

A powerful kick interrupted her thoughts, followed by the flurry of flutters deep inside her belly. Bronwyn swayed on her feet, dancing with her child. Instantly, the movements calmed.

Somewhere in the distance, her bear growled.

An idea came to her then, a stupid, irresponsible, idiotic idea. But whatever, desperate times and all that.

She feigned exhaustion by slumping her shoulders heavily, which she didn’t have to fake all that much. Pregnancy was taxing, and she’d slept very little the past two weeks.

Casia noticed immediately. “Oh, my dear sister.” She fluttered around Bronwyn, grabbing her elbows and guiding her back to the outdoor duvet. Rain or shine, Bronwyn was forced to remain outside in the cooler temps of the Alaskan spring to ensure the arrival of a crow child.

“Take a rest, dear. The sun sets soon. I’m sure the bear will leave us be for the night as he has done every night since. You need your sleep.”

Bron bit her bottom lip. Still pretending, she nodded weakly, as though agreeing with Casia’s sage advice. “Yes, you’re right. I do need a rest. I’m bone weary and wish only to sleep now.”

Lying down, she allowed Casia to tuck a light lap blanket around her legs. The sun was indeed less than an hour from setting. And Casia was right; every night, as soon as the sun descended, her bear would leave her, no doubt to return back to his cabin.

His cabin was only an hour’s flight from her nest. But in human form, it could take her at least four hours in the thick gloom of darkness. That meant she needed to get to him before he left.

It was torture waiting for Casia to leave, and it was torture waiting to see the glow of lamplight in the neighboring trees dim as one by one, crows returned to their nests for the night.

Each second that ticked past was like a dagger through her heart. Ophelia could return at any moment. In truth, she wasn’t due to come back until morning. But often, when duty was done, her mother would choose to fly back rather than stay the night.

If she came back before Bronwyn could make herself scarce, any window of opportunity would be gone. The closer she drew to the arrival of her infant, she would be watched by more and more sets of eyes. Eventually, she would be guarded by her mother’s fiercest soldiers day and night, obliterating any hope for escape.

Rolo did not want to marry her.

She did not want to marry him.

What she did want rested less than a mile away from her. She hoped anyway. If he’d retired for the evening, she was screwed. So screwed.

Bronwyn crossed her fingers, praying to whatever ancient deities would listen that her lumbering, sexy oaf of a man-bear was still around.

The first two weeks of her pregnancy had been absolute misery. The quicker gestation period meant she’d gone through hell and back when it came to morning sickness, queasiness, and the constant need for sleep. Today was the first day she’d begun to feel halfway normal. But that peaceful lull wouldn’t last.

Heart trapped in her throat, she stood, sensing the time was now or never.

Snatching the cowl and robe off the hook by her door, she wrapped the black silk tightly around her, hoping to blend into the shadows of night as much as possible. Then she ran down the stairs, across the hall, and out the door. Her footsteps were silent on the spongy moss surface of her lands.

Admittedly, Bronwyn had much less experience traversing the grounds of her territory, but she’d been born and raised there. She had played many games of seek-and-find growing up.

Due to the increased hormonal levels raging through her system, her vision wasn’t as sharp in the dark as it normally was. But she knew where each tree root and each stump was, so she was able to quickly and easily maneuver around them. With the growing distance between her and her people, she began to breathe a little bit easier.

It took her nearly an hour to get to the borders, and that was by running as fast as her waddling legs allowed her to go. She was sure that each twig snap and rustle of leaves was someone out to snatch her up and drag her back to her mother, her peoples.
Duties and responsibilities and priorities and argh!

Never in her life had Bronwyn been selfish, but she was going to be now. She was going to—

A loudly breaking branch rang like a gunshot through the night. She paused, heart slamming wildly in her chest as her night-blinded eyes searched in vain for the source of the noise.

But then she smelled him, a mix of musk and man, of rain and pine. Her man. In grizzly form.

She swallowed hard when his shadowy image rose on its hind legs. That majestic glorious beast of a shifter towered over her as his huge head contorted into a snarl of fury. A growl, the likes of which she’d only ever heard seconds before an attack, echoed all around them.

“Male, I am co—” The words never fully left her lips before he was on her.