Bearly Breathing (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (20 page)

“My bear,” I whispered, curling up in his arms and using one of them for a pillow. “God, I love you. How did I do this to myself?”

I thought I felt him shuffle his weight, like he was about to toss or turn. But then he just fell silent again, holding me a little tighter.

––––––––

I
love you too,
Orion wanted to say, when he heard his beautiful lynx whispering as she fell asleep.

Instead, he just pretended to go right on snoozing. The prickly hairs coming out of Clea’s neck and back and arms as she relaxed fully made Orion feel like he, too, was just as safe and secure as she obviously felt.

He wanted to hold her, to flip her over and kiss her up and down and in and out all over again, but at the same time, he was
really
tired. An accidental yawn made Clea shift her weight, but she immediately fell silent again.

Orion nestled into her hair, taking a nose full of her scent. Not able to completely resist the temptation, he stroked her cheek with his lips, and kissed her softly. She started again, but seconds later she was snoring away, happily oblivious to anything going on.

A glance out the window reminded Orion that he had no idea to tell what time it was by looking outside. He scanned the room for a clock, but didn’t find one. More than a little irritated, he let his head fall heavily against the pillow, closed his eyes just long enough to tease himself with sleep, and then opened them again, wide.

There, on the ceiling, surrounded by what appeared to be an animated sheep dancing, was what he’d been looking for.

Almost one.

Good.
Orion thought.
Let’s get this shit over with.

He rolled out of bed and then realized his arm was pinned.

With stealth belying his size, Orion gently rolled Clea to one side, then pulled his arm free, and rolled her back. Immediately, she grabbed one of her eight body pillows, curled around it, wadded up into a furry ball, and was snoring again.

There was something he had to do.

Orion crossed the room and fished his backpack out from behind the chair where he’d hung it, and then it had fallen. A pen and his notebook in hand, he sat down, the chair underneath him creaking at his massive weight.

“Dear Clea,”
he wrote.
“I’m saying thank you and I’m saying that I’ll see you soon. There’s something I have to take care of tonight before it comes back to haunt me again. I know we’re supposed to tell each other everything, but I don’t want you to know my father. I don’t want you to know my family, not now that mom is gone. She was the only good in the Samuelssons, and now,”
he set his pen on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight the tears.

It worked, but not before his throat felt thick, and the breath hitched in his nose. A slow, trembling breath eased his mind slightly, but another glance at Clea calmed Orion’s troubled heart.

“I know I told you I’d come for you once before, and didn’t manage for longer than I would have liked. But now, there’s no question. There’s no chance I won’t. I’m yours and you’re mine, and before long I’m going to claim you forever. But, but, but,”
he lifted the pen and tapped his finger on the paper for a second.
“There’s always a but, isn’t there? But I’m afraid you’re going to be in danger unless I do what I’m planning – what I have been planning – ever since I left the Devils. Left my father. And found,”
he paused for a moment, not sure exactly of the words.
“Peace,”
he finally wrote and sat back.

Folding the paper, he creased it sharply, and placed the letter beside his sleeping love, situated like an a-frame tent.

Watching her for a moment, Orion didn’t bother denying the alien mixture of longing, love, and peace welling up in him.

He grabbed his backpack and opened the zipper, being careful not to make much noise. Sliding his hand over the cover of the first book inside, he rotated the stud, and plucked it free. Turning it around in his fingers, he smiled, watching the light dance in the little diamond.

She’d want it back.

He set the stud under the tented letter, smiling for a moment. But then there was something else behind it.

Rage. Purpose.

The words as cold as his heart when it was time to act.

Rage. Hate.

Two things he didn’t want, but couldn’t deny were part of him, part of his very essence. They were part of him because they were part of his rotten-to-the-goddamn-core father, and
his
father. He hated what they’d made him.

