The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (41 page)

“Holy shit,” was all Deacon could manage to say.

“Holy shit? Your girlfriend’s a fucking lion?!” John said, his tone that of an excited teenage boy seeing the new Star Wars trailer for the first time. “Are you fucking kidding me? Gramps is gonna be fucking pissed!”

Deacon turned his full attention to Maynard, assessing the severity of his wounds. His mind was racing. What he’d seen was impossible, wasn’t it? He fought to focus, pull his mind from Maggie, from her being alone in the woods and upset.

Oh my god, she was a lion?

Focus, Deacon. She’ll be alright. Focus.

“Shut up and get over here, dick! We need to call Lara, now.”

Maynard was bleeding profusely from a wound on his side, and Deacon couldn’t tell whether the wound on his inner thigh had simply reopened, or was now coupled by new wounds. His chest was torn up, as were his shoulders and face. Still, he was breathing, but only half conscious.

John scurried across the rocky clearing, snatching his phone from his jeans pocket to call for help.

Deacon took the phone, scrambling to dial Lara’s number directly. He didn’t have time for 911; he needed to find Maggie.

“Deacon, where the hell did you go? You didn’t say a word -”

“I know, I’m sorry. I need you down on the rez. How long do you think you’ll be?”

Deacon rolled into his house at three in the morning, his skin sticky from salt spray and sweat. He’d traveled with Lara back to the clinic, delivering Maynard Talbot to the care of doctors, fighting to find a way to explain finding Maynard mauled as he was, while also explaining his own wounds. Deacon’s jaw was bleeding, as were the bite marks on his shoulder, and there were claw marks across his chest, pouring down his stomach and into the waistband of his EMT slacks. John and Deacon lied, claiming to have found Maynard in the midst of being attacked, and in stepping in to save him, became the victims of the bear as well.

Lara didn’t question them beyond a slack jaw and a look of sincere respect. To her, fighting a bear with one’s bare hands was awe-inspiring. Deacon wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she knew the truth.

Deacon fought with indecision at the clinic, patching himself up in the ambulance as they made their way with John following behind in his truck. Once there, Deacon couldn’t decide whether to stay and wait for Maggie to come for her father or to return to the woods and search for her.

Was she hurt? Was she well enough to be in public? Deacon remembered his own first shifts, the ones that came after a long break, or the night his grandfather first took him to the woods to be with him when he shifted for the first time.

Those times were often troubling – rough on the spirit, and it wasn’t always easy to return to the human side.

Deacon waited only a moment or two at the clinic, then decided. Lara gave her blessing when he left, Deacon letting John drive him back to his car.

He decided to search for her rather than wait, because there were no bears to hurt her in the fluorescent lit halls of the clinic, but there were in the woods. If she came to the clinic that night, she would be safe. If she was still in the woods, she wouldn’t be.

As Deacon slipped into the trees again in search of her, he questioned himself.

How unsafe could she really be? She’s a fucking mountain lion.

Deacon sent John home to his wife and made his way into the woods. He hunted for her for hours, catching her scent on the peninsula, then losing it again at the main road.  He’d made three full passes from one end of that stretch of forest to the other with no luck beyond bleeding through his bandages. The blood at the hem of his jeans was sticky, tearing at the hair just under his navel. He felt dirty and hungry – and useless.

Perhaps he would go back to the clinic to wait.

Deacon returned to his SUV, inhaling deeply as he stood just outside the driver’s door. Still nothing.

It took less than ten minutes to get home. He shot Lara a quick text, asking her for an update on Maynard Talbot if she had one, then climbed out of the car in his driveway.

Deacon took a step toward his front door.

He stopped, weighing the feel of the air. It was cold, bordering on frigid in the late hour, and the woods had gone quiet. No animal made a sound in the distance. Even the trees had gone still.

He was being stalked.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the dirt road, then toward the woods behind his house. There was nothing to be seen. Still he felt it, growing more intense with each step he took toward the front door of his house. Despite all his strength and knowing well what he was, Deacon felt his stomach shoot into his throat.

“I know you’re there, Maggie. Will you come out?”

