Carnival of Hearts: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (4 page)

Clara had weighed her options, her clinical mind working through what Marcus had told her, but in the end she had chosen to follow her heart. The rest was too big for her to reconcile just yet; the one thing she knew, the thing she had known for two years, was that she loved him and wanted him. And now she knew that he wanted her too. Instead of letting herself go mad over the rest of it, she decided to let that be what it was—the most important thing to her.

She felt his surprise when she kissed him, but quickly his hands gripped her sides and he pulled her out of the driver’s seat and into his lap. He was still shirtless, and her hands smoothed over the wide, strong line of his shoulders and down over his bare chest, fingers light in the soft, dark hair curling at his sternum. She’d spent nights dreaming of his skin. His body. So quickly, she felt need and desire intermingle and blossom inside her, heat lighting through her with a fierce, sizzling spark of passion.

“I need you,” she whispered, lips against his. “Marcus…”

“You have me,” he told her. “Now and forever.”

Words were useless then and she thought they must have both known it. His hands gripped her thighs and he kissed her again, tongues intertwining as he shoved up the hem of her tulip-covered sundress, hooking his fingers onto the elastic of her panties. She gasped as he simply tore through the fabric and tossed what was left of them onto the floor of the car. She could feel how hard he was through his jeans, against her now, and he rolled his hips to hers and pulled her down against him, grinding into her with a soft growl.

She reached between them and started unbuttoning his jeans as he leaned up, lips and then teeth soft against the flesh of her throat. It sent a shiver through her, and he tugged the straps of her dress down off her shoulders, kissing and licking his way from her throat down to her collarbone as he peeled the dress away, revealing her breasts. He kissed the valley between them, and then took one hardened nipple into his mouth and Clara gasped, fingers abandoning his jeans to tangle into his hair as she arched against him. She threw her head back, and he got his hands between them as he suckled, easing his jeans down on his hips and freeing his erect cock. She felt its great length press against her thigh, and between that and his tongue flicking against her nipple, she nearly came on the spot.

How many nights had she spent with her own hand between her legs, imagining this? How many times had she awoken in a hot sweat in her bed after dreaming of his lips and tongue and hands and cock? It almost felt unreal, a feverish hallucination, but her body told her it was all happening, limbs quivering and heart pounding and sex slick with wanting him, readying for him. He slid a pair of fingers inside her and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out, pressed her knees into the seat on either side of him and lifted herself, then sank again upon his hand, the pressure in her belly mounting deliciously. But it wasn’t his fingers she wanted, not after all this time.

“Please, Marcus,” she gasped, tugging him back from her breast by the hair so that she could look down into his eyes. A smile strayed onto her lips. “Please, I love you.”

He nodded, and she saw the same passion sparking through his golden eyes like tiny, bursting suns as he smiled too. He sat back against the seat, withdrawing his fingers from within her, and she lifted her hips, reaching down to grasp the shaft of his cock and position its head at her entrance. He tilted his head back, breath hitching at her touch, and she sank slowly, achingly slowly, down upon him, sheathing him fully inside her, inch by delicious inch. Her lips parted, breath coming in short, sharp gulps as she fit him into her. He gripped at her hips, color lighting into his dark features until he was flushed, his fingers so tight she felt the seams of her dress begin to rip.

All the while he looked into her eyes, and she into his. As their breath met and mingled between them, and she began to rock upon him, riding the length of his cock, she held his eyes and watched him struggle to control his desire. His breath began to thicken, hasten, and she flattened her hands against his chest as he began to thrust up into her, meeting every tilt of her hips, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside her. Soon she was gasping, the pleasure a rocket firing through her, but she still she held his gaze. She refused to look away. She
couldn’t
look away, and grew desperate to see the moment of his release. The exaltation of their love.

