Read Her Bear Protector (BBW Shifter Romance) Online
Authors: Bonnie Burrows
Her Bear Protector (BBW Shifter Romance)
HER
BEAR PROTECTOR
A BBW Shifter Romance
BONNIE BURROWS
Copyright
©2014 by Bonnie Burrows
All rights reserved.
About This Book
Curvy Kyla takes herself out to her cabin in order to focus on her artwork and have some all important “me-time”. Little does she know, there is huge danger in the deep woods that surround her cabin and an unarmed female such as Kyla is fair game for the criminals and wild beasts that lie within the territory.
Enter the mysterious and incredibly attractive Aaron. A huge musclebound man with the ability to transform into an even bigger dark bear. He tells her the only way she will survive out here is if he can take care of her and protect her.
That is, to take care of her in more ways then just one...
Table Of Contents
C
HAPTER ONE
C
HAPTER TWO
C
HAPTER THREE
C
HAPTER FOUR
C
HAPTER FIVE
C
HAPTER SIX
C
HAPTER SEVEN
OTHER POPULAR BBW SHIFTER ROMANCES
Rise Of The Female Alpha
Curvy Sienna has always felt like an outsider within her own wolf pack. Deemed not quite as desirable as the other females and constantly disrespected by her alpha, it is no surprise that Sienna harbors a secret desire to leave forever.
When she meets handsome white wolf Arric from the rival Silverlake pack, she meets a man who finally respects and understands her. They embark on a steamy but dangerous relationship. One that would mean certain death if either were caught.
However, it is only after meeting Arric that Sienna begins to believe in herself and it is he that makes her feel special. Little does she know that she might just be more special then she could ever have imagined...
I lived in Detroit and its suburbs my entire twenty-five years. I'd always expected that at some point in my life, I'd have a gun pointed at me. I just never dreamed that it would happen in the wilds of Michigan's upper peninsula.
But there I was, backed against a sunlit sugar maple, trembling, while two men cornered me, one of them pointing a shotgun at my chest.
He leered, revealing brown tobacco-stained teeth. "Well, well. We was lookin' for some rabbits for our supper, but now that I seen ya, I think I got an appetite for somethin' else."
The other man dropped an empty bottle of whiskey on the ground, stepped closer to me, and ran a thumb and forefinger down the length of a strand of my hair. "Pretty girl. Pretty blonde hair. I like me some pretty girls with pretty blonde hair, don't I, Jess?"
His breath smelled like whiskey and garbage.
Jess, the man pointing the shotgun at me, nodded. "Yes, you do, Earl. Yes, you do. And I don't mind me some pretty girls with pretty blonde hair, neither."
Earl grinned, the movement making wrinkly cracks in his weathered, dirt-smeared face. "She's got her some nice tits and ass, too, don't she?"
Jess nodded, running his gaze up and down my body. "She sure do. Everything nice and thick. Soft and sweet them curves is. Just how I like 'em. No, sir, I do not mind the heavier types like this one. No, sir, I do not. More to grab on to, Earl; am I right?"
Earl nodded. "You sure is. But we can't be sure exactly how much we gon' have us to grab on to 'til we get her outta them clothes." He glanced at Jess, grinning. "Lemme go first."
Choking back a whimper, I shut my eyes briefly, wondering if they'd kill me after. Wondering if there was any possible way I could wrest the shotgun away from Jess. Wondering if there was any possible way I could outrun them. Wondering why in the hell I hadn't brought my own gun, a .38 Special revolver.
I'd only been in the upper peninsula, or the U.P, as most Michiganders called it, for two days. Three months earlier, my parents had died in a car accident, and I discovered that they'd left me a cabin in the densely forested wilds of the northern U.P's copper country, where miners had flocked from the eighteen-fifties to the nineteen-sixties. The cabin was located about four miles west of Houghton, one of the U.P's largest towns with a population of seven thousand. I hadn't even known the cabin existed, and I'd never even been to the U.P. My last surviving relative, a second cousin I'd spoken to maybe twice before, told me that my dad and his buddies used to stay at the cabin during deer hunting season in the days before I was born. But then life got busy, and with his job as a fire chief, my dad didn't have much time for traveling to the U.P to hunt anymore. But he'd kept the cabin, thinking that one day he might return. Maybe after he retired.
