Don't Judge a Bear by His Cover (6 page)

I feel a shiver pass right through me. "And you took over?"

"Yeah."

We drive in silence for a while, getting onto the I-91 and heading north. I think of calling my dad, letting him know what's going on, but I hold off. Later. I want to ask more questions, but I can tell that recounting his story has put Torben in a pensive frame of mind, and I decide to hold my tongue. Instead I just watch Massachusetts roll by, and forty minutes later we cross into Vermont. The countryside is beautiful, small towns passing by, the occasional red barn standing alone in a broad stretch of fields, the woods never far away. It's not too hard to imagine living out here, buying a small place. My mind wanders, spinning stories the way it used to, once long ago, imagining a little cottage by a stream, surrounded on all sides by the woods except for a garden maybe, a plot of land with enough vegetables to keep us going, a chicken coop, and hell, why not, a big old sow in a muddy pen lying on her side contentedly.

Could I do that? Live a quiet country life? It's not too hard to imagine when I look covertly at Torben. A cottage filled with books. Both of us snuggling under heavy blankets when the snow falls, feet intertwined as we read, glancing at each other on occasion over the tops of our books, trying to hold off getting intimate as long as we can, allowing the denial of our need to turn to sweet torture.

I sigh and the dream fades away. Chin on the palm of my hand, I stare out at the passing world and wonder if I'll ever have a place in it.

"So," I say, turning away from my dreams to the reality at hand. "You're going to turn into a big crime boss now?"

"Something like that."

"OK. You sound way too smug. What's going on here?"

Torben turns an innocent expression on me. "I don't know what you mean."

"Fine. Then tell me this. Really. Why am I here? Do you honestly expect me to follow along as you lead your biker gang into crazy criminal exploits?"

This earns me a measured pause. No quick response. "Well. That was a spur of the moment thing. I didn't actually intend to ask you along."

"You didn't ask. You demanded."

A grin. "Maybe I learned that from you."

I open my mouth to protest. Ouch. "Fair point. But there's a bit of a difference between dinner and a month of captivity."

"Captivity?" He pulls over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes so that clouds of dust float past us. I yelp and grab onto the oh-shit handle, shocked and turning to stare at him. He's right there, eyes locked on mine, the intensity having gone from 1 to 11 in seconds. My heart's trying to burst out of my chest. I can't breathe.

"Tell me you didn't want to come." His voice is a low burn that slides right past my defenses and into my core.

"I -"

"Tell me you want to go back, and I'll turn around right now."

"I -" I can't think. His whole body is tense, and while part of me thinks I should be freaked out, should be opening the car door and stumbling out onto the shoulder, a deeper, more primal part of me wants him to kiss me, to pull me into his arms and kiss me deeply and truly. That realization freaks me out even more. I don't even know this guy! How am I feeling this intensely about him already?

"I didn't think so," he says.

I curl a strand of my hair behind my ear with a trembling hand. I can't meet his eyes. Do I want this? I do. After three years of imprisonment, I want out. And beyond that. A deep part of me wants to stay close to this man.

"You don't understand," I say.

"No?" He pulls back out onto the road. "I think I understand all too well."

"God, you're arrogant." I hug myself. "You don't know the first thing about me."

"I don't have to. I know you're responding to me in a way no other woman has. And I'm feeling things for you that I've never felt before either."

"What?" I stare at him, shocked. "Did I call you arrogant? That doesn't begin to describe -"

"It's not arrogance." He's staring straight ahead, accelerating to catch up with Hrald. "You don't know the first thing about shifters, do you?"

"No. Obviously."

"Obviously. We're predators. You don't get weresheep. You get werewolves. Werebears. Werelions. Hunters. Killers. We have instincts that guide us toward our prey."

"That's what I am? Prey?"

"No. Those same instincts also guide us toward women whom our inner beasts recognize as potential mates."

I sit in silence for a while, and then laugh incredulously. "Mates? What?"

