Chapter 4
The heat of flames flickered like a phantom over her flawless skin as she jolted into consciousness. She noticed the change in bedding, or the lack thereof, and registered the weight against her back pinning her down. Her body coiled, readying her will for a split second before—
A booming growl tore through her body, turning her muscles to jelly and extinguishing any tension. A surprised mew left her, confusion rising to the forefront of her mind. What in the name of the Goddess was that?!
The witch lifted her head slowly, worried at what she could find keeping her captive. Just because she could not die, did not mean she could not hurt. And though she was powerful enough to defeat just about all with ill intentions, she was never, ever one to underestimate a potential enemy. But, what she saw staring back at her was a first.
It was a bearman. A big bearman. Wet nose, toothy maw, big, round, fluffy ears, thick, furry neck, broad, defined shoulders, biceps as big and half again the thickness of her thighs. Goddess. The thing that sat under her was strong. She pushed herself up against the force on her back, and he willingly freed her, sliding his giant hand to rest at her waist, the other coming to cup her thigh. As her eyes trailed down she bore witness to the tattoos of war that decorated the skin of his chest. The skin that should have grown fur was populated largely with scar tissue. The stories of teeth, swords, pikes, guns, fire, and other wounds she could not recognize flared up at her. The fur of his upper body only extended to a few inches under his pectorals, before gradually becoming scarce towards the abdominal. He looked normal there, like a regular, but a bit hairy man. He had on a pair of sweats for modesty, and though she was disappointed her visual exploration had come to an end, she was relieved to know he was respectful of possible boundaries. The flow of air against her sensitive nipple did not go unnoticed however.
Inspecting her sleep shirt more carefully, she realized that there were long slashes in the soft cotton, undoubtedly caused by the wicked claws that rested delicately against her skin. She pursed her lips and fixed her gaze on the bear.
"Are you able to talk in that form? Because I would like an explanation for this," she said, lifting her sleep shirt in gesture, unknowingly flashing him a slip of lace and the skin of her navel. A sight he was happy to take advantage of. "As well as the invasion and damage caused by the beasts under your command." Her voice was honey, slipping over him like a balm against his chafed soul. He unconsciously rubbed his thumb across her ribs, wincing a bit when his thumb accidentally tore more fabric. He gave the shirt an apologetic glance, sharing the look with his Given as she studied him.
Her eyes had softened and her full lips had relaxed, understanding lit her face. "I suppose you would sharpen them for battle," she pondered quietly, surprising him with her knowledge. Though, if the stories were anything to go by she was nearly as old as him. It would be strange if she had spent all this time on the Earth, among the different Tribes and not learned a thing or two. "One question answered," she stated, bringing him back to present. "Can you speak? And if not, will you change back for me?" Without answer, a leathery, furbacked hand came and covered her eyes. The body under her shuddered for a second and seemed to deflate slightly under her thighs. When light met her eyes again, her breath stalled. A tiny squeak escaped her lips, drawing a rumble from the mountain man beneath her. It took her a moment to process the noise as a chuckle.
Looking back at her was like her every wet dream come to life. The hair atop this man's head seemed to have migrated south. The top was smooth and glossy. The chin was covered with a long, thick, black beard with two stripes of white running down from the corners of his mouth. His skin was dark. The warm color reminded her of the heart of a walnut tree, and seeing the contrast of her milky thighs against his strong intercostals sent a satisfying zig to them both.
Wordlessly, he drew himself up, using only his core, flexing his muscles at her on purpose, showing off his strength and puffing up when she shifted subtly in his lap. A flush had sprouted on her cheeks as she watched him, too enamored to notice her gawking. That was abruptly ended when he enveloped her in his embrace. Letting out a soft sigh, he rested his cheek atop her soft hair.
"Mine," he said simply, always the silent type. He was the embodiment of the proverb "actions speak louder than words." He hoped that she understood, he felt a sudden flash of fear after remembering a story he was told by his Second's youngest daughter about a book she read online. It was about a young "new-wave feminist" girl who had met her Alpha Given and gave him Hell for his instincts. She was so caught up in not losing her "identity" that she did not realize how much she was hurting her Gift from the Goddess. The male bent over backwards and did his best to appease her, tearing himself up and eventually driving himself into depression. The story did not have a happy ending for them.
The anxiety present in his mind clouded his Given's breathless "oh" for a brief moment. But the feeling of her plush body sinking into his, arms wrapping around him to anchor herself in his hold cleared all doubts. "What took you so long," she groused playfully. Her words were rewarded with another deep chuckle, lightening the burden of solitude further from her heart. The chips and cracks were beginning to smooth themselves over as this castle of a man made himself at home.
Her stomach decided to ruin the moment with a weak plea of hunger. A sound of distress left her captor. What a horrible mate he was, to not feed his small, drained female. He should have known she would be hungry, he knew what happened when you used a lot of magic. And he had so rudely interrupted her meal yesterday. He was off to a terrible start showing her he could provide and care for her. He swiftly picked her up, hand instinctively coming to cup her bottom as he held her tighter to his chest. That turned out to be a mistake. The feel of her soft, firm globes under his hand was nearly his undoing. He stumbled slightly on the corner of the mattress and quickly shifted that hand to a safer place on her thigh. He internally argued with himself, attempting in vain, to banish the indecent thoughts that bombarded his precarious sanity. He could not afford to lose control and jeopardize his new relationship.