The silence seemed to only deepen as he waited for a response. Then movement caught him so off guard, he jumped, moving away from the house as Maggie appeared from just around the corner of the building.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Deacon stared at her for a long moment. She was still naked from her shift, her arms crossed over her chest to shield herself from him. Yet, the patch of dark hair between her legs she didn’t bother to hide. He slipped out of his shirt, handing it to her as he averted his eyes.

She snatched it and moved toward him, hand outstretched. She stopped herself. “You’re hurt.”

Deacon glanced down at the bandages across his shoulder and chest, now brownish red and seeped through. He half hissed to see them, not out of pain, but out of displeasure at her seeing him bleeding. He didn’t want her worrying about his state. She had enough on her mind.

“Your father’s going to be alright. We got him squared away at the clinic. Nothing life threatening.”

He wasn’t halfway through this sentence before Maggie’s hand shot to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. Deacon stepped toward her, wanting to go to her and wrap his arms around her, but again he held himself at bay. Though she wore his EMT shirt, she was still naked.

Deacon shook his head, scolding himself. “Do you want to come inside? I can get you some clothes.”

Maggie fought to settle herself as she wiped her eyes. Finally after a long pause, she nodded. Deacon hopped up the front steps and held his front door open for her to enter his quiet house.

CHAPTER TWELVE

His house smelled of him. In every floorboard and every book on the shelf; it all smelled of him.

Maggie’s heart was pounding like war drums in her chest as she walked across his kitchen, listening to his bustling in his bedroom to find her something to wear. He reappeared with a University of Maine sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. He handed them to her in the kitchen, averting his eyes from her as though he might offend by simply acknowledging her presence. She took the clothes, pulling them against her chest, the smell of him still on them – he’d worn this sweatshirt recently. It was intoxicating.

“I’m sorry to show up on your doorstep like this,” she said, fighting to get each word out. The shift had left her unbalanced, fighting with sudden impulses that kept calling to her. “I just didn’t have anywhere else -”

“Maggie – Maggie, you’re fine. I’m
glad
you’re here. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Deacon moved toward her and every muscle in her body tensed, screaming for her to go at him. She flinched in the wake of it.

He faltered. He’d noticed.

She watched him a moment, confusion and distress fighting with an overwhelming desire for closeness.

She’d spent over a decade hiding what she was from everyone she held dear, watched as the only mother she’d ever known stopped loving her in just the instant it took to see Maggie as a lion. That disdain wasn’t just in the discovery that her child wasn’t a bear; there was something more to it. It was as though she’d become an intruder, a strange and unclean thing, like her mere presence invited plague and pestilence. It felt as though being normal, being anything but what she was would have been acceptable. Now she stood in the kitchen of this man she barely knew, and he was well aware of what she was, yet he didn’t recoil.

From the smell of him, he seemed to enjoy her company very much.

Beneath the smell of blood.

Maggie frowned at the sight of his bloodied bandages, and Deacon followed her gaze.

He exhaled through pursed lips. “I should probably shower; clean myself up. You can use my bedroom to change? Or do you want to shower? I can wait if you want to go first.”

He was fidgeting as he spoke, betraying nervous energy. She didn’t blame him for his mannerisms; she was half naked, after all.

“You’re not – you’re not repulsed by me?” She asked, and the words surprised her.

Deacon frowned. “No. God, no.”

Maggie shook her head. “But I’m not like you.”

“No, I know that. You’re amazing. It’s amazing.”

Her eyes filled with tears instantly. These words sounded like a pardon from death row. He couldn’t mean it, could he?

“How can you say that?”

“This is why you called off the engagement? Because you didn’t want anyone to know?”

Maggie nodded. “I’m – being what I am, it wouldn’t be welcome in my clan. They’d see me as a threat. Papa kept it a secret because he knew if they found out someone like me lived among them – threatened their bloodline – they’d kill me.”

“Kill you? But you’re beautiful. You’re so strong,” Deacon said, inching toward her.

Maggie’s face contorted in a mix of grief and gratitude. How could he say such things?

“You’re of a different mind than my people. To them I’m a virus.”

“How can they think that?”

She shut her eyes tight, frustrated. “Because any children I have will be like me.”

Deacon paused, his mouth falling open just so. This fact hadn’t dawned on him, it seemed.

