Bear Meets Bride: A Paranormal Bear Shifter Romance

BEAR MEETS BRIDE

AMY STAR

Copyright
©2015 by  Amy Star

All rights reserved.

About This Book

Dylan had finally come of age. He was now a fully fledged member of the bear clan that reside on a secluded island in the middle of the Pacific.

Now, the first thing he had to do was choose a mate.

But with no women to choose from on the island the bears had no choice but to send for a mail order bride and Dylan picked the curvaceous Sarah.

When Sarah arrived on the island she had no idea what to expect.

She knew she was going to be married to someone but she had no idea just who, or what, he might be. Will she like him? Will he like her? Will she be able to please him the way he wants? There was only one thing that was guaranteed for certain.

When Bear meets Bride, sparks are certain to fly and in this case the sparks fly in more ways than one...

This is a Bear Shifter romance with elements of fun, love, romance, sex along with adventure & excitement. The perfect mixture for the perfect escape!

Table Of Contents

C
HAPTER ONE

C
HAPTER TWO

C
HAPTER THREE

C
HAPTER FOUR

C
HAPTER FIVE

C
HAPTER SIX

C
HAPTER SEVEN

WAIT....

Get Yourself a FREE Bestselling Paranormal Romance Book!

Join the “
Simply Shifters
” Mailing list today and gain access to an exclusive
FREE
classic Paranormal Shifter Romance book by one of our bestselling authors along with many others more to come.  You will also be kept up to date on the best book deals in the future on the hottest new Paranormal Romances. We are the HOME of Paranormal Romance after all!

Click The Link Below To Access Get All This Now!

SimplyShifters.com

CHAPTER ONE

Dylan couldn’t help but let a low growl escape from his muzzle. His muscles twitched with anticipation, causing the dark fur over his shoulders to ripple like wind over a wheat field. His dark beady eyes tried to focus on the sparkling clear water that rushed past his legs, cooling him during in the hottest part of the day. The sun cast its reflection on the creek, causing the whole tributary to glint, making it all the more challenging to discern the slick black-spotted rubicund salmon that seemed to hover in the middle of the current.
Pushing their way home, one final time
, Dylan thought, and the short nubs of his ears flinched. The water drowned out all other sounds and he let it carry him into a kind of trance as he focused.

There
. His head dipped down in a flash, lightning reflexes plunging his long bearish snout into the cold water. It was a thrill as he kept his eyes open. Chris had forced the habit – it was like shooting a gun, or an arrow. You didn’t want to close one eye and you certainly didn’t want to close both.
When you’re hunting, use all your senses, don’t diminish them
, his patron’s harsh tutelage echoed in his head. Dylan had his mouth already open and he could taste the pure water fleshing itself against his tongue, even before his jaw snapped shut again and he tasted something salty, soft and wriggling. He lifted his head and a dark red salmon thrashed wildly in his mouth, even as he waded back to shore and dug into it. Sweet meat; hard earned.

Of course, fishing during spawning season wasn’t exactly hard work. Not like hunting big game, like elk or deer. But it took skill all its own. It was something definitive to who he was: a bear. A bear against the rolling pin of water and with the reward of fish; all this, the cycle of life and death in which he was a part of. There was almost something innately cultural about it.
I’m waxing on again
, he realized, even in bear-form. He must have been spending too much time around Chris.

He choked down the last of the salmon and left the tail and head and skeleton on the beach. Above, in the high cedars, perched like iconic sentries, adolescent bald eagles watched him with precarious eyes. He knew that those broad-winged scavengers would almost certainly devour anything he didn’t finish.
Enjoy
, he said, with the tilt of his head and a whooping bark at them. He clambered back up the damp bank and shook vigorously. The large hump on his back flexed, and he stretched his long claws into the mud.
That was enough for today
.

He slumped out on all fours and closed his black eyes. In his mind, he pictured his human-form again, and slowly his will began to fuse with it. The hair fell off of him, leaving a shaggy carpet of brown and black like a circular halo all around him. Pale flesh began to replace the dark under-skin of a bear. His hair fell backwards, and his face caved in, arching toward a human shape.

He let out a sigh and stood up. At six feet, Dylan Clover was a strapping young man even by his own standards. Although he was humble enough never to point it out. His naked torso shivered, still damp from the plunge into the creek.
Have to remember I’m more susceptible to the elements in this form
, he said, more to himself than anyone else. He used his right hand to slick back the heavy growth of black hair that caved down over his forehead and gave the creek another boyish grin.

