Bear With Me

  Bear With Me (A Clearwater Werebear Romance)

  By

  Tara Gill

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  The names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictional.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Tara Gill

  Cover © 2018 Miny Mistress Creations

  Dedication

  To S. with love,

  Blurb

  In Clearwater, a shifter town, its residents turn furry at will and mate for life. Werebear blacksmith Reuben loves what he does, making art from metal. Business is doing well too. But when his family needs his help, Reuben drops everything and rushes to help. He is overjoyed when he meets his mate, just before he gets caught in a shifter spat which leaves him off-balance. Reuben returns home to lick his wounds.

  Months later Jasmine turns up at Clearwater with a surprise for Reuben. Her heart is bruised because Reuben didn’t pursue her beyond an unforgettable night. Shifters never abandon their mates, so she wonders what is so wrong with her that her mate deserted her.

  Will Jasmine’s love heal Reuben? Will the sexy werebear and his mate get a happy ever after? Read this erotic, sweet story to find out!

  Note: This is a sexy, sweet, low-angst romance which ends in an MF HEA. No cheating. No abuse.

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  Contents

  Dedication

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About Author

  Chapter 1

  Reuben

  Was that a knock? I couldn’t be sure, but I stopped hammering on the red-hot metal and pulled off my earmuffs, wiping my face with a small towel.

  Sweat had beaded my skin all morning as I pounded out swords for a Hollywood TV show. The producer had spotted one of my privately commissioned pieces – a metalwork dragon I'd made for a Chinese client – and it’d impressed him. The pay was good enough that I’d pushed a few pet projects down the timetable to accommodate this order. Apart from the swords – my bread and butter – the commission had included orders for lightweight armor and helmets, which meant a busy month.

  Interruptions were not welcome.

  The red light above the security keypad blinked, indicating someone was outside the door.

  Who the fuck was it? I pushed out with my inner bear’s acute senses and got a faint whiff of werebear.

  Scowling blackly, I removed my protective eyeglasses and left the metal to cool. Now I’d have to start all over again. I stomped over and entered the security code with impatient fingers.

  The code was her birthday.

  Once the lock clicked open, the door swung outward to reveal the Sheriff's familiar face. Brown-haired, square-jawed, and massive, he was the head of the Clearwater werebear clan. The only reason he’d come out all this way was to check on me.

  My scowl became thunderous. Stan winced at the sight of me — a flinch that was only perceptible because I watched for it. It was the same reaction that children – and old women, pretty girls, and plenty of others – had to my now-scarred face.

  "Scared of the beast, Stan?" I mocked.

  "God, Reuben, with that fire from the forge behind you, you just seemed to emerge from the bowels of hell or something. How are you? We haven't seen you in town for a while." Stan rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck and looked me over, eyes sharp. With dark, sunken eyes, weeks-old beard and wrinkled flannel shirt over faded jeans and boots, I imagined that I didn’t look my best.

  "Been checking on me?" I removed my gloves and stepped out, squinting at the bright daylight. Even before the incident, I’d been a man who kept to myself. Business had boomed the last few years, and most days found me in the workshop.

  "You used to come in at least to buy groceries, stop for coffee at Sweet Treats. Now it’s months since anyone laid eyes on you. Hiding out?"

  Rubbing my stubble, I grimaced. "Maybe."

  It wasn’t easy seeing people shrink from me or cross the street to avoid me when I went out in public. Most of the time I had everything delivered now.

  "You know others have gone through the same thing, right?" Stan lowered his voice. "Zane my cousin? He is the Alaskan alpha and he was badly scarred by a revenant. It was horrible, he was down in the dumps for a good bit. Now, though, he's happily mated. His werewolf mate doesn't give a shit about his scars."

  I’d heard of the attack that left the Alaskan alpha scarred, and always wondered how he’d found a girl. He was lucky to have found a mate who’d taken him on. But it was different for me. My scars were worse. Stan only knew about the ones on my face. He didn't know about the nasty ones on my thigh. Or that my back and side were an ugly mess. I sometimes scared myself in the mirror. What sane woman would want me?

  She would.

  My bear thought I was being unfair. He insisted that our woman would see past my scars and accept me. Love me.

  She's your mate. Of course she'll accept you. She sees you: bear and male and soul. My bear’s voice echoed through my body.

  I tried to push my bear back. Of course, he wanted her. He had faith. He was innocent. He didn't know how humans worked.

  I knew better, though. The world was full of crap. Unfair and hypocritical. Often what was on the surface mattered as much as what was underneath.

  “Is it only the attack, though?” Stan was saying. “You’ve been subdued ever since you came back from that trip to Florida. Everything all right with your aunt there?"

  "Yeah. Ellen is joining her son in Alaska. The change will do her good. Anyhow, now that the cougars are laying low, she’s safe." I stretched my arms. Ah, that felt good. Maybe I’d go out for a run later in the forest, let my bear loose.

  "Good. Next time call me for some back up before you go facing down a bunch of cougars single-handed. They can be a nasty bunch."