He made it down the stairs without further incident, still crouching to avoid more embarrassment. He knew his mate thought him awkward and clumsy already, it would only be made worse if he cracked his head on the wood of her stairs. The male wondered where the Alpha in him had gone.
"Um," his mate started, looking nervous. He set her down on the countertop in her kitchen, watching goosebumps rise on her legs as her thighs met the cold surface. She wrung her hands as he rubbed away the chill on her legs. "D– Your name?" He had a feeling that she wanted to ask something else, but was too busy kicking himself to give that any real thought. He couldn't believe he hadn't even asked for her name!
"Gabal," he replied easily. She gave him a bright smile, trying it out for herself. He didn't think his pants could get any tighter, and again he was proven very wrong. "Yours," he asked, softly. His hands still traced lightly on her thighs. Her hands came to cover his, stilling them and entwining their fingers. If he kept doing that, she was sure to jump him on the spot, breakfast, or brunch, as it were, be damned.
"Aoife," she said shyly. The way she said it, EE-fa, led her male to believe it had some sort of complicated Irish spelling. And when he repeated it, the blush that rose on her cheeks did not escape his notice. His bear made his presence known through the human's throat. He wanted to take Aoife right now, on this very counter. Make her cry out loud enough for his pack members to hear outside. And then take her back to his home and do it again.
Her blush deepened at the noise, and she turned her head away from him, subconsciously baring her neck. The blush on her cheeks traveled down below the collar of her shirt and she tightened her grip on his fingers. Gabal was so big and strong. It called to a place in her that had not woken since she was still a young mortal.
She released him immediately when he tugged his hands free, nostrils flaring. She assumed he was peeved at her, but in reality, he could smell the honey sweet scent of a particular emotion and needed to distance himself before he could no longer hold back. She was not a were, so he would have to take things slow with her. Mortals, or former mortals, were usually very finicky about when they would give out affection. His restraint was needed until he had verbal consent to take her. Stupid, human customs, he thought grumpily.
Aoife watched as her mountain made his way around the kitchen. He would call out ingredients every so often that he could not easily find and she would tap a light heel against the cabinets to drop a jar down from her shelves. It felt nice, under the worry that he now disliked her, to be taken care of. She had been on her own for an awfully long time. She could tell her cabin liked him too. Her things moved with him, giving him a helpful hand. A wooden spatula moved within reach as he searched for something to flip the frying eggs. Her favorite potholder crawled up from the drawer when he needed to lift the cast iron skillet off the range. A stool was quick to tuck itself away before it could make him trip. Aoife was so glad her home was opening up to Gabal. The place could be very touchy with visitors, either acting like a scene out of Poltergeist, or being subtly obstructive. Like making them trip over uneven floor boards, moving furniture into their path so they would bang and bruise their legs, snatch up their belongings into the bowels of the house. None of that seemed true with Gabal though. If anything, the house was as smitten as she was.
Before she knew it, Gabal had finished cooking. He loaded up a single plate with three-berry pancakes with a cranberry, honey glaze, pistachio, maple, venison sausage, chive, cheese, and bell pepper omelets, and her best thick cut, brown sugar bacon. He poured one tall glass of OJ and one equally tall glass of milk, set out a single fork, and made his way back to Aoife on the counter. She pondered the implications of the single place setting and the heaping helpings of food adorning the hand carved cherry wood dish. Gabal didn't let her wonder for long. He pulled out a chair and sat her down right on his lap, adjusting her so one hand was free to fork up a bit of eggs and bring it to her lips.
They spent the next while sitting like that, enjoying each other's silent company. Gabal content to provide for his female, Aoife content to be pampered by her male. The Alpha had managed to slip a hand under her shirt and was stroking the soft skin of her waist, the witch returning the favor by playing with the curly patch of hair on his chest. They basked in the bond forming between them, relishing the knowledge they were no longer alone in this world.
The cabin generously decided to clean up after breakfast, washing the dishes with a natural sponge and Aoife's handmade dish soap. The same sponge wiped down the counters as the clean crockery found its place to dry in the dish rack beside the sink. The witch, who was used to her house acting on its own, ignored the quiet clatter, but the bear tracked each movement with cautious eyes. The only reason he did not outwardly react, was the serene mate resting in his arms.
It was only when the sound of knuckles rapping on the hard wood of the front door echoed through the house that he finally heaved a deep sigh and allowed his Given to leave his arms. He nudged her towards the stairs with a few pointed tugs at her torn shirt, asking without words that she get changed into something presentable for company. She smiled up at him and raised a hand towards her loft. A second later, a pair of cotton leggings and a lacey mint colored bra came sailing over the railing and into her waiting hand. She was quick to slip the pants on over the matching underwear. And when she slipped the shirt off she maintained eye contact with him. They stayed that way, gold meeting green as she secured her breasts in the bra, only breaking the connection when she slipped the shirt back over her head. With another wave, the torn fabric, also cotton, mended itself and she was ready for her guests.
They walked to the door hand in hand, stealing another glance, inuring themselves to the fact that when they opened the door, their sanctity would be invaded by the problems of the outside world. With the awareness of their new partnership at the forefront of their minds, they greeted their visitors.
(A/N: Please consider looking into my Wattpad account under the same name, SageySagey, if you would like early chapter updates.)