Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance (14 page)

But she didn’t fully understand until, one early morning while she helped wash clothes in the stream with Kirstin, she was told the story of Laina’s mother and how she had died. It was so eerily similar to how Laina had been caught, Sibyl found herself getting goose flesh at the telling of the tale.

The women took turns telling it, each of them bringing something new to the story as they went on. They told of a time when wulvers and wolves were trapped, hunted and killed. It had been just twenty years ago when “the MacFalon” and his bloodlust for wolves drove the wulvers underground. He would capture them in cages, torture and kill them. There was even a mandate from the Scottish king that wolves must be hunted at certain times of the year.

Sibyl wondered if this man they called “the MacFalon” was Alistair’s grandfather, a man whose reputation had been far worse than his son’s. Alistair’s father, according to Donal and everyone who spoke of him, hadn’t been the type of man who would shoot an animal for sport. She couldn’t imagine he had done what these women described “the MacFalon” doing.

The tale took another turn when the women told of two young female wulvers becoming trapped in a MacFalon cage. One was in estrus, they said—in heat. The other was heavy with pup and the trauma of the cage had forced her into labor. Neither female could change back to free themselves, and they had been separated from their men folk.

In the morning, the MacFalon himself had come to see what he had trapped in his cage. He found both of the wolves, the one in heat snarling at him, the other just birthing her pup. The young wolf pup, eyes hardly open, slipped out of the bars of its cage and ran.

“I thought wolf pups change when they’re born?” Sibyl had asked, pounding cloth against the rocks.

“Boys do, right away,” Kirstin explained. “Girls, they take longer. It can be up to a day afore they turn human.”

So it had been a girl who had escaped that day. A young wolf girl who would later be called Laina, a name her own mother, the wolf the MacFalon had shot through with an arrow while still in the cage, had chosen before she was born. He would have shot the other wolf as well, if she hadn’t changed. Her heat was nearly over, so mayhaps it was time, the women said. Or mayhaps it was the shock of seeing her friend murdered.

But the MacFalon, suddenly faced with a dead wolf and a very alive, nude woman, decided to drag his wolf kill behind his horse and throw the other woman across his saddle—after he restrained her, of course.

“T’would’ve been war then,” Beitris, the old wulver midwife, had told her with a nod. “Once the wolfen warriors heard wha’happened, they took to their horses and went ridin’ after the MacFalon armed wit’ claymores.”

“What happened?” Sibyl had asked, glancing down into the valley where the wulver men practiced the art of warfare every day, keeping their bodies in condition, just in case.

“King Henry.”

Sibyl had stared at them in disbelief, but they weren’t jesting. Not even a little.

“He was’na the king then,” the wulver women explained. “Nuh yet.”

“He came ta Scotland seekin’ warriors t’win the crown.”

She knew King Henry VII had been in Brittany, recruiting the French troops, when this incident was supposed to have happened. Had he really come to Scotland in hopes of finding more?

“And got ‘em, he did!” One of the other older wulver women cackled, her rheumy blue eyes flashing.

“He came lookin’ for the wulver warriors,” Kirstin explained. “King Henry wanted ‘em t’fight for ‘im. Dis was all before I’s born, a’course.”

“King Henry fell in love wit’ Avril,” the wulver women told her. Sibyl listened to this tall tale with big eyes. She knew the name Avril belonged to Raife’s mother. “She was wit’ child when he rode back t’England.”

“And the warriors promised t’fight for the future King of England, if the MacFalon would agree t’keep the peace. So they brokered a deal.”

“The wolf pact.”

That’s what the wulver women had called it.

“King Henry VII?” Sibyl had wondered aloud, utterly enthralled with the tale, even while she doubted its veracity.

“He could’na take her back wit’ him, ya ken?” the old woman said, shaking her head. “So she came back t’us.”

“Birthed her child ‘ere wit’ us,” the old midwife, Beitris, said. “And Garaith raised him like ‘is own.”

“Garaith?” Sibyl knew this name too. “Raife’s… father?”

“Darrow’s
father,” Beitris countered. “Raife is descended from King Henry VII ‘imself.”