My first thought had been to sell the cabin. As a struggling artist not selling many paintings, I could have definitely put the money to good use. But I'd fallen into a depression after my parents' deaths and hadn't even had the energy to list the property. Before long, everything about the city I loved started to irritate me. The sights, the sounds, the traffic that inched along in a honking, smoggy ribbon in front of my downtown loft. All of it. Everything seemed to be conspiring to not allow me to think in peace. I found I couldn't paint anymore. I felt antsy and claustrophobic. I felt like I wanted to run. To somewhere peaceful, somewhere quiet. Somewhere I'd be able to think and grieve the loss of my parents. Somewhere
else
. And so I did.
I'd left my loft in the care of a friend, telling her I'd be back in a few weeks to a month or two. I'd driven from Detroit to the very top of the lowerpeninsula and taken a ferry, my car in cargo, across the Straits of Mackinac to the U.P. I'd driven for hours through beautiful but seemingly never-ending forestland to Houghton. I’d gotten the keys to the cabin and directions from the caretaker, an older man named Bill who'd been looking after the cabin for my dad for over two decades. I loaded up my car with groceries and supplies, and then wound my way down a four-mile-long dirt road that would be better described as a trail in some places. Twice I'd had to stop the car to clear fallen branches and overgrown vegetation out of the road-trail before continuing. I unpacked, cleaned, and set up a little art studio in one corner of the cabin. I found I could paint again, and I did, for two days. Then needing a break, I set out on a hike, with compass and water and a carefully hand-written trail map Bill the caretaker had given me in a backpack.
"Just stick to the trail that circles the cabin," he'd said. "I've hacked away all the overgrowth on it good enough, and didn't spot any bears, wolves, or cougars while I was doing it. And actually, I've never come across any of those animals within a mile or two of your cabin. Although the couple of cabins within a few miles of yours have had some trouble. But they're even more northern, even deeper into the wilds. So you shouldn't have any problems with the wild animals. But do be careful, and don't twist an ankle on the trail or anything. You won't get any cell service more than a few feet beyond the cabin."
Even with the possibility of encountering a bear, wolf, or cougar, however remote, I still hadn't thought it crucial to bring my gun with me on my hike. My dad taught me to shoot when I moved to downtown Detroit after college. Bill's assurances about the wild animals, combined with the cheery sunshine of the early May day, just made me feel as if it would almost be silly to even consider that I might need to use a .38 Special on my hike.
I hiked for over an hour, savoring the fresh, clean air and miles of quiet green that surrounded me, thinking of good times I'd had with my parents while camping and hiking with them in the lower peninsula. I stopped to pick a few lavender coneflowers to put in a jar on the cabin's kitchen table.
And now I was going to be raped and possibly killed. And not in Detroit, as I would've thought definitely more likely, but surrounded by pristine wilderness, tall white birch trees and sugar maples, and birdsong. And a sky so clear and blue it seemed to offer a glimpse of Heaven itself.
When I opened my eyes, a trickle of sweat snaking its way down my neck, Jess poked me in the chest with the barrel of the shotgun, sneering.
"Now, that's it. Keep them peepers open. I wanna see the look in 'em when I stick it in ya."
Making a sudden and desperate decision to go down fighting rather than just allow myself to be raped, I lunged at Jess, flinging the long barrel of the gun out of my way. Earl caught me and had my hands pinned behind my back within half a second. Both he and Jess howled with laughter.
Jess re-pointed the shotgun at me and spit out a wad of tobacco. "A feisty one. I like that." He narrowed his mud-brown eyes. "But now, just for that, you're gonna get it worse."
I shuddered, my whole body quaking. My lavender coneflowers, which I was somehow still holding, fell from my grasp.
Jess motioned to Earl, and Earl, taking the signal as a green light, released my hands and took the top of my button-front shirt in both of his, surely intending to rip it off.
"Please, don't. You don't have to do this!"
"Shut up!"
Earl started to say something else but was cut off by a roar so deep and loud I felt the vibrations of it through the tree my back was pressed against. Earl dropped my shirt. Jess cursed under his breath, eyes wide.
"Son of a bitch."
We all turned our heads in the direction of the roar, just in time to see a massive black bear step out from the woods onto the trail, only thirty feet or so to our left.
Even in my terror, I marveled at my horrendous luck. Saved from a rape and murder, only to be mauled by a bear.
It lumbered down the trail, nearly filling it with its broad shoulders and body.
Jess cupped his hands around his mouth. "Go on back to where ya come from, ya big son of a bitch!"
