Bound to the Bears (Born of Blood) Page 2

  We have a system here, Beren and I. Red wine for confirmed safe contacts, white for unknown. Something else entirely for confirmed danger, like beer or water depending on the threat level—or, more often, how annoyed Beren feels about their presence.

  The dark drink should give me some sense of comfort.

  “How simple of a birthday is it, really?” she asks with a gentle, too tender smile.

  My instincts lead me to believe she knows too much. No matter how badly I want to curl up in the palm of her hand.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, scratching at the walls of my memory for where I saw her last.

  She raises a brow, catching a purple lip between snowy white teeth. “You just hand those out regularly around here?”

  “They tell you a lot about a person,” I say.

  “Exactly,” she answers as though I asked a question in return. “Your bloodline, your lifeforce, your very essence… Seems a powerful weapon to hand out like a party favor.”

  I step closer, bowing my head near hers. Blood rushes downward, my racing heart drowning out every other sound for miles. Her opal eyes darken as they gaze down at my pulse, painted lips parting to suck in a gasp.

  “It’s also the best way to know who you’re dealing with,” I hiss.

  She drags her gaze from my throat up to my eyes, a playful smirk on her face. “So, give me your name, then.”

  Incredulous, I glare at her. “You’re in my house, drinking my husband’s wine, and you don’t know who I am?”

  “Of course I do,” she chuckles. “But I want your name.”

  Surely she doesn’t know exactly who she’s speaking to.

  I’m getting pissed now. Mostly with myself for how my stomach has twisted itself into knots, trying to kill the butterflies, and I’m taking it out on her. Where do I know this woman from?

  “You can call me Ivy, if that makes you feel better,” she says, an air of taunting mischief in her tone. “Your turn.”

  An unprecedented wave of rage unfurls in my chest, and I lash out, snatching her throat and pinning her to the wall. The wine glass slips from her hand and shatters at our feet, the garnet elixir staining our shoes.

  “I don’t appreciate condescending little bitches showing up in my house,” I snarl, my hot breath tickling her lips. “You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with.”

  She practically mewls, frighteningly serene under my rough treatment. Her lashes flutter as she takes me in, tilting her chin towards me as much as she’s able. “And whose fault is that?”

  I tighten my hold on her neck, ignoring the heat tickling my ears when she whimpers in response. My silence makes her smile, then she’s softening her mouth until her lips brush mine when she speaks. “I’ll be sure to offend you more often.”

  My tongue darts over my lips, tasting the wine mixed with the icy mint that must come from her alone. I move my fingers experimentally, tracing the thundering veins under her chin, warmth blooming under her frighteningly cold flesh. I press my thumb into the hollow of her throat and her mouth opens invitingly, struggling to breathe and offering herself up to me in spite.

  I push off her, putting some distance between us. The air is thick, freezing around me, something I’ve never felt before. It scares me. I want it to go away.

  I want her to go away.

  “Leave,” I say. “Don’t darken my doorways again.”

  But her voice stops me again before I’m out the door.

  “All that drama,” she says, “and you still won’t give me your name?”

  I raise my head, drawing a steadying breath. Fine. She wants a verbal confirmation, then I’ll tell her.

  “My name is Orsa Etana Jelani, sole heiress to The Order,” I snarl. “Now go.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I whip around again, covering my throat with my hands. Ivy’s soft, deafening laughter still echoes in my mind, but in her place stands my husband.

  She’s gone.

  “God damn it, Beren,” I bark, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You never learn. Make a noise when you enter a room!”

  “You’re the one standing here talking to yourself,” he says, his brow furrowed with concern. He surveys the room, the stain on my clothes and the broken glass on the floor. “Were you drinking?”

  Bastard.

  “Wanna try that again?”

  He meets my eyes and closes his mouth, shaking his head. “Are you hurt?” he tries again, trying to backtrack into his place.

  “Your leash is getting a bit lax,” I warn him. “I am not in the right frame of mind for you to test that today.”