Sibyl had smiled then, thinking it had to be more stuff of legend.

“So King Henry negotiated a peace pact between the wulvers and the Scots,” Sibyl had mused. This tale was so fantastical, it was hard to believe. “And the MacFalon honored that pact?”

That seemed unlikely, given the man’s penchant for violence and hatred of the wulvers.

“The MacFalon was killed in battle,” the old midwife told her.

“His son had become laird by then,” one of the wulver women explained.

“And there’s been peace for nigh on twenty years.”

“Until now,” Sibyl whispered to herself, thinking of Alistair’s wolf hunt.

If there had been such a pact, Alistair had to be aware—so why was he breaking it?

She didn’t understand, but she knew it wasn’t good for the wulvers.

It wasn’t until she heard this story that Sibyl finally understood Laina’s passion for breaking the wulvers’ curse. Sibyl had never been close with her own mother, but she couldn’t imagine losing her in such a traumatic way. The wolf-child—Laina—had been found by the wulvers in the woods and taken back to the den, adopted by another female who had just had a pup. Kirstin and her adopted sibling, Laina, had been raised together as sisters, although everyone knew what had happened to Laina’s real mother.

Sibyl had done her best to help the young wulver woman and her cause, and she redoubled her efforts after hearing the wolf pact story, if for no other reason than she didn’t want the girl to take any more chances with her life and her health. Sibyl had poured over the wulver text, had read and re-read the legends, had listened to story after story told around the fire, at the dinner table, at the stream while they washed or in the kitchen where they prepared meals.

Sibyl had seen pictures of the huluppa tree, and had recognized it as a willow, just as Laina had. But it was Sibyl who had found it growing in the forest at the side of the very stream she had crossed to escape Alistair’s men. Now, as Sibyl stared at her little transplant, she knew it would likely be dead by the time Laina was ready to venture out of the den.

And what then?

Would Laina go out on her own to find it growing on MacFalon land?

Sibyl knew she couldn’t let that happen.

“Tis time t’sup.”

Sibyl shaded her eyes and looked up at Raife. The wulver men fought bare-chested and bare-legged, like any Scot, but they were far bigger and more muscular than most men, even when they weren’t transformed into half-wolf form. Raife’s body glistened with sweat, his dark hair damp with effort as he squatted beside her near the stream. They spent the morning training but their afternoons in various other pursuits. Today they had sheared sheep and he had bits of fluff stuck in his dark hair.

“Tis dyin’,” Raife observed, pinching another brown leaf off the plant—Sibyl could have sworn it turned brown just in the time she’d been watching. “Laina will’na be pleased.”

“I know.” Sibyl sighed, reaching out to pluck a bit of white from Raife’s hair. “We will have to keep her busy here until I can go out and find another.”

“N’more woods fer ye.” He scowled at the little smile that came over her face.

“Darrow will protect me,” she said. Darrow would have done anything for Laina. If that meant going out into the woods with Sibyl, well, he would even venture to do that.

“I can’na let ye go again.” Raife shook his head, frowning at the dying plant as if it was all the fault of the willow. “Tis far too dangerous, lass.”

“No more dangerous than a human living in a wolf’s den.” She teased, laughing, standing and holding her hand out to him.

“Ye’re safe ‘ere, Sibyl.” That scowl on his face deepened as he stood, ignoring the hand she had held out to help him. “Have we not proved it t’ye?”

“Of course. You know I jest.” She blinked at him in surprise. “You have proven to be a perfect gentleman. Far less of an animal than my…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, both of them knowing just who she meant.

“Aye.” Raife grimaced, turning his back on her and heading toward the mountain. “The perfect gentleman.”

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“Dinner!” he yelled back, not turning. “I best eat somethin’ afore I decide t’devour ye instead!”

“Raife!”

But there was no way to catch up to those big, long, heavily muscled legs of his.

She stood there for a moment, fuming, watching him walk away. What right did he have to be angry at her? She’d offered herself to him, had made herself vulnerable, and had been rejected. Everything he said and did told her that he wanted her, and yet he refused to claim her.