He pushed her back against the dash and she braced her hands against the windshield as he knelt on the floor in front of the passenger seat and began to pump into her with more strength, his pace quickening as he got an arm around her waist, holding her in place. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, and she thought she might just die of ecstasy as he drove into her wet, willing sex and withdrew.

He pressed his face to her breast and groaned against her skin, his breath hot, and she wrapped her legs around him as he bucked his hips to hers. She felt him sink his teeth into the flesh of her breast and couldn’t contain a cry of delight, the sharpness of the pain mingling with the hurtling rise of her pleasure. Another thrust, another, and with a shriek and a gasp, she came, sent tumbling into the most powerful climax she’d ever felt. Tremors of it shook her as he plunged his cock into her one last, lingering time and came as well, muscles tightening and then releasing, a muffled roar escaping his throat, gusting against her breast.

He gathered her into his arms and sat back in the passenger seat with her in his lap, nuzzling his face into her throat, her hair. She curled up against him, still shivering with echoes of pleasure.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied, smiling as she settled her cheek to his shoulder, and felt at last like she had found a home. And that home was him. No more settling, no more fantasizing. He wasn’t a dream; he was real. And he was hers.

In the languor of post-lovemaking, she found that she could focus more. She thought about their first nights together. One the beach, the first time she’d ever slept in his arms, he’d told her about his family and how he’d lost them. He’d said there had been an accident, but she knew now that wasn’t true. Still, the sadness she’d heard enter his voice had been real. They’d bonded over always feeling as though they didn’t quite belong, over ambition they’d once felt but that they’d lost due to circumstances out of their control. He’d avoided telling her why he’d never taken over his family business, but now she knew why. All the little pieces of information that he’d withheld from her before fell into place now. And whatever else was missing, they had a lifetime now to get to know each other better.

She was imagining what that lifetime might look like when the rear passenger-side window got smashed in, the passenger-side door ripped right off the carriage. Hands yanked her off Marcus and she screamed; he lunged for her, and then those hands threw her. She had a sensation of flying and falling, and when she landed, hard, on the ground, and she felt a sharp pain explode in the back of her head, and then darkness. Nothing but darkness, and silence.

When Liam threw Clara across the grass, Marcus dove for her, but then he heard the crack of a whip through the air and felt the tail of Baptiste’s weapon snap about his wrist. It yanked him sidelong and he went skidding across the ground, clawing at the earth to get to his hands and knees. He gritted his teeth against the rage that tore through his heart, the bear inside him roaring furiously.

“Leave her out of this!” he shouted at the two of them. “You have me, leave her!”

Baptiste was smirking down at him, his grip firm on the whip still wrapped about Marcus’s wrist, and Liam looked towards where Clara was sprawled unconscious across the grass. She was still half-dressed, and Marcus felt a hiss pass between his teeth when he saw Liam take in the sight of her exposed breasts, her lush thighs. The hiss brought Liam’s eyes back to him, and the big man arched an eyebrow at him and shook his head.

“Ringmaster’s orders,” he said. “We’re to bring you both.”

“Dammit, Liam, she isn’t a part of this and she’s
human
,” Marcus gritted out. “
Please
, man!”

Liam shrugged. “She’s a part of this. As much as you. She comes with.” He jerked his chin at Baptiste, who started dragging Marcus across the ground with the whip, towards the carnival truck parked behind Clara’s car.

“Don’t you
touch
her!” Marcus shouted at Liam, struggling; the whip was tipped with silver, and every time it dug into his flesh, it burned and poisoned his strength, and he felt himself begin to weaken. “Liam!”

Liam shot him a sharp glance as he sank into a crouch above Clara. With a hard glint to his eyes, the large man began to delicately pull the girl’s dress back into place, settling the straps once more on her shoulders, and then he gently gathered her into his arms.

“You insult me,” he muttered to Marcus as he carried Clara past him and towards the truck.