The bear continued lumbering forward, his angry gaze seeming to be more on Jess and Earl than on me.
Earl shook his head, not taking his gaze off the bear. "This ain't no ordinary bear, Jess. I don't think he's gonna be scared off by noise."
"Oh yeah?"
Jess cocked the shotgun and fired a blast into the air. The bear threw its head back, roaring, but didn't stop moving toward us. Jess leveled the shotgun at it, but it suddenly picked up its pace, zigzagging across the trail.
Jess lowered the gun. "Hell with it. Hell with the whore. Run!"
He and Earl took off down the trail, away from the bear. It charged, heading straight at them and me, its roar nearly as loud as the first had been.
I pressed my back against the sugar maple, cringing. But the bear ran right on by me, chasing Jess and Earl down the trail. Needing no further invitation, I snatched up my backpack and ran in the opposite direction.
I ran for several minutes, full-out. But although I was a fairly healthy person, and I tried to stay fairly active, I did have some extra weight on my five-foot-four-inch frame, and it wasn't going to let me run full-out all the way back to the cabin. Eventually, I slowed, and then stopped, resting against a white birch, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
A cardinal flitted by my face, singing. I allowed myself to relax a little, my gaze following its flight through a cluster of tall tumbleweed, then through a copse of young elms bordering the trail, and into the woods. And then I screamed.
The black bear stood maybe ten feet into the woods, half-hidden behind a fallen tree trunk. I knew it was the same one, because of its unusual deep green eyes. It didn't move, except to hang its head, almost as if embarrassed that it had made me scream. I knew that Earl had been right; this bear didn't seem scared by sound, like many black bears, and in fact, sound had only seemed to make it angrier. So, hands shaking, I shouldered my backpack and began tiptoeing down the trail, almost too frightened to breathe.
The bear followed me, walking through the woods parallel to the trail, mere feet away from me. I glanced at it several times, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, but it kept its gaze straight ahead. After a minute or so, I came to a slow, silent stop, hoping that the bear would keep on going and leave me alone. But it didn't. It came to a stop, too, but didn't look at me. Its gaze swept the woods, as if it didn't even know I was still there. But I knew it did.
I continued on, and so did he. Within a short while, I realized that this was how some animals stalked their prey. Slowly, quietly, having a little fun, waiting for the perfect moment or space to go in for the kill. I also realized that at some point, I'd begun whimpering, the noise hiccupy and strange against the happy sound of nearby birdsong. I knew the cabin was still at least a half-mile away, and that I'd never make it there.
Before long, I stopped walking and sank to my knees, looking at the bear, tears streaming down my face. "Just kill me, then. Just kill me. I can't walk along waiting for it anymore."
It finally looked back at me, and I closed my eyes, not wanting my last sight to be the long, sharp teeth of a charging bear. I took a few deep breaths, trying to picture my parents, hearing branches snap at the bear's approach. Soon they stopped and I braced myself, shocked to feel not the clamp of a bear's jaw around my throat, but a gentle touch brushing my knee.
Not even daring to breathe, I opened my eyes. The black bear stood before me, not even a foot away from me, several stalks of lavender coneflower from the side of the trail in his mouth. He dropped them on my lap before turning and heading back into the woods, his green eyes seeming to hold an almost human expression of pain.
I stared at his back for several seconds, stunned. I'd never heard of a wild bear bringing something to a human before, almost as a gesture of helpfulness or caring, like a pet dog might. He stopped about ten feet into the woods, not looking at me, but dipping his head in something like a gesture towards the trail ahead, almost as if telling me to keep moving.
I grabbed the lavender coneflowers and stood up on quaking legs, wiping my eyes, daring to believe that I might actually make it to the cabin. With long, brisk, and not-silent-anymore strides, I began heading down the trail to the cabin, the bear shadowing me. But I didn't believe anymore that his intent was to kill me. I didn't know exactly what I believed his intent was. But after a couple of minutes of walking, I believed I was going to make it to the cabin alive.
A short while later, we came within a few dozen feet of it, and the black bear slowed his pace. I kept striding on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me, green eyes glinting in the sun, before heading deeper into the woods and ambling away.
After sprinting across the yard and up the porch steps, I flung open the front door, slammed it behind me, and threw the bolt. Clutching the lavender coneflowers, I leaned my back against the door, eyes closed, panting, one strange thought rising above all others. There was no species of black bear on the planet that had jewel-green eyes.