Claim me.

Everything in her begged him, but while they talked and laughed and flirted, while he looked at her like he could, indeed, devour her, he did not act. She was confused by her own feelings for him, how powerful and intense they were. The truth was, she wanted to be claimed by Raife, wanted it more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, but it just wasn’t meant to be. She was a human, he was a wulver. He was leader of his pack, and his choice of mate mattered greatly.

But she wanted him. She ached for him. To be claimed, marked, made his.

That’s how the wulvers talked about marriage—which involved a “marking,” according to Laina. Each wulver pair had an intricate, matching tattoo engraved on their skin, men on their upper arms and women on their hip and thigh. These tattoos disappeared, of course, covered by fur when they changed into wolves, but in human form, the wulvers had an outward, fixed mark, proof they were matched and mated. It was far more permanent than a wedding ring.

But they hadn’t talked about it since that day in her room, the day she’d climbed into his lap like a fool and kissed him. She felt she couldn’t say anything without hurting them both, so they just didn’t speak of it. But it was always there between them. Always.

And while they didn’t talk about it, Raife would bristle at things, like he just had, and walk angrily away from her. She didn’t know if he was angry at her or with himself. All she knew was, when Raife walked away from her, it was like her own heart being ripped out of her chest. His anger made her angry. He made her want to hit him—not that it would do any good. He made her want to pound on his chest and scream and cry, but that wouldn’t do any good either.

It seemed, no matter what she did, he remained resolute, distant. He would allow her to draw close, intimately so, looking at her with such affection, such deep emotion, it made her throat close and her heart ache. But then, he would do something like this. He would push her away again, keeping her at arm’s length.

She saw the men corralling the horses. Raife had stopped to talk to his brother. The horses ran free in the valley during the day, but they kept them penned at night, just like the sheep and the goats. The wulvers would not harm them—unless it was during one of the female changes. The females were unpredictable, and while they wouldn’t harm a human, they might take down an animal. It was just safer, Raife had told her, to pen them up at night.

Otherwise, they could have roamed the valley to their heart’s content. There was no way out of it, unless you took a horse up a winding, treacherous mountain path and down the other side. Or went through the mountain den itself. She knew they had taken horses out through the den before—when the wolfen warriors were ready for warfare—but not very often.

Raife had taken her riding on more than one occasion. He’d been impressed with her horsemanship, a fact that made her smile. Here, with the wulvers, all those things she’d been taught actually had some practical use.

Sibyl found herself in the midst of the horses without even thinking. Her body just propelled her forward. She grabbed the reins of one of the big war horses—Angus was the horse Raife let her ride, a black beauty with a white patch around one eye. He liked her and nuzzled her shoulder as she approached. He accepted her weight without protest as she mounted him, pulling her plaid up slightly so she could sit astride. She loved riding this way.

“Sibyl!” Raife snapped when he saw her nudge the horse and squeeze him with her thighs, urging him forward. “Come back, lass!”

But she ignored him, ignored the calls of the other wulver men as she leaned forward over the neck of the horse as Angus crested the first hill. There was nowhere to go in the valley, of course. It was a large area, but completely contained, surrounded by the mountains. She could have ridden the horse through the tunnels—they were wide and tall enough—but by the time she reached the entrance, they would have stopped her.

There was only one other way out. She had asked Raife about the trail that went up the side of the mountain and he’d told her it was an alternate route out of the valley, in case something happened to the tunnel. It was treacherous and dangerously high, but she pointed her horse in that direction and rode hard. Both she and the Angus were out of breath by the time they reached the base of the mountain.

When she arrived at it, she reined in the horse, looking at the path. It started out innocently enough, a wide, grassy plane that narrowed into a mountain trail, but it wound up and up, so high just looking at it made her dizzy. It had looked different at a distance. Safer. Now it seemed impossible to traverse, although the horse seemed willing enough to go. He’d been trained to travel it by the wulvers.

Was she really going to do this?

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard, and of course, her mind filled immediately with Raife. She saw his lop-sided smile, those bright, dancing eyes, that long, thick, dark hair of his, the way he towered over her, the way his hand swallowed hers.

