The Bear King's Captive: Curvy Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (13 page)

TWENTY-THREE

He is leaning against the corner of his villa overlooking Costa Brava in northeastern Spain. Through the interspersed ivy enwrapping the oak lattice, he sees her standing by the weeping fountain on the other side of the Spanish garden.

The gentle sun bathes her cocoa skin in warm waves. She stretches her sinuous arm to the pouring stream and watches the cool water filter through her fingers.

Her long, midnight hair cascades to her elbow when she leans toward the heartrending marble sculpture. Her white cotton dress drapes forward, outlining her sumptuous curves.

His heart beats wildly and a familiar agony burns inside him. His lips yearn to devour her, to savor her silky skin and seek out her hidden passions. He hungers for the feel of her body pressed against his under satin sheets.

He calls out to the only love of his life, but she is so far away. He runs across the saltillo-tiled courtyard between the main casa and lush garden. He is desperate to reach her, but she keeps moving farther and farther away.

Then he is inches from her. The lavender perfume that always lingers after she leaves a room fills his senses. He looks deeply into her black eyes. He reaches out to touch her, to kiss her, to take her, but the chain link fence, now between them, denies him.

His heart dies; panic fills his mind. He can see her but not touch her. He must find a way through the fence before he loses her again. He turns and sees rows of dilapidated wooden shacks and trash-burning barrels with men hovering to fight the searing cold. In the center of the guarded yard, blood bubbles up through debris in a snow-covered wood pile from a torn down hut. Cutting through muddy slush, a red river flows straight at him.

Two golden eyes surrounded by white fur glare at him over the top of the bloody pile.

He turns away, glances at the long line of orange plastic barrels sitting along the fence and the guards in the high watchtowers. Can they see him? The tortured and mangled body of an unlucky prisoner hangs on the gate leading into the grounds.

How can this be? Why is he still here? He escaped from this hell years ago.

He turns back to his love, only to see the dirt-covered ground beyond. She is gone. He grasps the fence, shaking and pulling with all his strength. Broken and consumed with loss, he drops to his knees and yells out her name -- Catalina!

Hannes woke with screams echoing in his head. His breath came hard and fast. He sat up in bed, releasing the sweat beads covering his shoulders and arms. A trickle slid down his slick neck, over his bare, heaving chest and onto the sheets. His fingers grasped the chain necklace he never took off.

The dream was over. Her face, gone. He groped his way to the laminate cabinet to pour a vodka shot--or two--
paska
, skip the glass--straight from a newly opened bottle. He hated sleeping. She was always there waiting for him in his dreams. Every night for three years.

To busy his mind, Hannes grabbed the laptop from his backpack and sat on the sofa. After balancing the seventeen-inch unit on his thighs, he downloaded the data on a flash drive recovered on this mission. His employer for this job would be pleased. The information was easy to decrypt.

Transfer verified, he smiled. He now had everything he needed for his last, and most important, objective. As soon as the data was deposited into the system at his villa, he’d be close to the final vengeance driving him for so many years.

But he wasn’t ready for the coup de grace.

The quarter bottle of vodka started to kick in. Hannes leaned into the sofa cushion and entwined his fingers behind his head. Those who betrayed him would pay for what they did. A stabbing pain across his abdomen jolted him—his constant reminder of why he’d make them regret the day he stepped into boot camp.

In explaining himself to his sister, he had to purposely remember everything, no matter how badly it cut him. It had taken him so long to forget those memories, but for his loved ones, he’d do anything. She refused to listen; she didn’t want to understand. Her tears killed him.

Now the ghosts were back. No locking them down. In his dreams, he’d relive hell every night.

The area surrounding the covered patio had buzzed with action. Hannes stood at attention with scores of other kids around him. Some he knew, most he’d never seen before. All were like him: eighteen and a fresh military conscript.

Around them, men in uniform marched in time with their leaders. Others scurried, taking bags and personal belongings off the bus that brought the boys. Whistles and shouts came from all sides.

A continuous rhythmic clack grew louder, until it stopped behind the group. “Good evening, girls.” A deep, scratchy voice floated over the assembly. “I’m so glad you’re joining me.”

A few in line turned. The visitor sprinted into the face of a slender youth with dishwater hair brushing his shoulders. “FACE FORWARD! DON’T YOU EVER LOOK ME IN THE EYE AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

The boy shook. No one around him moved.