“All the Talbots care about is continuing their line. Keep the bear line alive. I’m worse than a norm, a norm can have bear children. I can’t.”

Maggie’s lips twisted as she fought tears. She was confessing her greatest flaw to the first man she’d ever truly wanted.

I’m not what you want. I can’t give you what you want.

Now, any affection he may have offered would be usurped by the knowledge that she wasn’t a suitable mate. She’d fought to spare him that discovery. She’d severed ties with everything she’d ever known to keep her secret, and to keep from deceiving a man she didn’t even know.

Now she knew him, and it felt like the world was falling away.

Deacon stared at her feet, his eyes darting about. “Your children will all be lions?”

Maggie frowned and nodded. She pointed to herself. “Last breeding female of the Swaawa Clan. At least that’s what Papa believes.”

Deacon stood with his mouth agape, finally allowing himself to look at her without modesty.

“That’s why you smell different,” he said, as though speaking to himself.

She gave a sad laugh. “Yeah, and why none of the Talbot boys wanted to date me. Said I smelled funny.”

“You smell amazing,” Deacon said, stepping toward her.

She fought not to recoil. Somehow, his approach at a moment like this felt almost threatening. How could he want to be close to her knowing what she was?

“You’re kind to say that, but I know what I am. I know it’s not -”

He took another step, reaching for the bundle of clothes in her hands. She startled, clutching them against her as he moved forward.

“What are you doing?”

He stepped in fully, coming to stand over her as he pulled the sweatshirt from her arms. “I don’t know. I think the shift hasn’t fully worn off. Makes me want to do what I couldn’t do earlier.”

His hand grazed her side, moving around her middle as the clothes fell to the floor. That same sudden impulse triggered in every nerve, telling her go after him, to attack him and tear him to pieces. It was overpowering and impossible to explain, but she fought it, her breath catching in her throat.

“Stop. Stop,” she said, half wishing she hadn’t. “You don’t have to -”

He pushed her into the kitchen counter, leaning over her as he set his hands on the counter behind her. She fought to steady her breathing, finally letting herself look at him. His crystal blue eyes were darker now, intention written clear on every inch of his face. She shuddered. She could smell the bear still on him, and the hair on her arms stood on end. He felt threatening in some primal place, like a beast that could hunt her and hurt her. Yet that threat seemed to only trigger her desire to tear into him, sink her teeth through his skin, taste his blood, and know the way his voice caught in his throat when he moaned her name.

She swallowed, turning away as her face began to burn. If he didn’t leave her be, she’d lose this battle. She’d lose it and they’d both bear the brunt of the experience.

“I can smell that you want me, Maggie.”

She exhaled in a long shaky breath.

Jesus, did you have to say that, Deacon?

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but – if you do…”

Deacon pressed the tip of his nose to her forehead, inhaling her deeply. The smell of him surrounded her now – the subtle touch of laundry detergent, deodorant, and bear. And beneath all that, blood. Somehow, the combination fueled something primal, like an animal that catches the scent of prey.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself,” she said in barely a whisper. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Deacon rooted his nose against her hair, whispering his response. “I can’t wait.”

He touched a hand under her chin, turning her face up to him. He brought his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers, inhaling sharply to tease her. Her whole body melted against him. She let her fingertips touch his arm, and his blue eyes grew even darker.

“Say yes, Maggie. Say yes and let me have everything you’ve fucking got.”

The challenge turned his voice from something subtle and sultry to full blown growl. Her whole body tensed like a snake just before it strikes.

She snarled up at him, “Yes.”

She went for him, teeth bared, but before she could make contact with his skin, his hands clutched her backside, heaving her up onto the countertop as he pinned himself between her legs. She cried out in surprise, feeling the warmth of his skin and the solid shape of his body against her. He grabbed her thighs, yanking them up and around him as he pressed himself against her, taking her hair in his hand as he kissed her, violently. He was so powerful, so strong, he could have her any way he wanted. Yet, she was strong too, and she would not submit to him without a fight.

Maggie grabbed his sandy brown hair in her fist and yanked his head back, glaring up at him as she wrapped her legs around his hips. His eyes went wide, and he reached down to his trousers, ripping the button off as he undid them and pulled them down. He dug his fingers into her hips, yanking her to the edge of the counter, then met her gaze with equal challenge and watched her face as he plunged into her without pause. She bucked against the sensation, gasping in near pain. The sound drew a wicked grin to his handsome face.