As he watched Clea’s peaceful slumber, Orion’s heart felt lighter. It felt like the rage and the hate and the anger weren’t him anymore, they were just emotions. They were just things he felt, things that made his vision go red and made him clench his fists and punch walls.
That’s all they are
, he told himself.
Mitch doesn’t control me. The Devils don’t control me, not anymore
.

Courage boiled inside him where before only venomous rage had seethed. It was from
her
, he realized, as he watched her breasts rise and fall with each breath.
She
gave him the strength to do what he had to, no matter how much he wished he didn’t have to do it.

And where he was going? That courage was all he was going to have.

Well, his courage, and his foot-long Bowie knife.

Orion slid the leather sheathe out of backpack and tied the blade to his leg. He patted its worn, warm cowhide, and ran his fingers along the horn handle. His mother had made this knife, then his father stole it, and he stole it back. And ever since, it’d been in his backpack. Before Clea, that worn old Eastpak had been the best friend Orion had.

He pulled one of the old hardback books out of his satchel and looked at the cover in the vague moonlight spilling into Clea’s bedroom.
Philosophy from the Upanishads to the Cold War
. A smile crossed his lips. How many nights had he spent reading this thing, trying to do something – anything – with his mind besides being consumed with anger? He could probably recite most of the excerpts by heart.

Orion opened the cover and turned to the first dog-ear. It was the end of
The Illiad
, the part about Achilles’ hubris ruining him. Orion had always liked that part.

Mostly because Achilles reminded him of his father.

With a gentle
snap
he closed the cover and nestled the book in beside his other well-worn volume –
Introduction to Dentistry
– the one where he’d stored Clea’s diamond. He zipped the bag, again being careful not to make much noise.

He buttoned his flannel and rolled up the sleeves, then pulled his trusty old jacket on, leaving the zipper undone, and slung his backpack across his shoulders as he stepped out into the night, closing the door behind him.

As Orion kicked his bike to life, a thought occurred to him – hubris wasn’t the only lesson Homer had to teach. He also warned against all-consuming hate, against dwelling on revenge.

Revenge
. The word tasted sweet and salty all at once as Orion rolled it around his tongue.

But this wasn’t revenge.

No,
this
was pre-emptive security. A strike against an enemy he knew would make his life hell, an enemy he knew would kill everyone he loved.

And Orion would be god
damned
before he let that happen.

The wind in his hair felt good, cool against his skin. He took a deep breath and then looked at the words scratched into the chrome around his speedometer.
Kill
,
death
, and
hate
all carved there, but he thought maybe it was time to do some editing.

“Love,” he said into the night as he sped down the road. “Love is the only thing that matters anymore. That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I’m risking my life. Love. Not revenge, not hate.”

“Love.”

And that? That felt better than anything.

*

H
e knew roughly where the gang was going to be, but wasn’t sure of the exact place, or where he’d find Mitch, or even
why
they were out, damming up rivers around Jamesburg.

It didn’t make a lot of good sense, but then again, “sense” and “Mitch Samuelsson” were hardly ever mentioned in the same breath. Then again, after tonight, “Mitch Samuelsson” and “still breathing” wouldn’t be mentioned in the same voice. Neither would “Dirty Devils” and “extant motorcycle club.”

At least, if things went the way they were supposed to go.

Orion pulled his bike to the shoulder, not wanting to alarm the camp before he was good and ready to alarm them all at once. That particular event, he figured, would happen about... oh, fourteen seconds before he tore into Mitch, and about thirty-four seconds before the whole thing was over. In, and out, and fast.

That is, if it all went to plan.

Stalking slowly through the densely packed, overgrown Jamesburg forest, the rush of water struck Orion’s ears. He was close to the river that the Devils were supposed to dam up, but that’s as far as his knowledge reached. He may find a bunch of drunken bikers ten feet off the path, or he might have to walk until dawn.

Thinking about Clea curled up and snoring, Orion hoped against hope that it’d be the first option.

