Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance (34 page)

“I think I saw some powdered milk,” he told her. “Want me to make some?”

“No.” Ivy swallowed the last bit of her cookie, shaking her head as she closed up the container. “I’m done.”

“I’m sorry, Ivy,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand.

“No, it’s not your fault.” She looked down at his hand on hers on the sofa. “I mean, I’m the dummy who ran from the bear and hurt my ankle. And if you hadn’t been there… I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have managed,” he assured her, smiling. “You’re stronger than you look, remember?”

“No, I mean it.” She shook her head, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “You saved my life today. If I’d come home while… while they were still in the house…”

“But you didn’t.” He shook his head, not wanting to replay that scenario again. “You’re here. I’m here. And you’re safe.”

For now,
he thought, but didn’t say.

He also didn’t tell her that he was the reason they had ransacked her house in the first place. It was Caleb’s fault she’d twisted her ankle. It was Caleb’s fault her dog had been killed. It was Caleb’s fault they were stuck down here in this bunker. And he didn’t even think Oreos would be enough to soothe her, if he told her the truth. 

“Let’s see if we have ice yet.” He stood, heading toward the kitchen. “I want to get some on that ankle.”

“Brr.” She made a face. “I’m cold enough.”

He frowned. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

“Should I?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a half-smile.

“Go on, Miss Shortcake,” he said with a laugh, not letting on how much her teasing affected him. “Get into your jammies. I assume you packed flannel ones that will cover you from ankle to chin. I’ll check on the ice.”

Glancing back, he saw her looking through her bag for something warm and dry to change into. Her hair brushed her flushed cheek and the swell of her breasts in that t-shirt made his mouth go dry. He ached to explore every glorious inch of those curves with his hands. And his mouth. And his tongue. And…

And he really hoped she’d packed something that would cover up all that gorgeous flesh of hers, because he didn’t know how long he was going to be able to hold out, if they were living together in such close quarters. A nightgown like granny wore in
Little Red Riding Hood
perhaps? Or better yet, a burka?

Caleb went to check on the ice.

He was going to need it just to cool down.

Ivy woke up in total darkness, panicked. The dream again.

Usually, she never remembered her dreams, but her sleep schedule was completely off. Now she woke up at strange times, with the hint of a dream lingering in her memory. This morning, just as it had been for the past three mornings, it was the same dream, and she couldn’t shake it.

She heard snoring and for a moment she was back home in her bed, Nikon snoring beside her, keeping her warm. She imagined the hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. She hadn’t seen a sunrise in a week. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed it.

Who would have thought, once upon a time, that the woman who dreaded a five a.m. alarm heralding the start of her work day, which involved taking the subway into the city to her desk job at The Times, would be lamenting not seeing the sun coming up in the morning?

And she didn’t miss the bustle of the city at all, strangely enough. She’d lived the quintessential New York life for a whole year after college before her father got sick, and when she left, she thought it was the end of the world. Funny—that had come later. But once she was freelancing from home, taking care of her father, she got quite used to the natural rhythms of waking with the sun and resting once it went down.

Of course, there’d still been technology, then. Her Mac was always open in her lap, if she wasn’t checking her father’s morphine pump or helping him to the bathroom. She didn’t set an alarm after she moved back home—except the ones to give her father his medication—but the first thing she did every day was reach for her iPhone. She’d check the time, then listen for any hint of her father waking while she checked her email and that morning’s news.

There were no phones anymore. The Internet had been spotty for a long time, and then one day, it disappeared and never came back. She’d checked it religiously every day for a while, but then she got used to not being connected to the outside world. Things had gone mad out there anyway. And she’d been in the middle of grieving the loss of the most important man in her life, so she was already in her own little world.

Had she really been on her own for two years now? She’d surprised herself with her own answer, when Caleb asked, even though she’d kept track on a desk calendar, crossing off the days until the year had ended, then creating the lines and grid herself so she could continue marking off the days.