Marcus felt all of his strength leave him then, and with his head bowed in shame and misery, he crawled on his hands and knees after them to the truck as well. Liam took Clara into the cab and climbed behind the wheel, while Baptiste drew Marcus into the bed of the truck and sat down there, with him still held in thrall by the whip. He curled up on the truck bed and felt his strength seep away, along with what hope he held in his heart. Not only had he doomed himself, but it seemed he’d doomed Clara too. What a fool he was, thinking that he could escape D’Orfeo and take her with him. His only hope now was to give himself over to D’Orfeo’s punishments and try to convince the Ringmaster to spare Clara.

By the time they returned to the carnival grounds, the parking lot was empty and the lights had been turned off for the night. The carnival was closed, and without all the noise and music and the hum of the crowd, it was as Marcus always thought of it: a graveyard. Ghosts haunted the place for him and always would. The ghosts of his father and mother and brothers. The ghosts of their people.

His father had been the alpha of their den and lost to D’Orfeo in single combat. After that, the turn of the war between their dens was inevitable. Marcus had surrendered himself to the Ringmaster so that what was left of his den might flee and survive, some scraggly handful of bears, all alone now if they even lived. He’d made the only choice he could then, and felt he had still doomed those he loved, and lost them. Now he seemed to have done it again, and the shame of it overwhelmed him.

He did try to put up a fight when Baptiste dragged him out of the truck, towards the cages again. He watched Liam carry Clara off towards the big top and tried to go after them, but Baptiste snatched the whip from his wrist and slapped it instead around his throat, hauling him back, and the strength left him in one great gust of agony and defeat.

By the time Baptiste locked him back in the cage, all he could do was lie there, tears pooling in his eyes. He’d always told himself that he was stronger than D’Orfeo thought he was, that one day he would be able to beat him. Now he didn’t think that anymore. D’Orfeo had the perfect weapon against him: Clara. And Marcus knew that he would do anything to keep her safe,
be
anything D’Orfeo wanted him to be to keep her alive.

Baptiste stood beside the cage, winding the whip about his arm, and Marcus met his eyes through the bars where he lay on the straw. Baptiste’s sharp features hardened, and he smirked.

“No more escape attempts for you, cub,” he muttered. “Ringmaster’ll see to that now.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus sighed.

“Not so much fight in you anymore, is there?” Baptiste tucked the whip into the hook on his belt. “Pity. Breaking you myself would have been more fun.”

“She’s just a girl, Baptiste.”

“Not anymore,” the slender man said, shrugging. “Now she’s your collar.”

Marcus watched him walk away, his vision blurring as more tears lit into his eyes and spilled down the bridge of his nose to wet the straw beneath his cheek.

Clara opened her eyes and felt a groggy, hazy ache in her head as she stared up at the ceiling. She realized it was canvas, moving faintly beneath the breeze. A tent. She shifted, shoving herself up to her elbows despite the pain between her temples, and blinked slowly, realizing that she was lying upon a bearskin rug. With a gasp and a thrill of disgust shooting up her spine, she scrambled off it, backing right up against the side of the tent. Movement caught her eye and she looked over, watching a tall, handsome man rise from a dining table across the rug from her.

She guessed he must have been in his early forties, lithe and wiry-framed, a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair combed back from a pale, sharp-featured face. He wore a white dress shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, black trousers tucked into tall black boots, and black tuxedo tails, the hem trimmed with leather. He walked across the bearskin rug to stand over her, hands on his hips, glittering black eyes looking her over from her toes to the top of her head. She tugged the hem of her dress down, acutely aware now that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“The mythical Clara,” he murmured. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s not so nice to meet you,” she replied, glaring up at him.

“My name is Lucien D’Orfeo, and this is my carnival,” he said smoothly, smirking down at her. “I apologize for the way you were brought here, but it really was unavoidable given the circumstances.”

“I want you to return me to my car
right now
,” Clara said, and she pushed herself up to her feet to face him. “And Marcus too. This is ridiculous.”

D’Orfeo arched an eyebrow at her and shook his head. “I think not.”