  This was true. However, I wasn’t planning on pummelling any shifters at the moment. "All right," I agreed, mostly to get the sheriff to leave.

  Sue me. No one could call me the most social person alive, and I felt especially crabby today.

  “Aren’t you getting cabin-fever? Have a beer with me this Friday at the bar. Would do you good to get out, mingle.” Stan glanced around at the workshop, the tools, the smoke that said I’d been keeping myself busy.

  I shrugged. “Work is piling up and I have a deadline, but I’ll try.” Didn't plan to try especially hard, though.

  “You do that. I got your mail out of the box for you. Here.” He handed me a bunch of envelopes. We bumped fists, and he left.

  Gravel crunched as Stan ’s truck backed out of my driveway. I flipped through the mail. Most of it was junk. All my invoices and financial transactions were done over the computer, so there wasn't much paper stuff for me to deal with.

  Locking up the workshop, I strode the few hundred yards to the stone and glass farmhouse-style building that was home. The house and the workshop — the refurbished barn — stood on thirty acres of land backing up to the thickly-wooded forest line. My parents had lived here, and now that they were gone, I called the place home. A few miles out of town, it was ideal for shifters who needed to let loose in the forest once i
n a while.

  Entering my house, I headed to the office, my heavy steps echoing in the empty space. The place seemed cavernous, too large for me.

  I tossed my mail inside a drawer. I’d look at it later, check if I needed to hand some of the mail — notices related to my investments — over to my accountant. My iPhone showed a new voicemail.

  Could it be from her?

  I checked. It wasn't. I threw the phone back on to my desk. My agent was on my back about doing a medieval-themed art exhibit — he could wait.

  During the werecougar pack attack, my phone became part of the collateral damage and shattered into pieces. What with the recovery, and then moving back to Clearwater, it took me a month to get a new phone. I didn't have her number anymore, but I'd hoped in spite of myself that she'd call, text, anything.

  No such luck.

  Didn't she feel the pull? The call?

  Of course she did. She told me herself she was half-shifter from her dad's side.

  Then why didn't she call?

  My mate. My Jasmine. She haunted my dreams. I closed my eyes and leaned back in the outsized chair, visualizing her beautiful face, her sweet fragrance, her soft touch.

  I missed her so much, it was an ache in my soul.

  Chapter 2

  Reuben

  Three months ago…

  I met Jasmine in a coffee shop in Tampa and was a goner at first sight.

  We met at one of those fancy coffee places just around the corner from my aunt’s home. Stone floors, brick walls, pendant roof-lights that looked like inverted coffee mugs, framed pictures of local artwork, distressed wood tables with a few nice stools — it was a pleasant enough ambience, but I was in no mood to appreciate it. A few humans scattered at random tables sipped specialty drinks, chatted with their companions or worked on their laptops.

  I was on my third cup of black coffee. The waitress kept me filled up and left me alone, a wary eye on the squashed stress ball in my hand.

  What?! I wasn’t even squeezing it that hard!

  Waiting was the worst. It drove me up the wall. I was due a call back from the local werecougar pack alpha, Hank.

  My aunt had rescued an orphan weretiger kid the cougar pack kidnapped for who knew what fucked-up reason. The kid was now safe in another state with a weretiger couple who’d adopted her.

  After this, the Tampa cougar pack targeted my aunt. A few female cougars attacked her at the mall and she escaped with some minor injuries. A human would go to the cops at this point, but while my aunt was human, she’d been mated to my late uncle who was a werebear. She knew shifters like the werecougars didn’t answer to human cops and there was no bear clan in town she could approach for help.

  After the mall episode, the cougars staked out her house at night. Did the whole intimidation thing: scary calls, threats to wreck her home and slit her throat.

  Worried the situation was escalating, Aunt Ellen called her son. Jeremy worked in oil and was in Africa now, but he contacted me last night and requested that I intervene. He knew I had a shrewd head on my shoulders and could be counted on to defuse the tense state of affairs. On a normal day, I was level-headed enough, but at the moment, my blood pressure rose at the fact that the cougars targeted an old woman living alone. My hands clenched.

  I hated bullies.

  I’d love to meet the cowardly fucks and show them the meaning of fear.

  After Jeremy’s call, I dropped everything and drove over here. Ellen seemed fine enough, if a tad shaken up. Wanting to resolve the situation, I reached out to the head of the local cougar pack and awaited their call back with details for a meeting place and time to talk it out. As much as I wanted to beat them to a pulp, I intended to work for a peaceful resolution.

  My phone rested on the table in front of me, but I ignored it, gazing at the framed artwork opposite. The art was nothing special, but the ironwork frame around it gave the impression of artsy quirkiness. Not bad.

  My fingers squeezed the bridge of my nose and I shook my head. My head hurt from trying to cool down and plan out various strategies for negotiation, options for de-escalation.

  As I rubbed my temples, the most wonderful sound broke my concentration. I glanced around for the source and noticed two women enter the coffee shop. One, a laughing redhead with thick curls reaching down to her upper arms. It was low-pitched and infectious, that laugh — containing both surprise and delight — as if she had never experienced anything so funny.