  He nods quickly, pursing his lips and swallowing whatever ridiculous questions dance on the tip of his tongue. It’s been a long time since we held even a farce of romantic affection for each other, and his unhappiness grows more evident by the day.

  The only thing that seems to give him an ounce of joy is our daughters.

  I suppose I should cling to my gratitude for that. His unyielding love for his children keeps him blind to my indiscretions. Or, at the least... he’s quiet about it.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I hiss. “I’d like my house back.”

  He gives me a weakened version of his best smile, placing his hand carefully on my waist and leading me back to the gathering. Forced niceties are exchanged as everyone conveys around the center table. People hug my mother and offer me unsolicited advice about how to raise two girls.

  For the first time since I’d found out I’m expecting, there is no stress about any of this. I couldn’t care less at this exact moment if people find out Keyona isn’t Beren’s, or that the sanctity of The Order is at stake. I don’t care that some meaningless one night stand could show up on my doorstep and change not only my life, but my entire family’s, with one bullet.

  I only care where that little vampiric bitch disappeared off to.

  There isn’t a doubt in my mind that’s what she is now—the stubborn know-it-all attitude, the fearless demeanor in spite of my unbridled anger at her presence. She knew I couldn’t kill her barehanded, so what was the harm in pushing me beyond the limits of my sanity?

  And then she just vanishes, makes me look like a fool in front of my useless husband. Like it’s a joke.

  Cut yourself, my mind supplies, an intrusive thought, that will draw her out of the shadows.

  My palm burns from the injury before I’ve consciously realized I’ve moved to wrap my hand around the cake knife and do exactly that. I clench my fist and hold it close to my side, hiding the wound before Beren draws attention to it with his stupid pestering.

  What is wrong with me? Why would I do something so ignorant—baiting a vampire like that in a group? Beside my family, my bubbly child bouncing at my feet, pawing at the cake in front of her.

  What could possibly possess me to do that?

  I can hear her lyrical giggle in the back of my mind again, like that should answer all my questions.

  Ursula’s strong baby voice draws me back to the present, her irritated huff like a punch to the throat. “Daddy.”

  “Mom’s excited, too, sugarbear, I promise,” Beren assures her, scooping her into his arms. Ursula pierces me with an impressive sneer, turning her nose up to the sky and shoveling her piece of cake into her mouth.

  How long did I black out? My child is a mess and my husband is flush with embarrassment. The people are broken into groups again, eating pink cake and chattering amongst themselves, giggling as though I’m overcome with emotion and that’s something to laugh about.

  Pink cake.

  My heart drops like an anchor, all the tension and fear rushing back in like a hurricane, and I audibly gasp, both hands flying to cover my mouth.

  “Orsa, love?” Beren asks tentatively, bowing his head closer to me to keep his words private from listening ears. “Is everything alright?”

  “Of course,” I say, quickly pulling myself together. Tears burn my eyes, but I step in to him and ti
ckle Ursula’s chubby waist until she breaks her silence and snickers. “Just, you know, so overwhelmed with everything. You have a baby sister, Ursie, are you so excited?”

  She throws her hands above her head and wails, punching the air triumphantly. She chatters confusingly about tormenting Dov with her new minion, and Beren slowly lights up from the inside.

  “That’s right, sugarbear,” he coos, cradling Ursula’s head to his chest. “My two perfect girls…”

  There’s something in his tone that makes me look up. He’s watching with a knit brow, tears to mirror my own dancing on his eyelashes.

  “Do you…” I leave it hanging there, not knowing how to ask.

  He nods. “I know,” he murmurs, lowering his eyes to Ursula. “It’s alright.”

  “Beren.”

  “I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll keep your secret. She… Keyona’s my baby, same as Ursula. Nothing’s changed.”

  Everything has changed, and he knows it. But it’s safer for him to lie, to pretend there’s no chance in hell I’d ever betray him like that. Safer for Ursula, too.

