Husband Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire Book 1) (15 page)

And she did. So hard, she could taste blood. Something instinctual bloomed within her. Some impulse to claim her man that had long been buried. His shaft throbbed inside of her, but he was moving more slowly now, heaving breath as she pulled her teeth from him.

With a slow, savage smile, he pulled the back of her hair and angled her face up to his. There was red on his lips when he murmured, “Good mate, letting the world know who I belong to. I’ve wanted to put my mark over Cole’s since the first night I saw it.”

Elyse clenched her teeth at the memory of the awful night Cole had given it to her. He was drunk and had hurt her. “You can see it?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Not anymore. You were never meant to be McCall’s claim, Elyse. You were meant to be mine.”

Ian poured the last pot of hot water into the tub near Elyse’s feet. The heat must have been too much because his mate scrunched up her knees and clasped them to her chest, avoiding the steaming front of the tub.

She hadn’t said much since their coupling in the barn. Instead, she’d drawn into herself and allowed him to pamper her in silence. He’d cleaned her gently with a cloth, then had given into his need to care for her by drawing her a bath.

Josiah’s admission about Miller earlier had Ian’s bear roaring for blood, but he couldn’t explain that to Elyse. Not now. He would tell her everything on Afognak when he showed her his burned den and explained all the secrets he’d been keeping from her, including the note he kept hidden in his things—the one Cole had asked him to deliver.

Ian needed to tread softly so he didn’t lose her.

“Did you not like it?” he asked low, kneeling down near the edge of the tub. “I won’t be that rough again. I’m sorry.”

Elyse rested her cheek against her knees and gave him a shy smile that buckled his insides. “Don’t make that promise, bear-man. I liked seeing the real you.”

“If I’m ever too rough—”

“You weren’t.” Her gold-green eyes were sincere in the flickering light of the candle he’d lit and placed on the sink.

With a relieved sigh, he ran a washcloth gently around the torn skin on her shoulder. She winced when he got too close, and he hated himself. Hated that he wasn’t human and better for her. She shouldn’t have to deal with an animal’s whims.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could see Cole’s bite mark?”

“I thought you hadn’t mentioned it because it hurt to think about. I hated it, though.” Ian shook his head to ward off the new wave of rage that threatened to take him. “Elyse, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you. Not ever.”

As soft as a breath, she asked, “What does it mean?”

“My mark?”

She dipped her chin once.

“It’s a claiming mark. I never thought I would give a woman one, but then…”

“Then you met me?”

“Yeah. You’re important.”

She reached across the porcelain ledge and drew a wet finger gently over the half-healed bite mark she’d made on his chest.

Ian swallowed hard and closed his eyes against how good her touch felt on his skin. “Can I tell you something?”

“Tell me everything.”

“I was so fucking proud when you bit me back.”

“You’re proud of me?” Why the hell did she sound so baffled by that? Could she not see she owned him, heart and soul?

“Elyse, whatever Cole made you feel about yourself, he was wrong. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’ve been dealt blow after blow, and still you are here, fighting and clawing to keep the life you love. You’re a badass.”

“A badass,” she repeated dreamily. “You know, I think I like that compliment even more than if you told me I’m beautiful.”

He smiled and ran his fingertip across her soft cheek. “You’re both.”

“I think I’ll grow to hate the snow,” she whispered.

The moisture that rimmed her eyes split him open and laid him bare. For the first time in his life, he hated the snow too. Snow meant change. It meant winter was on its way. The cold, white powder was Mother Nature’s reminder that they would be separated by sleep soon. “I wish I was different for you.”

A single tear slid from the corner of her eye and dropped into the bath water that rippled around her. Elyse slid her hand up the back of his and pressed his palm against her cheek. “I don’t. You’re perfect the way you are.”

Ian let off a shaky breath and leaned his chin on the tub just to be closer to her.

“Ian?”

“Hmm?”

“When you wake up next spring, I’ll still be in this. I’ll still want you to be my husband.”