Even though he was only twenty-five, his muscles rippled with promise. His training hadn’t been for naught; his chest was slim, tight and knotted with the hard muscles of an athlete. As he bent over, looking for his clothes he’d stowed in the bushes earlier, his abdominal muscles cramped over, standing out against his leanness. He frowned at a long vertical scar that gashed up the back of his arm and over his shoulder. It was the only part of him that didn’t seem sculpted, a reminder of how hard his training had been.
Never underestimate an opponent
. That was the lesson.

In human-form, he’d been blessed with incredibly vivid green eyes, and they sat in his skull like emeralds, dancing in the sunlight. His thin hawk nose lifted, breathing in deep, and he pursed his lips, feeling the sharp angles of his cheeks catch a grip of wind, easing in off the coast.

He tugged his pants back on and threw the threadbare T-shirt over one shoulder, eager to let the sun dry him out the rest of the way. It felt good to have the yellow light cascade onto his bare skin and he tied his hiking boots together by the laces and threw them over the other shoulder. He knew that when he returned to the mansion, it wouldn’t seem appropriate to go barefoot. He wanted to relish his time on the island as much as he could, and took off at a leisurely walk back to the cabin.

In the six months he’d been on the island – he could scarcely believe it had been that long already – he had had ample time to explore every square inch of it. It wasn’t huge, five kilometers at its length north to south and about three kilometers wide, but all of it was west coast rain forest, unaltered by humans. Aside from him and Chris, he hadn’t seen another person since they’d arrived, save for a poor lost fisherman that had blown up on the docks during a storm the month before. It was somewhat of a relief. After the crowded life he’d spent at the estate, being on his own for a while had let him appreciate his own inner workings. He’d never been fond of Chris’ meditation exercises but he’d found his own way to pass the time, to settle his mind, to explore the inner bear-thought.

It was like a candle
, he thought. Glowing in the darkest recess of his being, a small imperceptible light, shrouded with blackness. But as you focused on it – on the
bear
– it grew larger, brighter. Filling your vision, until you could not imagine anything but that pure undiluted light. Every day he closed his eyes and let himself grow closer to that imaginary candle, and everyday, his transformation became easier and more uninhibited.

Six months. Soon, his training would be complete and he would return to the mansion and the estate, to his own kind again. But he would no longer be the boy that had left, he would be a man, a true bear in every sense of the word. The thought filled him with a mixture of dread and excitement; excitement because he missed his friends, and especially his sister, Lilah, but dread, because he knew it meant his life would change, for better or worse, and that more responsibilities would fall in his lap. Not the least of which was presiding over his own family line.

Wood smoke cleared away his rambling thoughts. He jogged across the low bridge that hedged the cabin to another smaller creek, this one always dark with bled off tree tannins that filtered out of the cedars, turning the water a darkish color. Like steeped tea. He could see the cabin up on a clearing, above the creek, its rafters bleached by tidal rain and sunlight. The roof was in need of repair. It was definitely rustic but it was just one of the many things that Dylan had gotten used to, something he didn’t even notice, like his own heartbeat, or breathing.

Dark plumes of smoke issued from the rusty chimney and he thought he could smell beef. Always, right after his transformation back into human-form, his senses seemed heightened, as if they’d carried over from the bear. He knew that in time they would balance out but for now he indulged, and his mouth watered. The one thing he could count on with every transformation was that he’d end up back at the cabin, absolutely famished. It took a lot of energy.

Inside, Chris DeWalt was bent over the woodstove. He had on a dark red sleeveless shirt that emphasized his massive arms. Ever since Dylan could remember, he’d been huge. Even as a child, Chris towered above the others. A thin, neatly cropped dome of dark brown hair spiked out from his head in disorientation, as if it couldn’t decide on a unified direction. He had a pudgy nose, flat cheeks that dimpled when he smiled and a strong chin. His big, bulbous lips pressed tightly together when he was thinking or being serious, but spread in a kind of manic grin when he laughed.

He was five years older than Dylan and fully bear. He also happened to be one of Dylan’s best and oldest friends. Because he’d already gone through his initiation, Dylan had chosen Chris himself to be his patron, which was a kind of cross between a tutor, mediator and guardian, while he finished his training on the island.