“I SAID DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, LITTLE GIRL?!”

He mustered a weak “Yes, sir.”

“THAT WOULD BE A SIR, YES, SIR FROM YOU!”             

No one made a sound.

“I DIDN’T HEAR YOU!”

“SIR, YES, SIR!”

“Much better.” The visitor flipped a piece of the boy’s long tresses. “Nice hair. Kiss it goodbye.” He walked through the rows. The clack from earlier sounded with every step he made, like a metal-head tack stuck in the heel of his shoe. “I am Sergeant Virtanen. You and me are going to become very close.” The sergeant reached the front of the group.

“Welcome to my holiday camp. We are going to turn you pathetic civilian trash into something this country can be proud of: soldiers.” He started down Hannes’ line. “Well, most of you, anyway. I can tell, right now, who’ll be crying home to Mommy that we aren’t playing nice.”

The sergeant stopped directly at Hannes’ side. The boy kept his eyes forward. The sergeant looked him up and down then smiled. “You’re the Otila boy. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you. Your daddy might own this town and everyone in it, but he doesn’t control me.” He chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “You’re mine now, boy.”

TWENTY-FOUR

The computer on Hannes’ lap tweeted, bringing him back to the present. The alarm from the device he placed on her and the boy’s doors signaled the cabin door next to his opened.

He peeked out in time to see Leah start down the stairs. She wasn’t with the boy. Where was she going?

He grabbed his gun, tucked it under his waistband, and silently followed her to the kitchen level. Hannes relaxed. She was hungry. Why was he worried? He hated this anxious feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t felt it since Catalina… He stopped and pushed away the memories, which was much easier when buzzed on alcohol. Buzzed was all he got since he had the beast inside him.

From the hall, he poked his head around the kitchen doorframe. Leah roamed the back of the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets.

A snack did sound like a good idea. He’d join her. On her way to the table, she saw him enter the galley and frowned. “So much for peace and quiet.”

He noted how well her jeans fit, close and rounded nicely over her wide, curvy ass. “Come now, Princess. Is that any way to treat someone who saved your life?” He grinned. Leah slammed a small plastic container on the tabletop. Her look was priceless: red face, pursed lips, and hands on hips.

“First off, stop calling me princess. Secondly, you almost killed me with your drugs, so saving me was your only redeeming grace.” She yanked out a chair and plopped down. From a thin box, she slid chocolate squares onto the table. After opening the plastic container, she scooped out a spoonful of peanut butter and smeared it on the dark section.

Hannes leaned against the front counter a few feet from the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest. She was quite attractive with her face flushed with color.

Still not looking at him, Leah popped the morsel into her mouth. She closed her eyes and mumbled, “God, this is so good.”              

Hannes analyzed her eyes and body for signs of tension. Even though she refused to face him, he scented comfort and open honesty. He wondered how a simple piece of chocolate and peanut butter made her so happy.

She held out to him a covered piece of chocolate. “Would you like one?”

“Thank you, no.”

Leah raised her brows over wide eyes. “Ahh, polite words are in your vocabulary.”

Crossing one foot over the other, he looked down and smiled. “When I want them to be.”

“I’m honored.” Leah put the rejected square in her mouth. She snapped a third piece of chocolate from the bar. He watched her fidget. “Stop staring at me.” Her cheeks reddened as a smile tried to make its way out, then vanished. Her body tensed. His arms dropped to his sides in anticipation of one of her “enthusiastic” responses.

“Hannes, what are you going to do with Ivan and me when we reach land?”

Good question. He had a few options, only one of which he really wanted. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Leah sat back in her chair. “Good God, man. You’ve had days to think about it. Just let us go. Or at least let the boy go home.”

“We have no protocols for witnesses. And that would be a foolish thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?”

“If you’re worried about Ivan identifying you to the police, don’t be. He can’t even remember your name, Oh mighty Bear King of the forest.”

He tipped his head back and let out a genuine, off-guarded laugh. The release and joyful vibes going through him felt great. Almost a natural high compared to where he’d been the past years. He desperately wanted to hang on to the sensation, surround himself with it. Where was it coming from?

Leah.