  Of medium height, and appearing to be in her early twenties, the redhead had a curvy build. Small button nose. Beautiful smile. Pert full tits, cute ass. Gorgeous, in short. She wore black, skin-tight jeans, a fitted T-shirt emblazoned with “Psycho Bear” in faded white lettering, low-heeled ankle boots, and a well-worn leather jacket.

  I couldn’t blink or glance away from her.

  What was that enticing smell?

  I inhaled deep. Mmm. My inner bear stood up and paid attention.

  What is that? That’s the best thing I’ve ever sniffed.

  I smiled when she giggled again. I couldn’t help it. Just seeing her laugh made me happy. My headache from moments ago disappeared. The tiny woman at her side wouldn’t have merited a glance from me if not for the fact that she tripped just then. Her large bag whacked the head of a man sitting at the table nearest the door, as he worked on his laptop.

  “What the fuck!” The guy managed to stop himself from upending the large cup of some fancy looking concoction. He slid his chair back, stood up and examined his front. There didn’t appear to be any damage to his clothes.

  “Oh God! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” the girl apologized.

  The man gave her a dirty look and grunted at her.

  With another hushed apology, the blonde went to a corner table, dragged there by my red-headed angel, who appeared torn between sympathy for the man and amusement.

  The waitress came over to make sure the man hadn’t spilt anything. A bit of liquid had slopped over onto the table. She cleaned it up, glaring at the girls. My redhead mouthed sorry at her. The waitress’ face softened in spite of herself.

  “Would you like another refill, sir?” someone asked me.

  “Yes, please,” I replied, not taking my eyes off her.

  Now pleasantly distracted from my worries, I sipped my coffee and observed my mischievous-looking redhead. Her companion did most of the talking as she listened. She scanned past me to the back of the shop, probably to check if their order came up. When her gaze landed on me, I casually glanced down at my phone, opening the Sudoku app.

  My gaze returned to her when I sensed her attention shift to the food being placed in front of her. But she glanced over then, catching me in the act. Her eyes shone yellow gold.

  How extraordinary.

  I couldn’t look away. She didn’t either. Her lips parted, and my gaze dropped to the soft pink petals.

  Was that a whiff of feminine arousal? It was faint but mouth-watering, and it emanated from her.

  I inhaled deep, eyes boring into hers. She flushed and averted her gaze. I now stared at her boldly, not bothering to disguise my interest. She kept sneaking peeks at me. When she caught my eye, though, she bit her lip and turned to her companion. They chatted in soft voices. But it didn’t keep her attention from me for too long. I smiled again as she peeked across at me.

  When they got up to leave, I followed them.

  Fuck Hank. Perhaps I’d drop over at his place later and rough him up a bit. That would send across the message in a language the cougars understood: Don’t fuck with the bears.

  I left cash on the table, sufficient for a good tip.

  They were at the door, my golden-eyed beauty already out when her clumsy companion struck again. This time she upended a can of coffee beans on display. The can fell and burst open, spilling coffee beans throughout the floor.

  A couple of people tripped, including a waitress who’d just cleared a table of used dishes. Crashes echoed through the small sp
ace and more people came running from behind the counter.

  “Stop. There’s glass and coffee beans all over the floor,” I barked out. “We need to get the floor cleaned first.” We didn’t need anyone else slipping and cutting themselves open.

  Someone brought over cleaning equipment to clear out the clutter. My angel picked up a broom and pitched right in along with the harried-looking staff, who didn’t seem to mind. She made her friend sit away from everyone though. No one wanted her anywhere near the mess. As she cleaned, she kept glancing at me.

  Cute.

  At one such peek, I leaned closer and said, “Hi, I’m Reuben.”

  “I’m Jasmine.” She smiled sweetly. Her voice was pleasant, melodious. I could listen to her talk for hours.

  The shop owner bustled toward us, pink face surrounded by a mop of dishevelled hair. “That will be a hundred and twenty dollars for the damage, Ma’am. I’ll have to insist you pay it before you leave,” she said in a frazzled manner.

  “Here. This should cover it.” I handed over the cash.

  The woman counted it, nodded and left with a huff saying, “Its probably better you frequent another shop for your coffee from now.”

  “Not again.” A low moan came from her friend who had her head buried in her hands.

  “Come on, let’s get out,” I said to Jasmine. Placing a hand on her lower back, I ushered her out. Her T-shirt slid up and my fingers brushed against her spine.

  A fizz of electricity burst on my skin.

  Mate. This is our mate.

  I had suspected, but with that single touch I knew. Jasmine was ours.

  My bear became euphoric. He pushed through my skin, he wanted to touch her.

  Not yet. I forced him back.

  My fingers curled on her back, itching to pull her into my arms. Maybe throw her over my shoulders and haul her off to my home in Clearwater. Keep us locked in for a week and fuck until we were both sore. I breathed in, trying to steady my racing heart and will down my swollen cock, which pressed against the front of my jeans, eager for our mate.