Secret to Bear (2 page)

My low grumbles became reverberating growls, and I sat down and clenched my fingers into the arms of my easy chair, battling to get control of myself. I sat in one spot, refusing to move, and concentrated on being calm.

But after a few minutes even more meat smells swirled around me like an invasion, and I had to clench my hands tighter to fight the dark urges to devour.

The chair’s fabric ripped as my fingers plunged deep into the cushioning. Yelping, I looked down in dismay at the damage.

There was a deafening roar in my ears as I stared in disbelief at my—damn it all if they weren’t claws! My hands were covered in thick, dark hair, and so were my arms. At the tips of where my fingers should have been, long, sharp claws dug into the chair.

I leapt up, shaking my arms violently. For a brief moment fear jolted through my body, and my hands returned to normal. I stood, shivering violently, staring at my long, sculpted fingers. Breaking through the shock I rushed to the mirror and stared at my face.

It was normal. It was a bit paler than usual, but the spattering of red freckles accentuated the translucent skin, just as always. There was a knock at the door as I stared back down along my arms.

I ignored the rapping noise, and pulled up my shirt to see my stomach in the mirror. Nothing strange about it. Yanking at my bra I examined my breasts, then tugged my pants down. Nothing strange down along my legs or pelvis, either.

More annoying knocking. I bit back hard on the brewing rage, adjusted my clothing, and stomped across the room.

“What the fuck is it now?” I growled as I flung the door open wide.

The young man stood and stared in startled fear with the pizza box in one hand. I recognized the food as the source of the invading smells.

My face heated. “Of course, I’m sorry, I forgot I ordered pizza. Come in, let me find my purse.”

He stepped cautiously inside, leaving the door open.

“You smell good,” I said, catching his scent easily in the air.

“Like pizza grease?” he laughed.

“No—like—like a man.” I cringed as I said the words, realizing how stupid it came out. But he smelled like someone ready for sex, someone I could sink my teeth into. The feelings were strange and puzzling to me.

“Thanks?” he responded. He was confused and uneasy, shifting his weight and staring back out the hall.

I wanted to taste him, to pin him to the floor and consume his body in lust. I longed to run my tongue over him, even more than I craved food. I grew desperately aggravated by the bizarre urges.

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” I said curtly.

He stood in silence for a minute. “Are you afraid of me?” he finally asked.

“No,” I grumbled, biting at my lower lip. I fidgeted uncomfortably, my lower parts starting to ache for release. I couldn’t find my wallet in my damned clutch. My eyes seemed unwilling to focus.

“It’s just that I don’t feel like myself right now, and I’m afraid of what I might do,” I confessed, barely able to hold myself back. As he stood there, his tantalizing smell blending with the cooked meats he held, he seemed the perfect man to me—except he was young and looked a bit awkward still.

“Like what?” he laughed. “You’re only about a hundred and thirty-five pounds. What would you do?”

“A hundred and thirty-two pounds,” I lied sharply. “Look, I just need to get you paid, okay? You can’t possibly understand right now.” The raging fire deep inside was throwing my brain into fits. “I have this driving desire to throw you on the floor, rip your clothes off, and have sex with you. And I don’t necessarily mean consensual.”

My mind screamed in foul, confusing desire and humiliation. Was it a psychotic break from my rape? Is that why I was seeing hair all over my arms and hands, too? Was I hallucinating?

He stepped in further and closed the door. I gave him a puzzled glance.

“Don’t want your neighbors to hear you say that. They might not understand,” he explained.

“I’m really sorry,” I said with gritted teeth. “I think it’s just probably some vengeance thing. Some guy hurt me and— “

“I understand, really,” he eagerly assured me. “I wouldn’t blame you, even. But it’s lucky you’ve got control of yourself. I’m exhausted—probably too tired to even fight back. You could easily pin me down and use me like a sex toy.”

With a heaving sense of relief I found the wallet and pulled several bills out. I shoved them over to the pizza boy. “Here’s the money. Sorry for the wait. Keep the tip.” I moved to open the door for him.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. Deep concern was dripping a bit too heavy from his words. I sensed his sexual smells strangely mounting, even after warning him.

“God, I don’t know,” I grunted. “But you need to leave. Now!”

“Would it help if I got undressed?” he asked, reaching up to unbutton his shirt, his deep blue eyes steady on mine.

“What?” I exploded. “No! What the hell?”

“Should I undress you?” he persisted.

I was shocked to find myself hesitating, staring with a gnawing need at the vulnerable awkward boy, his slender body and soft blond hair. My craving was grinding inside me.

“Get out!” I bit, grabbing his arm and shoving him out into the hall.

Slamming the door, I tossed open the pizza box and pulled the toppings off with my fingers. The pizza was nearly naked before I finally felt the hunger subside, and a sweet calm replaced it.

I sat and stared at the tomato sauce on my hands, my thoughts slowly clearing. The events of the past hours flooded my brain—waking up bloody and naked, the pounding hungers, the sounds and smells around me. Nothing made sense. I was losing my mind.

After several confusing minutes of trying in vain to think things through I changed from my pants suit to jeans and a t-shirt, pulled my shoes on, and went out to clear my brain in the early evening air.