No. He wouldn’t allow it. Never again. He encased his emotions, setting free the happiness that until now, had been only a memory.

Leah thumped her spoon on the metal table. “Hannes, what’s wrong?”

His head snapped up. How could she know what he’s thinking, feeling? “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Your body language told me.” She shrugged.

A brow raised under the scar over his left eye. He liked this direction of conversation. “What else does my body tell you?”

“Dear God, Hannes.” Leah’s eyes rolled. “Keep it in your pants. Is that all you boys think about when awake?”

“Of course.” Another roll of laughter broke through his steel wall. “When we’re not concerned about food anyway.”

Leah jerked forward, a few crumbs flying from her mouth, and laughed. “I guess Ivan is right on track then.”

The light atmosphere faded, becoming awkward. He hadn’t really talked with a woman, or anyone really, for a long time. When business finished, he was the first to leave.

“Hannes, I’ll make a deal with you.” She sighed. “You let Ivan go. And obviously, I know your name and face and your latest mission--”

He sprang away for the counter. “How could you possibly know anything about--”

“Relax. I only sort of know.” Leah’s eyes widened. “Since you’re a militant group, well disciplined and supplied with kick-ass semi-automatic rifles, I’m guessing you’re no putz. Just the opposite. So, what in Cleveland is worth your time? The Department of Defense, which happens to be walking distance from the harbor.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Makes for an ingenious getaway.” Another scoop of peanut butter emerged from the jar. “But what you did or who you killed, I have no idea, nor do I want to know.”

Paska
. He underestimated her intelligence. It bordered on creepy.

She sighed. “I don’t read minds nor do I know the future.”

“How did you know what I was just thinking?”

“Do you think you’re the first person to look at me like I’m an alien? Your head tilted slightly to the side, telling me you’re puzzled. Then your eyes tightened, saying the answers you were thinking were negative. Usually mind reader and aliens are what I hear.”
                Amazing. He needed to know this trick. “How did you learn this?”

“Learn what? To read people?” Her fingers snapped a chocolate square in half. “When you live on the streets, you see the hairy armpit of society—stinky and gross if not shaved often. People don’t care what you think, don’t care who you are, but they’ll take you for all you’re worth. Some only want cigs and whiskey, others it’s money. And sometimes, it gets personal.”

Anger bloomed in his chest at the thought of someone hurting her. He’d kill anyone who tried.

“Hey!” Leah snapped her fingers, bringing him from his thoughts. “Hannes, you’re not listening me. Come back to earth. Am I that boring?”

He settled against the cabinet. “To the contrary. Please continue.”

“Anyway, you learn to read their faces and body language for clues to what they’re thinking. That’s it.” Coy eyes looked at him, stirring his insides. “I will teach you after we’ve docked and Ivan is safely at the Consulate.” Her body cringed slightly.

A bout of laughter seized him. Leah grimaced. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

He slapped a hand over his chest. “Of course you’re not. That’s what makes it funny.” A small guffaw shook his chest. “Is that the deal you wish to make?”

Indignant, Leah said, “What else did you think I’d offer?” Her eyes widened and her face lit up red. Hannes slapped his thigh and continued to laugh. She smacked the spoon on the table, grabbed the chocolate and peanut butter and stomped into the kitchen. “Forget it. Just kill me now so I don’t have to look at your stupid face any longer.” She tossed the food items into the pantry and slammed the cabinet door shut. When she headed for the door, he reached for her arm.

She tried to pull away, but he was prepared and had her wrapped up and off the ground in seconds. Among complaints and useless struggling, Hannes sat Leah on the table, feet dangling, arms crossed, lips pursed white. She was alluring when pouting. The urge to kiss her was greater than any sensation he’d had his entire life. It was truly scary how much she’d come to mean to him in their time together.

“Okay, Princess.”

She opened her mouth, and he raised a finger in warning. “Interrupting isn’t nice.” He paused to see if she caught the innuendo. She smirked at him. He knew she’d get it. “I will think about your request if you tell me why Roclas murdered your family and left you alive.”

Her faced blanched. Soft brown eyes turned glassy, then sad. Any fight in her evaporated, worrying him. Perhaps he should’ve waited until she fully recovered from the overdose.