This woman… Ian swallowed hard and brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead. She was everything good about his life now. How anyone so brave, determined, loyal, and beautiful had picked a man like him, he wouldn’t ever understand. All he could do was try his best to make her happy when he could because that right there, her slow smile, was the thing he coveted most in this world.

He pulled her left hand to his lips and kissed the gold band on her finger. “Big wedding or small?”

“Small. And I want it to be here.”

“Done,” he promised.

Elyse leaned her cheek onto the bathtub ledge, right near his, so he let his lips linger on her wet hair and ran a light finger up and down her spine.

She bore his mark now, and he bore hers, and he would do anything to keep her.

And now, while he was awake enough to be of use to her, he would give her the tools she would need to protect herself from what was coming.

Elyse didn’t understand yet, but she would. Miller asking Josiah about her meant she hadn’t ever really escaped the McCalls. That crazy werewolf had killed one of her cows. It wasn’t vengeance that made him hunt her herd.

Miller was marking his territory.

And Ian would be damned if he went to sleep without teaching Elyse how to defend herself from the wolves.

Starting tomorrow, his beautiful badass would become a weapon.

“Again,” Ian murmured.

Elyse lifted the rifle to her shoulder and put the scope on the target of the wolf Ian had sketched out on brown butcher paper and nailed to a tree a hundred yards off.

“Tighter to your shoulder. Even tighter. Spare your body the kick so you won’t be sore.”

“Ha,” she muttered. Tomorrow was going to suck. No doubt she would be black and blue since she hadn’t listened to Ian’s advice the first hour, and now her shoulder ached like she’d taken a solid kick from Demon’s hoof.

“Remember what I said. Repeat it in your mind, and with enough practice, it’ll become second nature.”

Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Sight on the target. Focus on your muscles. Don’t shake. Hold the gun tight and steady. Three slow breaths, and on the third, hold it, and brush your finger on the trigger. Don’t jerk it. Brush it like paint on a canvas.

Boom!

Reload in case the animal needs a second shot.

Ian had been working with her for six straight hours on every gun she owned. She now knew the name of each and its ammunition, and what gun was best for each situation.

“Good,” he said low. “You want to see the damage?”

“Yeah.” Not because she needed to see if she’d hit the mark. Bark had flown with each shot so she knew she’d been on target, but her shoulder needed a rest. Ian didn’t have to know that little tidbit, though.

Elyse turned the gun back over and shoved the bullet back down out of the chamber and safely into the magazine, then slid the bolt in place with a satisfying click of metal to keep the bullet out of the chamber. This was the first layer of protection, and the second was when she physically clicked the safety into place. Chambering the bullet was as easy as pulling her bolt handle back, slamming the bullet forward, and releasing that safety button right before she pulled the trigger. She and Ian had worked on that over and over until it was as natural as breathing. He seemed just as determined to have her constantly aware of gun safety as he was of working on her marksmanship.

Anticipation surged through her as they hiked closer to the target, and she saw where she’d really been hitting. This was her closest grouping all day, and the grin on Ian’s face said he was proud of her improvement, too. He hugged her against his side and said, “Woman, I think you’ve got this.”

Damn, that man knew how to lift her up. He was a good teacher who didn’t ever put her down. If she messed up, he would simply go over and over the correct way until she understood the how and why. His comments weren’t ever biting either. Ian was patient, calm, and generous with letting her know when she did something right. And the beaming smile on his face now made her heart swell. She was glad she hadn’t given up earlier when her arm had first begun to get sore. From the start, she should’ve trusted him. The tighter against her shoulder she held the weapons, the less recoil she endured when she pulled that trigger.

“I need to eat,” he said.

“Again?” He’d been eating constantly all day.

His smile turned sad. “That’s how it gets…”

“At the end? Like real bears do…you have to eat a lot right before you go to sleep, right?”

Ian led her back toward the table he’d dragged out for the rifles. “Right, but I still don’t feel tired, Elyse. We still have time.”

He kept saying that, but he could never tell her how much time. Shouldering a couple of her rifles while he shoved ammo into his pockets, she said, “I’ve got work to do in the house today.”

“Yeah?”

“Laundry. Contain your jealousy.”

“I can help if you want.”