  Both of them could be killed because I was selfish for one night. And there’s nothing I can do but keep my mouth shut.

  That won’t be hard. I’ve been doing it my whole life… what’s one more lie to add to the list?

  Azlin

  Vegas isn’t what you’d call a water lover’s paradise. There are tiny patches here and there, by Hacienda Avenue and Boulder Junction, but nothing to write home to Mom about. For someone like Orsa, it’s downright depressing, living in such a packed city in the middle of a desert.

  That being said, there are plenty of rooftop pools for her to soak in.

  The nicest one is on top of a casino run by questionable characters. The building itself is loaded with secrets, even secret passageways to troll hideaways and marketplaces. But that’s for another time.

  Orsa particularly likes this place because the pool is almost always empty. It connects to the fish tanks inside, where merfolk are put on display like tiny sideshows. Humans are quite the unwitting sort, so a few well placed air bubbles through the water to mimic another human breathing is enough to convince them it’s all some elaborate show.

  It’s actually concerning how easy humans are to fool. How anything could be so blind to its own surroundings and survive this many generations is beyond me.

  Ursula is floating around in the pool, chattering to a sleeping bundle that is Keyona on the sidelines. A baby mercreature swims up to investigate the noise, bursting through the surface and hissing in excitement at another youngling such as itself. Ursula thrashes viciously in the bubbling water, growling and giggling as the little mercreature swims laps around her. Her squeal is cut short when she’s yanked beneath the surface by the little beast, the two of them fighting hard.

  Water splashes up in Orsa’s face and she startles, glancing in their direction as she swipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She studies the fighting children for a moment, then sighs and angles her face back up towards the sun.

  I raise a brow and lean in closer. She has piqued my curiosity, now is as good a time as any to see about taking advantage of our new name bond.

  Silly of her, to give me the full length of it.

  “Let me in,” I whisper on the wind. I close my eyes to see her better, the goosebumps rippling down her neck, her chest rising in surprise. “Let me see what you see.”

  Her eyes flutter as her head whips around, looking for the source of the voice. For me, sitting nearby. She pictures me in my little fur cap, dressed to the nines instead of in the hospital scrubs.

  The realization dawns on her then, that’s where she saw me before. An adorable growl rumbles out of her chest and she squeezes the sides of her floating bed, smacking the water’s surface.

  I giggle to myself. She was thinking of me.

  Excellent. Dreamwalking works even on wandering minds. Just what I’m looking for.

  Ursula struggles to the surface again, her sharp scream once again silenced. Orsa isn’t the slightest bit concerned. Her daughter found the merfolk long ago and somehow charmed them into not killing her. Whether they think she’s a mere stray shifter, or if the underwater clans are simply not interested in starting wars with us land dwellers at this time is a mystery.

  Regardless, nothing to worry about right now. It seems the shark toothed little monster is the least of her worries.

  Convenient. I need her momma to myself for a moment.

  “Come with me,” I whisper again.

  Orsa shivers, drawing her arms tight around her body. Her breasts push together as she hugs herself, her nipples straining against her yellow bikini top. Her dark skin glows in the sunlight, water droplets gathered on her collarbone and dripping seductively down her tight stomach.

  My chill teases over her body, icy fingers following the tracks of the water, freezing it to her warm skin. It’s a physical ache, rooted deep in my chest, how badly I want to touch her, really feel her tremors under my fingertips.

  But she’s fighting me.

  “Play with me,” I urge, watching as her lips part as she draws in a desperate gasp. Her energy grows heavier, sleep drawing her under like the waves, until her eyes flutter closed and her arms relax around her.

  I don’t bother to check in on her daughters before I chase her into the corners of her own mind.

  It’s dark, and plain. In dreams, Orsa wanders through the gray halls of an abandoned building, each wall tightly sealed off from the outside world. There are solid navy blue doors, but each one only leads to more hallways, more dead ends.

