Bear in a Bookshop (Shifter Bodyguards Book 3) Read online

  "Hey there," a quiet voice said out of the darkness in the living room, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

  A moment later, her eyes adjusted enough to make out Gunnar sitting on the couch. As far as she could tell, he was just sitting there in the dark.

  "What on Earth are you doing?" Melody whispered fiercely. She leaned over to put her shoes on and give herself something to do other than stare at him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. Again."

  "Sorry," he said quietly. "Uh ... sorry again, I guess. I didn't realize you didn't know I was there."

  Her irritation slipped away in amusement, at herself more than him, and she laughed softly. "I should put a bell on you or something, so I'll always know where you are. You're so quiet. I don't think I've ever met anyone as big as you who can make himself as unobtrusive as you can."

  It made her think of herself, actually, though she didn't want to say so. She wasn't big, of course. But she, too, had a way of hiding in a room while still being in plain sight.

  Except for that one brief conversation on the couch, they hadn't had a chance for a single private moment during the entire rest of the evening. No opportunities to smooth over the awkwardness; no chance to find out what his big, capable hands felt like on her skin—

  No! Stop that!

  Gunnar got up off the couch. "It's something you learn," he said quietly. "When you've been—where I was."

  "Prison?" she asked.

  In the near-darkness, he was nothing but a shape, his blond hair backlit softly by the slight luminescence from the windows. She was acutely aware of him, though—aware of every inch of him. He was still a few feet away, but it seemed as if she could feel the heat of his body from here.

  As if nothing separated them but the night. As if she already knew the taste of his skin, the feel of his body against hers—

  "I can't pretend it wasn't what it was," he said softly. "That I'm not what I am."

  "Neither can I," she said, but she took a step forward. He did, too, as if they were drawn to each other by some magnetism greater than either of them.

  It didn't have to matter, she thought. There were other things to do in life than talk about books. Things that needed no words at all ...

  But when the dream ended and she woke from the heat of his hands on her skin, woke to find him lying beside her in bed ... what then? An empty life, trapped together, unsuited to each other—like her parents?

  Except her parents had not been tied together by a mate bond, so they had been able to walk away.

  He started to say something, and then stopped. She reached out a hand, not sure what she was doing or why, and her fingers brushed across his T-shirt-clad chest. She sucked in a breath. He stood still, and then his hand came up to close over hers, gently curling around her fingers.

  She'd dreamed, awake or asleep, of what his fingers would feel like on hers. It was just as she'd imagined, and better than she'd hoped. His hands were big, strong, and capable, the fingers rough with calluses as they brushed lightly across the backs of her own.

  She stepped forward before she knew what she was doing. Her arm was a livewire and current arced down it, drawing her to crash into him. He lowered his head, in the dark, and their lips found each other's as if meant for it.

  His mouth was hot, hungry, wanting. His hand cupped her face, fingers curling into her unbound hair; his other hand still trapped hers against his chest, pressing her palm to his accelerating heartbeat. She gasped against his mouth and wrapped her other arm around his back, pulling him against her, as if they could be made not two bodies, but one.

  What am I doing? The thought surfaced from her lust-drunk mind, and she caught her breath, breaking the kiss, and pushed him away.

  He stepped back, startled and hurt; she knew it without seeing his face. "Melody?"

  "I'm sorry," she gasped. She could still feel his lips on hers. She could taste him. She knew what he tasted like now; she could never forget it. "I'm sorry—I—this was a mistake."

  "I'm your mate, Melody," he said. She hadn't realized her hand was still on his chest; she'd used the leverage to push him away, but only as far as the length of her arm. "We're mates. We're meant for each other."

  Desire thrummed through her blood. If she gave in now, if she let herself fall against him one more time, she would never get away.

  "I'm sorry," she said again, and wrenched her hand away from his chest. Blindly, tripping over furniture, she stumbled to the door and fumbled with the locks until she undid all of them and wrenched it open.