After her father was gone, she’d had Nikon. And all of the yard animals. And her garden. She hadn’t really been lonely. That’s what she told herself. And it was good that she was so isolated, really. There were some locals who knew her father’s house existed, but not many. He had a post office box where he got mail, but otherwise, there was no need to go into town. Ivy had taken the truck once a week to pick up mail, and it was fifteen minutes on dirt “roads”—that weren’t really roads at all but overgrown two-tracks—before she hit pavement. Then another fifteen to town.

In the winter, she had to plow her way out. It was hours’ worth of work, and eventually, she just stopped. By then, she didn’t have to worry anymore about the tax bill on the property, which was the only thing that still tied her father to the outside world. He was completely off the grid and had been for years. The outside world had faded away and she didn’t need it anymore.

The first time she’d seen another person again—before Caleb—she’d been strangely elated. The man had stumbled into her garden—the one she’d buried him in—but that feeling of excitement at seeing another human being had vanished almost instantly. Just watching him, she knew that there was something wrong. He’d been chasing a rabbit, which was a crazy endeavor for any human. Rabbits were nearly impossible to catch with your bare hands.

But this man had managed it. Ivy watched him put on a burst of super-human speed. She’d never heard a rabbit scream before, but that’s exactly what it sounded like. She’d also never seen a human being tear into living flesh before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

Then the man had seen her. He had an unnatural light in his eyes. His mouth was full of the rabbit’s blood. It ran down his chin and stained a shirt that had once been a white button-down but was now rusty with dried blood. The rabbit was still twitching in his hands, but the minute he saw her, he tossed the animal aside and started running in her direction.

He didn’t walk. He didn’t say anything. He just ran toward her, that light in his eyes growing stranger with every step. The scariest thing was, it wasn’t madness. There was still a sentient human being in there. He wasn’t sick, not exactly. He was just… hungry. And Ivy, like the rabbit, was simply prey.

She’d run into the house and locked the door.

Wishing he’d go away hadn’t been very effective.

He sat in the yard for a half an hour, eating the rest of his rabbit, staring at the house. Ivy watched him, peeking out the back door window, trying to decide what to do.

Then he approached the house. He knocked politely on the door. He called out to her.

“Hello? I know you’re in there. Hello?”

Ivy flattened herself against the wall, her father’s rifle in her hands, trembling as she saw him looking in the back door window, shading his eyes and straining to see into the shadows.

That’s when she heard Nikon bark.

The dog had free reign. He wandered off, but he always came back.

Now he was back and had found an intruder in his territory.

“Well, hello there, doggie,” she heard the man say.

No!

She had seen what he did to the rabbit. If she let him, he’d do that to Nikon. Or to her.

She knew what she had to do, as much as she didn’t want to.

Ivy yanked the door open. She saw the light in the man’s eyes as he turned toward her on the porch, distracted from the barking dog—Nikon was running, full-steam ahead, through the garden rows of raised beds—by the temptation of the woman now standing in the doorway.

His gaze flickered to her rifle—he recognized the danger—but it only registered for a moment. She’d never seen a look like that on another human being’s face before. It was pure lust. She didn’t know if he wanted to fuck her or devour her, or both, but whatever he was craving, she seemed to embody it all.

She shot him square in the chest. It hadn’t been a difficult shot to make, although it was a horrible one to take, in spite of her certainty that he meant her great harm. She’d seen enough of it on the news, before the television went dark. She’d just never experienced it first-hand before, and she never wanted to again.

After that day, Ivy would never go anywhere without her rifle.

She told herself she was better off alone—and believed it, until Caleb had come along. Of course, she’d expected him to be like the first man. Hungry. Like Caleb said the others were, the ones who had taken Nikon, who had invaded her farm and driven the two of them underground. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t like that at all.