“I think
yes
,” she snapped.

A scowl darkened the tall man’s features. “No. He broke the rules I set before him, and now he will suffer the punishment. And the punishment, I’m afraid, my dear, is
you
.”

She stared up at him, not understanding.

Before she could ask what he planned to do with her, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the tent, hauling her down the lane towards the animal cages. She realized that it had been a little dressing tent, attached to the gigantic big top.

“Marcus’s misbehavior has proven to me that he requires more motivation than I had previously expected,” D’Orfeo went on as they passed the chickens and the goats and the reptiles. “So you are going to be traveling with us from now on, Miss Reynaldi. And every time he misbehaves now,
you
will bear the punishment.”

Clara’s heart tanked right into her heels, and she felt an icy fear slick through her limbs as she stumbled along beside the Ringmaster. Her heart began to hammer in her chest.

“You can’t do that,” she gasped. “You can’t just
take me prisoner
, this is fucking 2015! There are—there are cops and things!”

D’Orfeo chuckled blackly. “We’re a traveling carnival, darling. We’re designed to avoid
cops and things
and have been for two hundred years. We’ll be gone in four days and nobody will miss you quickly enough.”

“My friends know I came here!” She tried to break free of his grip, but it was too strong. “They’ll tell everyone!”

He wheeled her sharply around and stooped down to meet her eyes. She was struck by the sudden coldness she saw in his face, a hint of cruelty curving his lips.

“Then I shall have to send some visitors to be sure they
don’t
,” he growled at her.

She shook her head. “No, no—don’t…”

He started walking again, dragging her with him. “You’ll sign a few notes. We’ll leave them where your friends can find them. And that will be that.”

A pit of dread opened up in her stomach. There was no way out of this on her own. But surely there
had
to be a way out. Even if Marcus had been unable to escape this man, surely together they could manage it.

D’Orfeo hauled her over to one of the empty cages and shoved her up into it, slamming the door shut and locking it at her back. Then she saw, in an adjacent cage, Marcus’s still form lying facedown on the floor. She rushed to the cage bars, reaching through to grasp at his arm.

“Marcus! Marcus!”

She shook him and he stirred, as D’Orfeo strolled around to look through the bars at the two of them, hands sliding into the pockets of his slacks.

“Here we are, then,” the Ringmaster said pleasantly, nodding. “Excellent. Miss Reynaldi, you will be freed from the cage in the morning and put to work. And you, Mr. Zane, will do whatever I say unless you want me to skin her alive.”

Clara realized that she’d started crying, pulling on Marcus’s arm to get him to come closer to her, but he wouldn’t move. He just lay there as he was, still, though his eyes were open and staring at D’Orfeo emptily. The Ringmaster stood observing them for another moment, before he clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth with a quiet
tsk
of amusement and then turned, strolling back towards the line of caravan trailers and tents at the edge of the carnival ground.

Clara sank to her knees against the bars of the cage, one hand still on Marcus’s arm, and let her temple fall to rest against one of the bars with a sigh. Her heart ached, her
head
ached, and they were trapped. In all of her dreams of finding Marcus again, this was not an ending she had ever imagined.

“I’m sorry,” she heard Marcus whisper. “I’m so sorry, Clara.”

She squeezed his arm. “Look at me, please. Get up.”

“I can’t.” She watched his back lift and fall gently with a deep breath. “The tamer’s whip has stolen my strength. I’m sorry.”

She sniffed against tears that filled her eyes to see him just lying there. But she kept a hand on his arm, wanting to touch him. Wanting to be closer to him. Despite it all, that was what she still wanted most. Marcus. Just him.

“We’ll find a way out of this,” she insisted softly.

He didn’t respond, and that mixed sorrow in with the dread already filling her heart. She closed her eyes and eventually fell asleep just as she was, pressed against the bars between their cages, holding on to the only thing she cared about in the world.