Chris looked up from his stew and winked. “Almost ready,” he said, “take a seat.”

“Smells delicious, as always. You know, you might’ve missed your calling… you could have been a great chef. Or a housewife,” Dylan teased, and then regretted it.

In actuality, Chris was one of the more prominent political figures back at the mansion. But while politics may have been his vocation, like Dylan, he enjoyed the opportunity to escape the rigorous obligations of the household and return to a simpler existence, one which though isolated, seemed somehow to rejuvenate the older man.

“If Suzy could hear you, she might’ve agreed with you,” Chris said fondly, his eyes lost in a reservoir of memory that was both comforting and painful.

Suzy had been Chris’ mate, a tall warrior-like woman with red hair with a temper to match. Together, they’d made a perfect couple; she was the type to inspire Chris when he was lazy, or indecisive, and he was the gentle, compassionate, wistful type that more often than not, was the voice of careful reason in their relationship. It didn’t mean their relationship hadn’t had its sharp edges.
Certainly, I don’t think I could ever have handled a single argument with Suzy
, Dylan mused. But Chris was a rock and Suzy was the wind; it had been a perfect arrangement. And they had loved each other, dearly. Right up until the rainy winter night when the phone call had come in, and Chris had learned that she had died in a freak car wreck.

Why did you bring up something like that
, Dylan cursed himself. Chris may have been a giant, a warrior without measure in the household, but he was still capable of feeling pain. The mention of Suzy was like his Achilles heel.

“You know, the salmon are really up this season,” Dylan said quickly, trying to change the subject, “You should come down tomorrow and join me. Get your fill… seriously, I’ve never seen it so packed. Must’ve been a good year for them.”

The ploy worked and Chris brightened. There was a childlike naïveté to Chris. It was the one thing that set the two men apart. While Dylan was studious, insightful, cunning and probably more than a little suspicious on occasion, Chris saw the world through an innocent lens. Yes, he was quick to anger but he was also quick to forget.

“Sounds great! I’ve been spending too much time in here, I think.”

“Well, I appreciate the good cooking. Tell you what, come down to the creek tomorrow… and on the weekend I’ll stick around here, help you with the cabin. The roof needs a replacement, I think.”

“Sure does,” Chris said, “although we haven’t had rain in a few weeks.”

“There’s some fallen cedars down toward the beach. Whaddya think? Strip the bark?”

Chris pondered. “Not exactly tin roofing but it should do the trick. At least until we’re ready to head back to the mansion.”

The mention of the mansion caused a lull, which was interrupted only by the slurping of both men as they dove into the soup. Both of them understood that their time together alone on the island would soon be coming to an end, and it was bittersweet.

“Which reminds me,” Chris continued, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Dylan looked up from his bowl and wiped at his mouth, his green eyes scanning his best friend. There was something imminent and ominous, quite unlike Chris, and he couldn’t help but feel the bottom of his stomach drop out.
What now
, he wondered.

*

It had never occurred to him – and he felt foolish because of it – that his training would invariably include a
matching
. It was how Chris had met Suzy, more than six years earlier. It was how all shifters ended up meeting their mate. But Dylan still felt unprepared by the news, and stood up angrily on the cabins’ porch and began to pace back and forth, his bare feet creaking over the planks. The sky had darkened, and the first hints of stars were beginning to blink into existence.

“So how does this work?” he asked quickly.

Chris shrugged his massive shoulders and walked into the cabin and returned a moment later with a small folder that was shrink-wrapped. He tossed it to Dylan, who opened it. There was several laminated pages, each with a different face and a listing of information next to it, like a profile. He gave Chris a screwy look and the big man shrugged again, like it was second nature.

“This is how it works. You have to make a decision in the next few days though so arrangements can be made,” he suddenly had a very officious look on his face.

“Who are they all?” Dylan asked, without looking up as he flipped through the booklet.

“All candidates that the elders have selected based on a number of factors, including political vantage, caste, personality profiles. I’m sure they’re all lovely,” he remarked.

“Indeed… how did you make
your
decision?” Dylan queried.

“I didn’t know a lot… the elders didn’t give me much information. I think they do it that way on purpose… don’t want you to have any preconceived notions, sort of thing. But I knew that she was from one of the other houses. All those women will be, as well.”