A sinking feeling hit him as he rounded the first bend, pushed through a handful of branches, and didn’t see any campfire, or any motorcycles, or any drunks. At the same time though, something was definitely
off
.

Orion froze, craning his neck and trying to figure out exactly what it was that had him on edge. It took a moment, but quickly he realized what he was listening to:
nothing
.

There were no night birds chirping, no crickets, and no frogs croaking. It was like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked out all the sound from the woods. “Hm,” Orion grunted. “Never known these woods to be quiet. Especially not at night.”

He sucked a big breath, trying to sense any kind of animal scent, or... any scent, really, but it was just a blank slate. No hint of earth or dirt or the just-fallen rain. Someone had
cleaned
this place, almost like they were...

A shriek from Orion’s left preceded a gash that opened on his leg before he noticed who gave it to him. Whoever it was hit so fast they’d already gone again. And of course, left no scent or hint of their presence.

He spun on his heel at a rustling sound to his left. This time, Orion heard the leaves rustling and shot his hand out, expecting another attack. His hand caught nothing but air, but as soon as his swing finished, something bit horribly deep into his right biceps.

“What are you?” Orion hissed.

“More like
where
are you?” a tiny voice screeched. In his confusion, Orion missed another wild swing. That time he caught dragged up a handful of leaves before a sharp, if small, set of teeth locked onto his forearm. He waved it around, until the creature detached itself. Orion heard a grunt and then a whistle of pain when it hit the ground.

“You’re on the ground, now,” Orion said with a pasting of self-satisfaction in his voice. “Whoever you are.”

“Doesn’t matter who I am,” it said. “Only thing that matters is who I work for.”

Oh God almighty
, Orion thought.
The squirrel
.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he cursed, crouching into a low ready stance to try and either deflect the next blow or catch a squirrel. He snatched at the air, where he thought he heard his opponent, but once again grabbed nothing, and once again, was rewarded for his excitement with a bite.

“You better make time,” the squirrel squeaked. “The longer you thrash around like an idiot, the more tired you’re going to get. The sooner you tire yourself out the sooner all my friends can tie you up and take you to Celia!”

Heaving a huge sigh, sweat dripped off Orion’s face and down into the crunching leaves below. Another lunging strike came, but this one he saw coming. Orion positioned himself in the middle of a quicksilver pool of moonlight. He didn’t have much warning, it’s true, but some was better than none.

“Hya!” the little voice cried.

Orion closed his fist. In it, he felt a tail.

Holding the thrashing creature up in front of his face, Orion was more than a little surprised at what he found. The thrashing, twisting, writhing creature was bigger than any squirrel he’d ever seen. “You’re one ugly jackass,” he said, squinting and holding the two-and-a-half foot tree rat at arms’ length. “I’ve only ever seen you from a distance. Up close, you’re really something else.”

“Like you have much room to talk,” the little thing said, finally getting too tired out to keep thrashing around. It let out a soft sigh and hung limp. “Your head looks like a cigarette burn.”

Orion squinted, trying to make sense of what the squirrel said. “That’s not... oh, the burn. Right, yeah that’s clever.”

The thirty or so pound squirrel was starting to weigh on Orion’s arm. “What should I do with you?” he asked. “I can’t exactly just put you down, because you’ll just bite me again. And I can’t really keep you around. I guess I could unscrew your head.”

Orion felt around in the dirt with his foot. He slid the toes of his boot under what seemed like a good-sized specimen and flipped it up into his open hand.

“N – no! What are you doing? Keep that away from me!”

The bear let out a little laugh. So it
is
true? I thought this was just some bullshit they did on TV to look cool. He brought the stick near the squirrel as she started getting cranked up again.

“I’m warning you, you big idiot! Keep that thing away! No!”

Just to test, Orion moved the stick closer to the tiny, gnashing teeth. The squirrel struck at it, like she had no control over her own impulses. Almost caught it, too, before he pulled back quickly.