“When I was eleven…” She searched for words. “My father was a detective with the Chicago police department. A damn good one. He always got his bad guy, except for one time. The last time. He was in charge of a big sting that took down an aggressive drug group shipping in loads of cocaine.

“The particular drug run he busted happened to be a special deal, or a big buy-out. Many dealers and guys with the shipment were arrested. But some got away. The papers read ‘Biggest Seized Shipment in Chicago History,’ and Dad’s picture was plastered all over the city.”

Past events came to life for Hannes. He had heard stories, years ago, about a large shipment from Colombia that failed to produce money. The drug lord was killed and someone else put in his place—Juan Carlos Roclas. The new man was ruthless, vile, and hot headed. Not a person to mess with.

Leah sniffled. “A couple of weeks later—” A hitch caught in her throat. “It was my responsibility to lock the kitchen door every night before going to bed. This one night, I forgot, I guess. Roclas came into our house with a shotgun and, and…” She slumped, hands hiding her face. 

Paska
. Hannes wasn’t very good with this woman crying thing. But he didn’t know any man who was. He stepped in front of her sitting form and let her head rest against his chest. His arms settled onto her back. Comfort enveloped him; same as when he held her after the pirate was killed.

Her hair reminded him of his family’s flower garden in early spring. His mother would carefully clip the most beautiful roses and the island house smelled like the outdoors all day. He felt a twinge of sadness, or guilt, from the thought.

Leah sighed and placed her cheek on his shirt. “Sorry.”

He didn’t let go. “Why didn’t Roclas…why did he let you live?”

“Oh, he wanted me dead. He wanted the entire family to pay for what Dad accomplished.” Her body leaned more on him and relaxed. Her eyes lost focus, returning to her past. “The bathroom door opened in front of me. I was so scared by the noise. I didn’t know what was happening. The man put the shotgun against my head. The hot metal burned half circles into my forehead.” Her fingers grazed the bangs covering her brows. “He had one blue and one brown eye.” Leah’s line of sight fixed to the floor, lost in memory.

“Years later, the detective on the case told me Dad survived the initial shot and crawled into the hall with his gun. I heard Dad’s voice in the hallway: Leah, run, hide. Then he shot his pistol the same time Roclas spun around and returned fire.” She swallowed hard.

“Dad’s bullet didn’t kill the bastard. Instead, the brown eye’s bone socket tore away. The flap hung to the side of his face like on a hinge and he pushed it back into place. The brown eye dangled--” Her hand slapped over her mouth. He felt an involuntary dry-heave wrack through her.

A revelation hit him. He pushed her shoulders back. “You’re the reason for his eye patch.”

“If I had my way, he’d have two. The prick.”

Everything clicked into place for him. “Leah, you don’t have to continue. I understand.”

“No, let me finish.” She pulled away from him and slid her feet to the floor. “When I looked at him, our family picture that Mom was so proud of hung on the wall behind his head.” She wrapped her arms around herself and paced the table’s length.

“That photo is all I have left of them. I’ve carried it in my coat pocket for years as proof to myself that my family was real, not something I dreamed up.” She shifted her gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t remember much more. Just pieces here and there. A chalk outline of Dad’s body on the hallway floor, flashing lights in the yard and the unlocked kitchen door.

“My aunt and uncle took me to their house. Then I got on an airplane to an orphanage in California, and never saw or heard from anyone in my family again.” Leah sniffled.

Sudden anger flared in her eyes. “Why did I live? WHY?” She choked on words. “I spent so many holidays alone, no birthday parties or girls sleeping over. For years, I watched with hatred as other kids left the orphanage with happy adoptive families. And because of him, I never would. I don’t know the official words, but I was marked ‘unadoptable due to violence potential’ or some shit.”

She chewed her lower lip and leaned against the wall. “I’m so tired of waking with a tear-soaked pillow.” Leah slid down the wall and squatted into a ball, arms around legs. “I don’t want to run anymore. All I want is a safe place to sleep and for the never-ending pain inside me to go away.”

He understood. He knew what she needed to hear--the same words he prayed for every day, even though he didn’t deserve them. He knelt beside her. “Leah, you’re not to blame. Let it go.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Since I was a child, hate and revenge have burned inside me, fueling my drive to kill the man who ripped away my family. And it was my fault. I left the door unlocked. How can I not be blamed?”