I wandered aimlessly, yet driven. The weird events of the past two days spilled through my mind, but none of it seemed able to sort itself out. I longed for some rational explanation, but none came. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was going insane, and I was becoming increasingly dangerous.

There was that damned bar again, blue neon lights flickering in the dusk, calling out to me. The dark brick walls were worn and damaged, the windows barred. The place was a total dive. But, even though I felt like I was meandering pointlessly around the streets, this was the third time I had passed by the place. And each time I noticed it I felt an odd tugging interest to go inside.

I glanced around. This was a neighborhood I normally avoided, and for obvious reasons. But I had felt oddly compelled to come this way, against my better judgment.

I noticed the dark form of a man slipping back into the shadows further down along the vacant street. But what was so concerning was that he seemed to notice me, as well.

Again I sensed a bizarre longing to visit the bar. “Ursula’s,” the small neon letters over the door announced. I stared in dismay—and felt the interest grow. I also heard the man from the shadows, his steps steadily approaching, each one padding as softly as he could manage.

“Screw it,” I muttered. I crossed the street and slipped into the dark lounge. Cigarette smoke hung in the dinge, swirling amidst the smells of intoxication, vomit, liquor, and the bizarre aroma of dog. The music crackled too low to identify if it was country or rock. The sound of chinking glass was more stimulating anyway.

Across the room a large, hulking man sat to nurse his drink alone in the corner booth. He caught my eye almost instantly, and I could see I had already caught his as well. His gaze roamed uncomfortably up and down my entire body, his eyes taking in my every move. I glanced sharply away as I sat down at the bar, terrified by the sudden, deep interest that swelled inside me.

I ordered a gin and glanced back. He was still brazenly staring at me, his brow furrowing. My stomach fluttered and rolled with the odd sensation that I knew him already. It wasn’t that we had met; it was more some inexplicable connection that seemed to bind us instantly.

He didn’t look away as I returned his stare, so I sat and scrutinized his face. His eyes were dark and lonely, his face sullen but stern. His chest and shoulders were bulky, powerful, and rippled with tense muscle.

He pushed himself up from the booth, drink in hand, and I turned away in panic. But not looking at him didn’t help—his scent of bourbon blending with sweet masculinity was heavy and impossible to ignore as he approached. And there was something else too—a smell about him I couldn’t quite identify, but was comfortingly familiar… and enticingly exciting.

The bartender set my gin down just before the stranger slipped onto the stool beside me. I grasped the cool glass with both hands and stared at the reflection we cast in the mirrors behind the bar. I could see him brooding over his drink, his jaw twitching, his eyes glimmering with determination. He didn’t look at me right away, and I refused to look directly over at him, but we were each both intensely aware of the other. A deep, tumultuous need for him filled my gut, and I fought to ignore it. I was, after all, going completely insane. For all I knew he wasn’t really there at all.

“I’m Gage,” he muttered, his warm, gruff voice stimulating a part of me I never even realized I had.

I shuddered with lustful pleasure, squelched a betraying smile, and nodded. “I’m Johanna,” I replied. “But everyone calls me Jo.”

He took a long, cleansing breath. I loved the sound and smell of him, and I had to turn away to hide my pained cringe.

“So what are you?” he asked with a shrug.

“What?” I blurted. I gave him a shocked glare.

He looked at me, his eyes caressing my face, my hair, my neck. I longed to feel his fingers on me, his hands grasping my body, his—oh god, my privates swelled with intense heat. I fidgeted uncomfortably as his gaze roamed low down my chest, but I breathed in deep and held it for a long moment.

“What are you, exactly?” he repeated. His eyes rose to focus on mine, and I felt his piercing gaze flow into me like melted chocolate.

“Right now I’m a bit offended,” I answered.

He gave me a puzzled stare. “I apologize if I’m being intrusive, but I could smell you from across the room the moment you came in,” he explained in a low whisper. “I had to come over and talk to you.”

“Wow,” I chortled. “Now that’s a lovely new pick-up line. I bet that works on all the girls.” I glanced up into the mirror. The booth just behind me was full of disheveled and rowdy young men, and they were all staring directly at me as they crouched over their glasses. What was worse, I could tell now that it was them that smelled like dog. I looked back at Gage.

His face scrunched and he stared at me in total confusion. “I can tell that you’re a bear,” he whispered. “I just don’t know exactly which species. You’re—different.”

A shocking terror shook me, and I almost spilled my gin. I stared back at him in horror and dismay, a thousand wild thoughts racing through my tortured brain. My surprised face only baffled him even more.

He really had just said I was a bear. I remembered seeing my claws and hair, but that had been a hallucination. I reached out my hand and grabbed his arm, testing to see if he were even real.

The warmth of his skin flooded through me. The feel of the soft hair, his sinewy muscle beneath masculine skin, sent fevered chills up my spine. He looked down at my hand over his arm, but I couldn’t convince myself to let go. He was more than real—he was enthralling.

I picked up my gin with the other hand, drank the fiery liquid in one quick gulp, and set the glass back down. My stomach churned with a disaster of cravings and confusion. I stared intently down at the bar, refusing to look up again for fear that he might pull away if he saw the look in my eyes.