  "Melody—" Gunnar began, and the distress in his voice cut her to the bone.

  "Don't follow me!" she snapped, because she could hear his steps coming after her. She softened her voice: "Please. I need to be alone for a little while. Please?"

  "It might not be safe out there."

  He was so close. She dared not look back, not with her arousal still so powerful that it made her limbs shake, made her hardened nipples press against her sensible cotton bra.

  "You know what I am." She tried to make her voice hard, but it came out shuddering. She need only turn around, give in to what her body so desperately wanted—No! "Just as I know what you are. You saw my animal when you looked in my eyes. You know, better than anyone, that I need fear nothing when I walk in the forest at night."

  But the words, which had always been true, were a hollow lie now. She feared nothing except her own emotions. She feared nothing except her animal's desire to bond her to a man in a union that could bring nothing but pain for both of them.

  Her steps were swift, all but running, around the corner of the house and through the meadow grass to the barn.

  Gunnar didn't follow, respecting her wishes—whether she wanted him to or not. Mingled relief and disappointment rose in her throat, choking her like unshed tears.

  In the stillness of the night, she stood with her hand resting against the rough boards of the barn wall. Her breathing calmed; her racing heart slowed. Her knees no longer trembled.

  She still wanted him like a fire inside her.

  She also knew that once she had him, there was no going back from that.

  Melody shook her head as if to shake off her own thoughts. There might be, just possibly, someone who could help her. Help them, because Gunnar was just as trapped by this unsuitable bonding as she was. It wasn't anyone she would ever have dreamed of talking to about her romantic woes before—but in this particular case, that person might be able to help her when no one else could.

  She took off her glasses and tucked them into a pocket of her cardigan, having learned the hard way that while her clothes and anything in the pockets shifted when she did, her glasses and other accessories did not. The night was now an indistinct patchwork of light and dark blurs. She took a few steps away from the barn to give herself room, and shifted.

  The blurry world shrank, but didn't get any clearer. She had often considered the possibility of having glasses custom-made in a dragon size, but the idea of how ridiculous it would look, let alone trying to explain to an optometrist why she needed her prescription in bicycle-tire-sized lenses, had always stopped her. Besides, her dragon's sharp sense of smell made up for their mutual lack of vision.

  Oh, good, her dragon crooned, spreading great leathery wings. If you're done being stupid about our mate, can we fly now?

  We can fly now, yes.

  Hunting? the dragon wanted to know.

  Not right now. Maybe later. Tonight we're going to see Father.

  Oh, that's a long flight. I like that. This will be fun.

  Her wings beat downward. It was hard to launch from the ground, much better to jump from a height, but after a few strong beats she lifted off, tucking her legs under her. Relying on the moonless darkness to hide her, she winged her way across the mountains, heading for her father's lair.

  Flying across this rough country was faster than driving, with no need to follow the winding roads and highways, but it was still a long flight. N
ormally she would have welcomed the solitude and the opportunity for mental peace, but tonight her mind was in turmoil. She forced herself to focus on the rush of wind across her wings, the fuzzy haze of the stars above, giving herself over to her dragon's pleasure in simple, physical things. Soon enough, she glided down over the blurry lights of her father's mansion, perched on a clifftop overlooking a secluded valley.

  She had worried that everyone would be asleep, but light spilled out onto the lawn. Her father often kept late hours. She landed on the grass and shifted, folding her wings about herself, and restored her glasses to their usual place on her nose. Although it was nice not to have to shift back naked, like non-mythic shifters had to, she felt severely underdressed in her gray cardigan as she mounted the wide marble steps to the front door.

  For a long time she had tried to be the daughter her father wanted. She had dressed like a haughty daughter of wealth when she was in his house, even though she felt like a child dressing up in someone else's clothes. And she'd left her glasses at home, even though she was half blind without them and contacts hurt her eyes, because he didn't like seeing her wearing them; he considered it shameful for one of their kind to advertise their weakness in such a fashion.