"Yeah." Torben's frown shows he isn't exactly thrilled about this. "That's what we call it. The women our inner beasts recognize as matches. Our minds might not understand it. Our hearts may be confused. But our drive, our instincts, they tell us how it is. When I saw you walk in through my door I fought it as hard as I could. I fought it over dinner. But this morning, seeing you standing there looking so amazing, I couldn't fight it anymore. Hence my ridiculous demand."

I blink. My hands fall into my lap. I feel numb. Shocked. I don't know what to say. A minute passes, the most tense and insanely crazy minute of my life, and then I press my fingertips to my temples and shake my head.

"Wait. Wait a minute. Are you saying - is this your way of seducing me? Carting me off north for a month and just telling me your inner bear has decided we're going to bump uglies, so that's that?"

Torben growls, and it's a raw sound, something primal and wild. If I needed any more convincing that he isn't human, this is it. "No. I'm fighting it as best I can. I don't want a mate. I don't want to drag you into this. I don't want to endanger you." His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "But you don't know the effect you have on me. The way you twist my thoughts. I didn't sleep last night just thinking about you. Your body. The mystery you hold hidden inside of you. You're in me like smoke rising through the leaves of a tree. And so I did this dumb thing and asked you to come. And now I'm messing things up even further trying to be honest. Trying to tell you how messed up I am right now about you. My mind is at war with my bear, and you're caught in the crossfire."

He sounds so tormented I actually want to place my hand on his shoulder and comfort him. But I'm the one being forced to go to Canada to join a biker gang. I'm the one that he should be apologizing to.

But on another level, on a deeper level, what he's saying makes sense.

Chapter 8

We drive in silence, both of us sunk in our reflections. This feels so right, this feels so wrong. I can't help but believe I should be here, that in some primal way I belong by Torben's side, yet the rational, modern woman in me can only scoff. He may be part bear, but I'm one hundred percent human and I am not governed by my instincts. And while yes, he's as handsome and attractive a man as I've ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on, that does not mean I'm going to just become his mate.

Yet each time I allow myself to look at him, I find my convictions wavering. I find my eyes traveling the line of muscle that cords his forearm. Lingering over his broad hand where it clenches the wheel. I can't help but breathe in his scent, masculine and clean, and touched with a hint of - what is that - the smell of bookstores? Pages and covers, literature and learning. I lean my head back and close my eyes, and that smell seems to magnify, to seduce me in the most subtle of ways possible. It's too easy to imagine awakening with that scent around me, on the sheets, on the pillow.

Each time I snap my eyes open angrily and stare out the window. I scour my thoughts of all erotic images and sensual longing. So what if his bear thinks I'm his perfect mate? I don't know the man. More than that, am I going to earn my freedom from my father only to shack up with the leader of a Canadian biker gang? During all my nights of longing for an escape, I never once imagined that as a sweet possibility.

Torben seems content to drive in silence, and so the hours stretch out, Vermont rolling by, the Canadian border coming ever closer. There's so much to discuss, to learn, to hash out, but neither of us seem able to break the stilted awkwardness that has fallen since that raw confrontation close to the border. Each time I blink I can see his face as it was, his emotions naked and conflicted, his hunger warring with his human mind.

What am I doing? Why aren't I asking him to let me out so that I can escape to some situation that's more rational, more sensible?

With each mile that passes beneath our tires, I feel like I'm being sucked deeper into this strange, unnerving madness that has fallen over me since I first laid eyes on Torben. My sense of self and reality is unraveling. I've heard of love at first sight. I've even experienced lust at first sight. But this? This is more. This feels like I'm tapping into some primitive drive that has lain dormant within me my entire life. A primeval force akin to a natural imperative, uncaring of plans or logic or common sense. As if the sight of Torben kicked the first stone down the slope that triggers an avalanche. An avalanche I'm trying to resist, but which is going to hit me with the force of Mother Nature and sweep my protesting mind away.

We reach the Canadian boundary, and I pull out my passport. There's not much of a line going through the checkpoint, and getting into Canada seems a much simpler process than the reverse. In a way, it feels like driving through a gas station, the lanes separated by toll booths. Neither Torben nor I have yet said a word, the silence taking on an almost palpable force, and as we both hand over our paperwork, our eyes meet for the first time - and mine skitter away. So much time spent thinking about him, about us, has made contact of any kind almost overwhelming.