Imagining him washing her delicates with his big, rough hands, she snickered and shook her head. “Polite decline.”

Back in the cabin, Ian rummaged around the kitchen while she gathered dirty clothes. Hers were spread out here and there as was her habit—some in the corner, some over the chair in their bedroom, some on the end of the bed, and a small pile in the bathroom. Ian was cleaner by nature than her. How much of that was animal instinct, she couldn’t tell.

The soap was bubbling up nicely in the tub, but the water was slow as molasses today, so she dumped the clothes in and left the spout running as she strode across the living room into the guest bedroom, humming to herself. At the kitchen table, Ian was tucking into leftover hamburger pie smothered in cheese. The aroma was a delicious temptation, and while the laundry soaked in the tub, she was going to eat a piece with him.

Ian hadn’t slept in the guest room in weeks, but this was where he kept his belongings, piled neatly on and around the rocking chair in the corner. And beside an empty trash bag he’d used as luggage was a small mountain of wadded up clothes. She dug through the pockets of his pants, grinning at the empty bullet casings and small tools she found, and when she came to a back pocket with a folded piece of white paper, she rushed and put it with the small pile of treasures she was building on the dresser. It was the writing on the other side that caught her attention, though. It read
Elyse
.

She froze, and the pair of jeans she was rifling through fell from her hands onto the floor near her boots. That wasn’t Ian’s handwriting.

Dread filled her as she frowned at the familiar scrawl. Small letters and all capitalized, and she’d only seen one man write like this. Cole.

Slowly, she pulled the folded paper from the dresser and stared at her printed name. The paper crinkled as she opened it, fold by fold, then held it up in the window light so she could better see the small lettering.

Elyse,

If you are reading this, well, then I’m already gone. This is my seventh attempt at writing this damned note. It’s hard to explain myself or to tell you how sorry I am without giving too much of my life away. My secrets are better off buried with me. I disappointed you, and me. I should’ve never raised a hand to you, but my mistakes started long before that, and you and I both know you held onto me longer than you should have. You’re good, Elyse. The best woman I’ve ever met, and I strapped you with my shit. It wasn’t fair. There was never a chance for me to be okay or to be a good match for you. It has become really fucking obvious as I sit here in this cabin thinking on all the bad I’ve done to you that I never had a chance of making you happy. I can’t even remember you smiling when we were together. Only crying.

It’s the end of my life, and that’s okay with me. Don’t mistake this for a plea for understanding. I’ve done horrible things. More than you even know, and I deserve the end that’s coming.

I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For all of it.

Cole

Elyse gasped quietly against her tightening throat and put her hand over her mouth as twin tears streamed down her face. Why the fuck did Ian have this note?

Miller’s voice whispered through her mind.
He died of a bear attack.

Blinking hard to clear her vision, she looked out the bedroom door. From here, she could see Ian’s legs under the kitchen table as he ate, but nothing more. In a daze, she shuffled from the room and held up the note.

Ian glanced up, and the greeting smile fell from his face as he stared at the piece of paper she clutched in her hand. “I can explain.”

“Did you kill him?”

Ian stood slowly and held out his hands. “It wasn’t like how you’re thinking, Elyse.”

“Did you kill him?” she screamed. “I don’t give a fuck about anything else except ‘yes’ or ‘no’ right now Ian.” She swallowed a sob and whispered, “He died of a bear attack. That’s what his brother told me. Was it your bear that did it?”

Ian angled his face away, but his bright blue eyes never left her. He swallowed hard and nodded once.

“Say it out loud.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

The word rocked her back on her heels. Yes? Ian had killed her ex-boyfriend, and now he was here, eating at her table. She felt sick as she stepped backward. Her shoulders hit the wall as she shook with sobbing.

“Elyse, I was going to tell you everything—”

“When, Ian? When were you going to tell me you murdered him?”

“It wasn’t murder.” Ian paced behind the table and gave her a warning look. “He knew I was coming for him.”

“You killed him, Ian!”

“Because I had to!”