  But these days she had retreated into a sort of pride in the dowdy, librarianish way of dressing that she preferred. She almost enjoyed her father's scathing looks when she came to dinner wearing jeans and a sweater, with her hair in a bun. It wasn't like she was ever going to be the tall, glamorous daughter he'd wanted, so why play the part anymore?

  The door opened just as she reached to knock, and her father's manservant Maddox blocked the light, a massive slab of muscle crammed into a suit that always seemed slightly too small, somehow, even though it fit him perfectly. Expensive tailoring couldn't hide the enormous shoulders or the graceful, pantherlike way he moved.

  "Your father's in his study," he rumbled, and glided out of the way. "He's expecting you."

  "Of course he is," she murmured. It didn't surprise her that she'd been detected on approach. She knew that her father's security system was second to none. It wouldn't even surprise her to learn that some of his technology was military grade.

  Maddox didn't bother escorting her; he knew that she knew the way. Her footsteps echoed down long hallways, and ornately decorated doors opened silently at a touch of her hand. Her father's mansion was like a museum, full of the gold and jewels and expensive artwork that he liked to hoard.

  She vastly preferred her dusty, cozy apartment full of books.

  The door to her father's study was closed. She tapped lightly and waited for his acknowledging "Come in" before entering.

  She was privately glad that she hadn't found him in his home office, a vast and austere room with tall windows looking down on the valley. His study was a more intimate space, full of dark wood paneling and old-world charm. A fire crackled in the fireplace (genuine; no gas-grill fakery for Darius Keegan) and the lamps, while electric, simulated the warm glow of old-fashioned lamplight. Her fingers ached to touch the spines of the leatherbound books lining the walls. Darius, with a glass of brandy in his hand, sat in a large leather chair in front of the fire.

  "Father—" Melody began, and then stopped. She hadn't expected him to have a guest, so it had taken her a moment to notice the second chair was occupied.

  The other man rose quickly, and bowed to take her hand and bring it to his lips. "Miss Keegan."

  "Heikon Corcoran," she murmured. She was not overjoyed to see him, though as the heads of other dragon clans went, the lord of the Corcoran clan seemed to be a reasonable sort. It was just difficult to forget that they'd been on opposite sides when she'd met him and the rest of his clan, even though their dispute with her own clan had been resolved through Tessa's intervention.

  "I can leave," Heikon said, making another brief bow with courtly old-world grace. He was much older than her father; she'd grown up thinking of Darius as unimaginably old, but Hiekon was one of the truly old dragons, born hundreds of years ago. He was old enough that he genuinely looked old, his hair gone mostly to gray and his face lined, unlike the ageless severity of Darius and most of the other adult dragons she'd met.

  "No," Melody said. It occurred to her, given the reason why she'd come, that the wisdom of accumulated centuries might be exactly what she needed. If her father didn't know the answer, she would have had to seek out Heikon later anyway. "I can say what I need to say in front of both of you."

  "Drink?" her father asked, pressing a glass into her hand before she had a chance to say yes or not. "It's good to see you, daughter." He reached out fastidiously to flick something off her shoulder. "You appear to have a cat hair on your ... whatever you call that garment you're wearing."

  Melody glanced down self-consciously at her shapeless cardigan, then looked more critically at her father's dark velvet jacket. "As do you, Father," she said with a slight smile, and reached out to brush off a handful of orange and white hairs.

  "That little pest," Darius remarked in a conversational tone. "I've told it to stop shedding, but will it listen?"

  Melody rolled her eyes. She knew her father doted on the kitten Tessa had given him, now grown into a young cat. In fact, there he was, the orange and white tomcat with the undignified name of Toblerone (Tessa had named him; Darius had never bothered to change it). The cat was stretched out on a red velvet pillow in front of the fireplace, a pillow that Melody strongly suspected had been put there for cat-comfort purposes. She could see no other use for it.