“Sibyl!”

She startled at the sound of her name, glancing over her shoulder to see Raife thundering up to her on his horse. His face was dark with anger as he grabbed the reins of her horse just as she dug her heels into Angus’s side in an attempt to get him to move forward.

“Dè tha thu a’ dèanamh?” he snapped. “Where do ye think you’re going?”

“Away.” Her lower lip trembled as he pulled her horse toward his so they were standing side by side. “Away from you.”

“Away from me?” His brow knitted, mouth turned down in a frown.

“I can’t stand it anymore, Raife.” She felt tears stinging her eyes and tried to blink them back, turning her face away so he wouldn’t see them. “I’m leaving.”

“Yer nuh goin’ nowhere.”

One moment she was sitting in the saddle, looking up at the dizzying zenith of the mountain, and the next she was in Raife’s arms, sitting in front of him, side-saddle on his horse. His arms surrounded her, face close, eyes searching hers.

“I can’na let ye leave.”

“Because I’m safer here?” Sibyl let out a wail of a laugh. “Yes, Raife, I’m safe. I’m so very safe. You keep me locked up here, your prisoner, to keep me safe. I’m safe from Alistair and his men. I’m safe from everything out there. But do you know what I’m
most
safe from?”

“Sibyl—”

“You!” She put her hands against his chest and pushed at him, but of course, he didn’t move. The man was like a rock. “I’m safe from
you
most of all!”

“Is that what ye think?” He gave a strangled laugh. “Ye think yer safe from me, then?”

“I know I am.” She stuck her chin out, defiant, meeting his burning eyes.

And then he kissed her. He seized her mouth with a hot, angled kiss that took her breath away. This was no cautious, gentle peck. This was hunger and desperation and a longing so deep it went straight to her core. Sibyl moaned uncontrollably, arms going around his neck just to hang on and keep the world from spinning her into oblivion. Raife’s hands wandered over her body into places no man had ever touched, squeezing her breasts, pulling her hips against his, even daring to move between her thighs, cupping her throbbing sex over the cover of her plaid.

“D’ye feel safe now?” he growled as he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back so he could get to her throat. His mouth was doing things she didn’t understand, her body responding so completely it was like it wasn’t even her own. She was melting in the saddle in front of him.

“I feel
you
,” she whispered, wiggling against him, something hard and hot, insistent, throbbing against her hip. “Oh Raife, please. Let me feel you.”

“Och, Sibyl,” Raife groaned, grasping her wrists when her hands moved down his chest, his belly, reaching for him. “Ye’re testin’ me beyon’ me bounds, lass. I can’na. I…”

She turned her face from him and slid out of the saddle without another word. He could have held onto her, but she would have been left dangling from the horse, feet not touching the ground, so he let her go so as not to hurt her, as she knew he would.

“Sibyl!” he called, voice hoarse, but she didn’t answer him.

She just kept walking deeper into the valley, toward the entrance in the side of the mountain that led to the wulvers’ den. Raife didn’t follow her and she didn’t expect him to. He would distance himself again. That was the pattern and it was killing her, bit by little bit, as if she was being picked apart, flesh stripped from her body until she was nothing but bone, laid bare.

It hurt that much.

“Sibyl!” Laina called her name as Sibyl’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Coming into the den was always such a surprise to her system, even though the wulvers adjusted easily. Of course, they could see almost as well in the dark as they could in the light. “How’s our lil plant?”

Sibyl smiled, putting on a happy face, but she didn’t want to tell Laina the truth. Instead she distracted them both by fussing over the baby. He was a handsome fellow with big blue eyes and a thick, thatch of dark hair. He looked so much like Raife—and Darrow—it hurt her heart.

“You are looking so much better, Laina.” Sibyl smiled, chucking the baby under his chin. “Your color is coming back.”

“Tis not all that’s comin’ back.” Laina frowned at the way the baby turned his head, looking for something to chew on and found his fist. “He’s started solid food. The elders say me moon cycles’ll start up again soon.”