She let off a furious shriek and bolted for the key hook. She yanked the jangling keychain from it and startled when Ian gripped her upper arm. He was too fast. Faster than he’d ever let her see. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Elyse, don’t go like this. Just let me tell you what happened.”

“I need space. If you care for me at all, you’ll give it to me.”

Ian was shaking his head, eyes wide and churning, chest heaving.

“Please, let me go.” She shrugged out of his loosening grasp and bolted out the front door.

Ian watched her drive away from the front porch. His hands were linked behind his head, and his face…she’d never seen such despair in a man’s eyes.

She ripped her gaze away from him to spare herself more pain. He’d brought this on himself.

And as she blasted down the dirt road away from the homestead, she forced herself not to look back.

Sobbing, she threw Cole’s note into the seat beside her and hit the gas on a straightaway. She’d made mistakes with Cole. Held onto him as he stole her happiness. Stealing, cheating, hurting her. She’d turned into a zombie for a man, and it had changed her from the bones out.

She wouldn’t do that again. Overlooking a man’s deep-rooted faults for love wasn’t something she was willing to do anymore. Not after Ian had showed her she deserved better. Goddammit, he’d
been
better. He’d pushed her to become stronger than she’d ever been, and for what? The entire time he had been hiding this from her. The sting of betrayal was like a slap against cold skin. She screamed at the pain in her chest and slammed her open palm against Ian’s steering wheel over and over.

How stupid she must seem to him. How naïve. He’d killed Cole, then made a move on her. The first moments she’d met Ian came back into blindingly bright focus. He’d been holding Cole’s letter then and seemed confused by the advertisement. He hadn’t been there to apply to be her husband at all. He was there to deliver a dead man’s message. A message from a man
he killed
.

She’d lost sight of what she wanted. The advertisement was meant for an older Alaskan man made of gristle and bone, who was willing to be a friend, legally bound to her and her land. The entire point of mail-ordering a husband had been to leave love, romance, and feelings out of it completely. This was supposed to be an emotionless transaction. One that her closed-down heart could handle.

Instead, she’d fallen for a pretty face, a pretty body, and pretty lies.

And now she was breaking apart. Shattering into a million pieces. She was a mirror, and Cole had carelessly slammed his fist into her. Her heart had barely survived that man. All of the good parts of herself had been sacrificed in the last couple of years, and she’d been so determined to discover something strong about herself again. She needed a man to help her with her homestead, but she didn’t need him wrecking her heart.

Her mistakes stretched on and on across her mind, vast and endless like a desert, and everything Ian had ever said to her was a mirage.

The landscape of her homestead passed in a blur outside the windows as she cried her anguish. She’d lost so much, and dammit, she’d never complained. She’d accepted her father’s absence and had worked through her childhood insecurities that he’d somehow left because of her. Lash. She’d stayed quiet under Mom’s constant criticism. Lash. Marta’s funeral. Lash. Uncle Jim’s funeral. Lash. Cole had laid her heart wide open because she’d been ready. She’d wanted someone to stick around so badly, she’d clung to a horrible man. Lash, lash, lash.

But the biggest pain of all was this. She’d told Ian everything. Shared all of herself, her fears, her hopes, because she’d been so sure he was doing the same for her. She’d been convinced he’d laid himself bare in those quiet moments between working their fingers to the bone, and in bed after intimacy, and in the early mornings when the snuggled closer to avoid the coming day, and when he tracked her down and interrupted her chores just to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

She’d believed him. She’d believed in him.

Elyse had fallen completely while Ian Silver had only cared for the wounded bird left reeling by the man he’d murdered.

She hunched into herself as the ache in her middle doubled.

This wasn’t love—not for Ian.

This was guilt and pity.

****

Elyse nodded when the bartender, Eric, asked if she wanted another. She fingered the edge of the folded note and wiped her damp lashes on the sleeve of her jacket. Whiskey was the only thing that made her feel better. It numbed her. The scorching amber liquid made the smallness she felt less important.

Even the darkest end of the bar top wasn’t near black enough for her right now. The light above her had gone out, and though it flickered to life every once in a while, it was the only corner in this whole place that felt comfortable.