Not everyone was, he’d told her. He didn’t know how many had “turned cannibal.” That’s what the news had called it. Turning cannibal. No one knew how many had been affected. Not anymore. Too many to count, Caleb said. So many that those who hadn’t been affected had become walking Happy Meals, in hiding from the rest.

Ivy hated this, hiding in the bunker. No sunlight, no grass, no wind on her face. She missed her little house. She missed her garden. And she didn’t want to think about Blitzen the cow, and all of her chickens and rabbits—every one of them had a name. Every time she mentioned them starving to death, Caleb just looked at her. So denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt. It happened to run right through her hopeful little square of the world.

I want to go home.

She said this every day to Caleb, who nodded sympathetically, but he kept saying it wasn’t safe. Well, when would it be safe? When could she go home? He didn’t have answers to those questions. It was maddening.

And her dream wasn’t helping.

Three days in a row, she’d woken up from the dream. It wasn’t always the same, but similar. The first night she’d had it, Nikon had been trapped in the house, barking and barking, but Ivy couldn’t find the door to let him out. She’d run around and around, panicked, searching where she knew the doors should be, but they weren’t there.

Then she’d smelled the smoke. The house was on fire. Nikon was howling. Ivy couldn’t get in to save him. She tried to break the windows with the butt of her rifle, but the house was impenetrable. Finally, she collapsed, sobbing, on the lawn, watching the house ablaze in the night, feeling the heat blistering her face.

Caleb had woken her from that one. She’d been calling out in her sleep, he said. Calling for Nikon. She sobbed while he held her against his chest, murmuring comfort. When she told him about her dream, he said it was because it was too warm in the bunker. He was still getting the hang of the masonry heater, he said. He’d put too much wood in or something. Wasn’t she warm, too?

And yes, she’d been sweating. Hot. Her t-shirt was sticking to her, and her cheek was flushed against his bare chest.

But then she’d had the dream again the second night. This time she had woken herself up with a start. This time, she’d been in the woods in the middle of the night, trying to find her way home. Then she saw a faint orange glow. The closer she got to it, the more certain she was—the house was burning down. But it was like a mirage—she walked and walked, but could never get to the clearing, could never get back home.

Tonight she’d been inside the house. Woke up and smelled smoke, felt the heat of the fire. In her dream, she’d gotten out of her bed, Nikon whining and scratching at her bedroom door to be let out. It was nice to see him again, even if it wasn’t real. She’d opened the door to see the whole cabin ablaze. Her father’s photographs were burning in their frames, the pictures turning black at the edges.

She was horrified to see his most prized photo—the bear with the blue eyes—like charcoal in its frame. Even as she watched, it fell to the floor and shattered.

Ivy rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to erase the image from her mind.

Just a dream. It’s just a stupid dream.

She heard the soft sound of snoring and knew it was Caleb, sleeping in the bunk across the way, and smiled. Part of her wanted to go to him, tell him about her dream. Strange, how much safer she felt now, knowing he was nearby. How fast things changed in a week’s time. She’d been terrified of this man seven days ago, and even when she was satisfied that he wasn’t like the others, she’d remained wary around him.

But he’d taken such care with her ankle, icing and wrapping it every few hours, and doing things she had a hard time managing with her limited mobility—like cooking their food and putting wood in the masonry heater—that she’d started really relaxing around him. Relying on him. Even trusting him.

It was the first time she’d had her dream, two nights ago now, that she’d felt an undeniable heat rising up between them that had nothing to do with the temperature in the bunker. She didn’t know if he felt it, too, but she suspected he did. Sometimes she caught him looking at her in a way that made her breath catch. He made her aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time.

Ivy sat up in her bunk. Her head just cleared the one above it, but Caleb’s didn’t—he’d bumped his head more than once until he’d gotten used to it. The first time it had happened, Ivy had been getting up too, and she’d leaned over and kissed the top of his head without thinking. It was something her father had always done whenever she injured herself, and it just seemed natural to “kiss it and make it better.”