He wasted no time, slamming his body into hers as she braced on the counter, her legs flailing helpless behind him. He pulled her backside closer to him, knocking her into a toaster and a half full glass of water. She reached for him, clutching at him as the sweat began to gather on his bare chest. Suddenly, he lifted her from the counter and slammed her into the kitchen wall, holding her aloft as he pounded into her, stifling her screams with his lips. She raked her nails across his back, biting his lip, challenging him to do his worst. His eyes lit up and he doubled his efforts, her back bruising against the wall with each thrust.

“Oh god, Deacon!” She cried, wrapping her arms around his wounded shoulders as she held onto him. His body was solid and warm, his heart pounding in his chest with a rhythm to match her own. He dug his fingertips into her thighs, his grunts and growls growing more ferocious with each thrust. He’d changed. Somehow, in the instant before he came for her, he’d gone from that gentle natured Blue Eyes, to this ferocious, insatiable beast, and he trained his eyes on her for reaction in every move he made.

“I thought you were gonna hurt me,” he said, chuckling softly in her ear as her shoulder blades slammed into the wall.

She hissed, baring her teeth at him as she smiled, fighting to form words through her cries. “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh, I dare you.”

The wicked smile rattled in her bones, triggering something primal and fearless. She wasn’t afraid he’d turn on her, wasn’t afraid to be too much. He wanted her. All of her – to the point that he’d tease her to draw it out. Maggie grabbed him by the hair and bit his shoulder hard enough to break the skin. He roared, slamming into her so deep her body screamed against it. Maggie bucked against him with all her might, pressing her shoulders into the wall as she thrust her hips into him. It was enough to throw him off balance, pushing him back. She set her feet on the floor, shoving him away as she settled her weight low. Her heart was racing now with excitement and almost fear. She’d never let a man see this side of her – the animal that she fought to hide her whole life. That side wanted to stalk him and overtake him and leave her mark on him. He smiled at her, his own stance widening in wait. She fought to contain her own smile, but the sight of him standing at the ready as he was, his cock at attention between his legs, was one of the most endearing and sexy things she’d ever seen.

She lunged at him, leaping into his arms as he stumbled backward. She bit his shoulder again, shifting her weight with enough force to knock him off balance, then took him to the floor, straddling over him before he could respond. She settled herself there, her nails digging into his chest as she lowered herself down, groaning in response to the feel of him sliding inside her again.

She rose and fell over him, watching every ripple of every muscle in his body, delighting in each shiver and each moan. He grabbed hold of her hips, pulling her in rhythm as she rode him, her nails scratching over his chest, leaving new marks everywhere they strayed. The bandages were pulling away from his skin, dampened by sweat. He seemed oblivious to it.

“Holy fuck, Maggie. Maggie Light Foot.”

He said the name again as though the feel of it on his tongue brought him pleasure. Hearing it made her breath still. She doubled her speed, bouncing on him, her breasts free beneath the EMT shirt. Deacon reached up and ripped the shirt open, baring her breasts to him. He took hold of them, squeezing roughly. She grabbed his hands, yanking them away and pinning them over his head, watching his face as she rose and fell over him. He smiled and his eyebrows shot up. He glanced up at his hands, held down by her own, and he smiled.

“Think you can hold me, petal?”

She gave a shocked gasp at this word. No one had ever called her anything endearing, let alone referred to her as something so soft as a flower. It felt like a challenge, and it felt like a relief. She could be soft with him. She could be strong with him. She felt her heart hurt for a moment, contemplating the notion that she’d never felt anything like this before; acceptance. Complete and all-encompassing acceptance.

She tried to meet his challenge, but she faltered. The emotion was too much to take for a moment. Deacon seemed to notice, and he ripped his hands from her grasp, lifting himself up to envelope her in his arms. His warmth surrounded her, pressing her bare breasts to his chest, pulling her belly against his, her legs around him. He squeezed her, pulling her into him in just the right rhythm, his nose to her chin, kissing her throat and collar bone as her body began to tighten around him.