"All right, enjoy your visit," says the officer, handing back our passports without even glancing at them much. He waves us through, and we roll up to where Hrald is waiting hunched on his bike.

After Torben has pulled over onto the shoulder, we get out of the truck and stretch. My ass is numb and the small of my back feels compacted. Dusk is falling, and the activity around the border is a small knot of light in the growing gloom.

Hrald strides over, seemingly unaffected by riding his bike for most the day, and nods warily to Torben. "All right?"

"Where's the clan at?" Torben's rolling his shoulders, working out the kinks.

"Don't know exactly, but they're probably six hours north. Depends where Krassok took them."

"Krassok?" I ask. The cold is starting to develop some bite and I hug myself.

Hrald looks to me, and I get the sense he'd rather ignore my question, but I turn up the amperage in my gaze and he finally relents. "Second in command. Temporary alpha. Torben'll probably have to kick his ass just to settle things."

"Krassok." Torben doesn't sound too pleased by the name. "Nobody's taken him down yet?"

Hrald snorts. "Not for lack of trying."

"Well, call him. Tell him to bring the clan south. We're supposed to meet at Split Rock tomorrow morning."

Hrald blinks. "That's just a couple of hours north of here."

Torben doesn't answer.

"Fine," says Hrald. "Krassok won't like it, though. Coming this far south. Who's going to watch our turf?"

"Krassok isn't the true alpha. Tell him to think carefully before he decides not to obey my command."

Hrald hawks and spits. "Fair enough. And what about us?"

Torben stares down the road into the distant night. "We'll find a motel to hole up in for the night. Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow morning to meet with the clan."

Again Hrald nods, but his unease is clear. With a sigh, he digs a flip phone out of his pocket and steps away to make his call.

"What's going on?" I ask.

Torben's watching Hrald. "I'm putting my plan into effect."

"So you do have something up your sleeve." I want to feel vindicated in my suspicions, but instead I feel even more nervous. "You're not just submitting quietly."

His gold eyes lock on mine. "I've never in my life submitted quietly. I don't plan to start now."

"Which is why Soren wasn't all that torn up about your leaving."

"Oh, he was plenty unhappy with my plan. He called me a fool in every way he could."

"Oh." That doesn't sound good. Soren seemed like a solid man, gifted with an ample amount of common sense. If he didn't approve, than that means Torben's plan is risky as all heck. "And do I get to know what you're planning?"

"Yeah." Hrald starts walking back, and Torben raises a hand, asking me to hold on. "When we get to the motel, I'll tell you everything. I should have done so before now."

Yes, you should have, I want to say, but then Hrald is right there.

"Krassok didn't like it, but he's coming. Bringing the whole clan, all thirty-three of them. They'll drive through the night and be there at dawn tomorrow."

"Good," says Torben, though he doesn't seem much surprised. "Now let's get to that motel. First one we hit on the road north will suffice."

Hrald nods, and a few minutes later we're back on the road. Dusk has given way to night, and isolated red brake lights float in the distance before us like hallucinatory fireflies. I've never been to Canada before, other than a wild weekend in Montreal during college. I don't remember that visit too clearly - that was during my wild years. The same wild years that landed me in trouble with the law and finally in the clutches of my dad. Looking out the window, I can't make out too much of a difference in the gloom. Other than the signs being in kilometers instead of miles, Canada thus far looks just about the same as Massachusetts and Vermont.

There's a spate of motels and gas stations right by the border, and the first we hit is a dive called the Red Tree Inn. It's no inn, but rather a series of single-story rooms surrounding a parking lot. Half the lights are out, and only five or six cars occupy the lot. Hrald pulls his bike up close to the dingy office, and Torben parks about ten spaces down from him. No urge to show solidarity, I see.

Torben kills the engine, and then hesitates. I've been wondering how he's going to handle this situation, and been keeping quiet to see which direction he decides to go in. To be honest, I don't know what I want.