  I’m in a corner, where a small crack in the wall lets in barely an inch of sunlight. I step towards it, pushing up on my toes to peek outside, to see what escape looks like to her. What would be her paradise if she could break out of these cold, endless walls put up around her?

  But there’s nothing. It’s like staring directly into the sun—something is out there, but it’s too far away, too bright to even begin to hope for.

  Dreamwalking is not what I anticipated. The fog and confusion that comes with sleep is absent, the scenery of her mind crystal clear and open for me to wander through. It’s like stepping into a different dimension, from the human realm into the faery realm and back again. Both are equally tangible, and yet, neither really exist outside of your own mind.

  Fascinating. This will make life much easier for—

  “What are you doing here?”

  I turn at the sound of her voice, my breath catching in her throat. She looks entirely different here. Her bright clothes are replaced with ashy gray scrubs, long black hair pulled back in a loose, curly ponytail. No makeup on her face, no jewelry sparkling on her neck or hands or ankles.

  She looks like a prisoner.

  “I came to visit,” I say. I step towards her, reaching out my hands, but hesitate when she flinches. “Come now,” I lower my voice another notch, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She tilts her head, looking past me like she did at the party, but it’s different now. She’s not struggling to see me through the glamour, there is no anger marring her pretty face. She’s distracted by something behind me this time.

  “You have wings.”

  I startle, glancing over my shoulder and then back at her. I’m positive I didn’t let her through my guards. Maybe they don’t work here?

  “Suppose I do, yes,” I say.

  She steps forward finally, but foregoes my hands. Instead she reaches around my waist, the pads of her fingers ghosting over the very edges. An involuntary shudder wracks my body and I lean in close, biting my tongue to hold down a whimper.

  Faery wings are incredibly sensitive to touch. Revealing them to a partner is a particularly intimate act, one I hadn’t planned on sharing with the little bear shifter any time soon. If ever.

  I could pull away. I could tell her no. I could freeze her body and shatter her into a million little pieces, put her back together all over again
in my own design… if I wanted.

  But I’m horrified to realize I don’t want to do any of that.

  I want her to touch me like this. Like I’m hers.

  “They’re so cold,” she muses, her brow furrowed, all innocence and confusion. “And soft… They glitter like fresh snow.”

  I flutter them, shaking free fluffy snowflakes and sending them swirling around us in a spiral. Orsa gasps and jumps closer to me, eyes darting around to assess the threat before she softens, her mouth hanging open in sweet wonder.

  “Something like that.”

  “I thought you…” she says, shaking her head, trying in vain to clear it. At least I’m not feeling the draw between us alone. “You looked at… and, and at the party you just vanished, I—I would’ve swore you’re a…”

  I raise a brow at her, waiting.

  “Why are you here?” she says instead, trying to force some authority into her voice. “How can you dreamwalk? It’s something only bears can do, so don’t try and lie to me.”

  “Surely you know us Fae are incapable of such a thing,” I tease her.

  “Fae.” She glares at me. “I also know your species is supposed to be dormant, so forgive me if I don’t buy that.”

  “Semantics.” I shrug. Her cheeks are turning red, so I may as well give her a nibble. “You brought me here. I was invited.”

  “No,” she says. “You can’t do that. I—I can’t do that. It’s not blood magic. I can’t just bring people along for the ride, especially not in my own head.”

  “You do love to argue,” I chuckle, stepping away to make a semi circle around her. “Now, let’s try some critical thinking, shall we? You gave me your name. It is mine now. Which means, what you do, what you think, what you feel… it all belongs to me.”

  She straightens defiantly, but her eyes are wide, the color draining out of her face. She lowers her gaze to the ground, clenching her fists at her sides. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t breathe.

  Perhaps she didn’t hear me.

  I lean in to her back, fitting my body against her curves, and brush my nose under the shell of her ear. She tilts her head back toward me in an almost submissive gesture, and I bite down on her earlobe, making her stiffen once more.