Bearing My Soul: A Paranormal Werebear Shifter Romance

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Bearing My Soul copyright @ 2014 by Ellen Graves. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

BEARING MY SOUL

CHAPTER ONE

A
biting chill crept beneath the worn blankets, as the first hazy rays of dawn pierced between thin curtains. The warmth from the fire the night before dissipated almost the instant the flames died. I had slept in a t-shirt and sweat pants to keep from freezing. Now, the cold was finding its way under the blankets. I forced myself to clamber from bed and face a frigid morning in an unfamiliar, old house.

My first order of business was to build a fire in the hearth. I tried using kindling sticks and matches. The flame only flickered wildly and died, just like it had the night before. So, I used a starter log again. As I lit the wrapper, the cool, damp air reminded me that I only had five starter logs left.

I shoved the damper handle one way, and then, the other. Finally, thick smoke billowed out into the room. Once more, I shoved the handle the opposite way. The smoke subsided.

Hurrying into the kitchen, I snatched a muffin from the counter. Then, I raced back into the main room. I huddled near the crackling logs as I ate breakfast. I peered out the large window and into the sprawling backyard. The thick woods loomed just beyond. Brown leaves tumbled in the misty breeze. It looked cold. I stood and stepped onto the back porch to get a feel for what the weather was like. As I did, I closed the door softly behind me.

The smell of autumn was heavy in the air. It was brisk, but not icy. I scanned the overgrown backyard and winced. I had just started to realize how much work awaited me.

The subdued movement of the neighbor milling around in his backyard caught my attention. I stepped to the porch railing and rested both hands on the cold wood. I watched him.

He was young. He seemed energetic for such a chilly morning. I swallowed back an uncomfortable interest, as I took in his wavy mane of blond hair. His broad shoulders were evident beneath his thick jacket. I continued to watch him, as my skin turned cold in the gusts and my body started to shiver.

He looked over to me. His smoky dark eyes locked suddenly on mine. A shock of embarrassment swelled in me, as he caught me watching. I looked sharply away from him for only a short moment before I looked back again.

Deep, troubling tremors rolled through me as our eyes again met. Our gaze held tightly to each other for an uncomfortably long moment. I struggled to look away, but my eyes carefully studied him against my will. His face was strong and commanding. His cheeks were gruff with rugged stubble. His lips were soft and inviting. The sudden yearning in his eyes was unnerving and foreign to me; yet, it was oddly comforting.

His long stare took me in, as much as I took him in with mine. I suddenly felt exposed, as I stood outside in the cold wearing only sweat pants and a t-shirt. My nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric.

Embarrassed, I forced myself to turn and hurry back inside. The door slammed tight behind me. I was shaking, as I stood there with my bare feet on the chilly wood floor. A strange heat swelled through me. My mind involuntarily mulled over his image, but otherwise I was freezing.

“I think I’ll start with the indoor work today,” I muttered. The words echoed through the small room. The solitude settled in at the sound of my voice. I instantly regretted speaking out loud.

I pulled on an old pair of jeans, a thick bra, and a warmer shirt. Then, I scrambled to scour the kitchen and bathrooms. The cracked and uneven tiles grasped at the dirt and mildew. They forced me to scrub mercilessly, just to break it loose. Only a few weeks earlier, I had eagerly agreed to care for the historic country home during the winter season. I had not expected it to be so much more difficult to clean than what I was used to.

My cell phone startled me. It chimed out and broke the unnerving quiet. I was grateful for the break.

“Andrea here,” I coughed into my cell, as I dropped the scrub brush next to the bucket on the floor.

“Hey, sis,” Tammy laughed. “Did I wake you up?”

“Of course not,” I was a bit offended. “I’ve been up for hours now. I’ve got a job here, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” she teased. “So what are you doing today?”

I drew in a long breath, while I stared in dismay at the rust around the gaping kitchen sink. “Once I’m done soaking in the hot tub, I have to endure a massage and pedicure,” I joked. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this torture.”

Tammy giggled softly. I missed the sound of her laughter, maybe more so as I worked my ass off kneeling on rock-hard tile. I knew I’d miss it before I even left home. “You always have something funny to say, don’t you?” she chirped.

“Isn’t that why you call?”

“Partly,” her voice trembled and trailed off. She was silent for a long moment. I cringed. I could hear her stifle a sob. “It’s really not the same here, you know.” I felt a familiar aching for home.

“Hey, it’s only been one day.” I attempted to sound upbeat, but I came across as despondently useless. “It’s bound to get better.”

“I think mom might try giving up drinking again,” she hastily interjected. “If she stops, maybe you could come back.”

“Maybe,” I forced the word out, but it sounded as deceitful as it was. “You only have another year or so before you’re eighteen. Then, you could leave, too,” I suggested. I could hear from her heavy sigh that a year seemed terribly long.

“So, how is the first day?”

I clenched my teeth and stared at the old fixtures and layers of grime. “I think this is doable,” I grumbled. “Not easy, but I didn’t really expect easy.”

“What made you decide to take a job as a caretaker anyway?” she pried.

“It was the allure of seclusion,” I responded cheerfully. I repeated the line just as I had rehearsed it, in case anyone should ask. “I wanted to get back to nature. This little town nestled in the towering trees of the Northwest is just the place to do it.”

“Hmm,” she grunted. “The fact that the job offered room and board to someone who couldn’t get an apartment on her own didn’t have anything to do with it?”

I grinned. She wasn’t stupid. That was a shame. “I hadn’t really thought of that,” I said, as I laughed. “I guess that was a nice perk, though.” I drew in a bracing breath. “I need to get back to it, though. I still need to get outside today and get some trees planted. Mrs. Hall said they’d been sitting in the drive since Thursday. If I don’t get to them soon, they’ll die. I’m really glad you called.”

She was quiet for a long time.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

She sniffled. “Of course,” she assured me. “I’ll be great. Don’t worry about me. You know I can take care of myself. I’ll check up on you once in a while, okay? I worry about you being in that strange house alone.”

I shivered involuntarily. “Mrs. Hall said the neighbors are always helpful. I should be fine. But... thanks for worrying just the same. I’ll talk with you soon.”

“Bye.” She disconnected.

“That’s enough inside work today,” I said to myself, loudly this time. The extra volume only accentuated the deepening isolation.

I pulled on a thick coat. As I stepped outside, the chilly wind swept up beneath it. Still, I set my jaw and grabbed a shovel from the shed. I hurried over to the first flag. It indicated where Mrs. Hall wanted me to plant a tree. I shoved the blade, swift and hard, into the dark soil.

It sank only an inch or two. I grabbed the handle tightly with both hands and jammed it deeper. It didn’t move enough to notice a difference. Finally, I pried a tiny piece of dirt from the ground. I tossed it a foot or so away. Then, I jabbed at the earth once more.

I still only got an inch or so into the dirt. Resolved, I poked and prodded with the shovel in angry desperation. After what felt like forever, I had only managed to clear out a small hole. Meanwhile, my hands were getting sore and cold. I gave the pathetic hole a mean glare.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end with the sudden sensation of being watched. Looking deeper into the woods, I searched for wild animals. Nothing stirred. The trees were strangely quiet. I glanced over at the house next door, but no one was outside or standing in the windows. I was alone.

Nervously, I made my way around the house to where the potted trees waited. Grabbing one of the pots, I yanked and pulled at it. It barely moved at all. Straining, I bent my knees and put my back into it. It moved even less than before. I swore at it under my breath. Walking to the other side, I pushed against it.

I squealed, as the tree began to topple over. I grasped it hard by the trunk with both hands and pulled it upright with all my weight.

At last, I submitted to defeat. I resolved to do better tomorrow. Conscientiously, I tapped the loose dirt from the tip of the shovel. Then, I put it away. I hurried inside and into the bedroom. I was anxious to shower, drive to town, and get the grocery shopping done. Maybe I can’t build fires or dig holes, but shopping is no problem for me.

I closed the bedroom curtains as tight as they would go; but, there was still a crack between them. Through it, I could see the neighbor’s house. It sat on a slight hill and seemed to overlook the little historic home I was in. It was far enough away to give me some space, but not so far away that I wouldn’t be perfectly visible through an open window.

I tried tossing a thin blanket over the curtain rod, but it kept sliding off. At last, I gave up. The glare from the late afternoon sun would likely keep out any prying eyes.

I shut and locked the bedroom door. Then, I slipped from my clothes. It felt weird being naked and completely alone in the old house. Every noise I made reverberated from the bare walls. It was like the place mocked my every move. I clenched my teeth and covered my breasts with one arm, as I stepped pensively onto the cold tile floor in the bathroom. I tried not to look at the cracked and tarnished porcelain, as I reached into the tiny shower and turned on the water. The pipes squealed painfully, as I waited for the hot water to start. Then, I climbed in.

I washed quickly and scurried from the shower. Wrapped in towels, I made my way back into the bedroom. I pulled some clothes over my still-damp body. Once I was dressed, I felt more relaxed. After staring into a nearly empty refrigerator for several long minutes, I decided on a small yogurt and an apple for lunch. Finally, I was in my car and headed for town.

While passing the house next door, I thought I captured a glimpse of someone in the front window. If so, they were watching me leave. I couldn’t be certain.

As I pulled into the little town, I noticed that it looked as though it had never made it out of the 1940s. The old brick and stone façade fronts were quaint and charming; but, as I stepped onto the bare planked floors of the general store, I immediately missed the modern grocery stores from back home.

“Can I help you find something?” said a calming voice from behind the counter. I turned to see an elderly lady smiling suspiciously at me.

“Yogurt, butter, flour, and maybe some ground beef?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed, then she grinned brightly. “Are you that Andrea Sheppard they told me was coming to take care of the old Hall place?”

I sighed in relief and nodded. “I just need some supplies.”

“Of course, of course,” she chanted, stumbling her way around the counter. She grabbed a bent old shopping cart and guided me around the narrow aisles of the store. “We’ve got everything you need, sweetie. Just leave it to me. I’ll get you all taken care of. My name is Margaret. I own the shop.”

She showed me large cans of fruit before dropping them into the cart, along with bags of frozen vegetables and a loaf of bread. After adding a few boxes of pasta, a pound of cheese, and some wrapped beef, she rang up my tab at the counter. I chuckled to myself at her eagerness and stopped to gaze around the old place, as she tapped the prices into the register.

My brow furrowed. The aisle at the far side of the store was lined almost entirely with jars of honey. I turned to the old lady and motioned inquisitively over to the honey aisle. She interrupted my thought, as she said, “If you can’t make it to town, my son, Tom, can run some things up to you. He’s really got nothing better to do, you know.”