  But chiseling at the cracks in her father's emotional armor wasn't why she'd come. While she was contemplating her brandy and the cat, Darius had dragged another chair to the little grouping in front of the fireplace, and reluctantly, she sat.

  "So tell me of my daughter-in-law and grandbaby," Darius said, smiling with a warmer expression than she was used to seeing on his face. "How is Tessa?"

  Nothing about Ben, she couldn't help noticing. Her brother and father had mended fences, more or less, but it still wasn't a close relationship. She knew that Tessa hoped the birth of their child would change that, but Melody privately suspected some wounds were too old and deep to ever truly heal.

  "She's fine. Just tired all the time." He hadn't asked about Nils, she noticed, which almost certainly meant Ben and Tessa hadn't told him and therefore didn't want him involved. Having an alpha dragon on their side wasn't a bad idea, but considering what Darius could be like, she hardly blamed them for wanting him to stay out of it. She decided not to break their confidence, for now.

  "I recall Esmerelda was the same when she was pregnant with you." Darius smiled in recollection and swirled the brandy in his glass. "So what brings you by?" His voice was casual, as if she'd simply stopped in at a house down the street to bring over a casserole.

  "I have a question." She wrapped her hands around her brandy glass and tried not to think of Gunnar's strong arms, the startling softness of his lips on hers ...

  After tonight, if she got what she'd come for, it wouldn't matter.

  "You know, maybe I should leave," Heikon said, leaning forward in his chair.

  "One grows used to awkward questions when one has children," Darius said over the rim of his brandy glass. He looked amused by the rival clanlord's discomfort. "Particularly daughters."

  Irritation helped embolden her. "Oh, please, as if I ever brought you my birds-and-bees questions. No, this is ... well, not entirely unrelated, I guess." The thought had now occurred to her that she was about to drop the news on her father that his daughter had found her mate, and it wasn't going to be good news. May as well just rip off the Band-Aid rather than dragging it out. "Dad, is there any way to dissolve a mate bond?"

  There was a silence so profound that the crackling of the fire sounded suddenly very loud. Melody tried to distract herself by reaching down to stroke Toblerone's warm fur. She couldn't help noticing that the cat pillow was located at just the perfect angle for Darius, in his chair, to lean down and
pet its occupant.

  "Why do you want to know?" Darius asked in a very level, very calm voice. Melody looked up and realized that, by leaning down to pet the cat, she'd put herself in a position where she was having to talk to him from the vicinity of his knees. She sat back up so quickly that she nearly spilled her brandy and leaned back in her chair as if she could press herself into the leather and escape the intent stares of the two dragon lords.

  "I ... met my mate," she said in a small voice. "And I—it's not—he's not—I don't—"

  I don't want to be mated to him, she tried to say, but her treacherous mouth stumbled over the words. Even without her dragon writhing unhappily in her chest, she knew that the words would be a lie. She couldn't stop thinking about his warm hands, his soft lips, and most particularly the hurt confusion in his voice when she'd turned away from him.

  But we're terrible for each other, she thought desperately, trying to calm her dragon before her father sensed its agitation. We have nothing in common. We would be miserable. I'm doing this for him. We should both be set free to find other people.

  Even to her inner ear, the words rang hollow.

  Am I trying to convince my dragon, or myself?

  "Don't tell me you've mate-bonded to a human too," her father said heavily. "Ben was bad enough, but I had much higher hopes for you."

  Melody was caught off guard by the surge of protective anger rising in her chest, not just her dragon's but her own as well. There is nothing wrong with our mate! her dragon proclaimed.

  "He's not a human," she said, hearing the anger in her own voice; her father's eyebrows went up at that. "It's not about what kind of shifter he is."

  "Well, that's ominous," Darius said. "What is he? A rabbit? A wombat? An emu?"

  Heikon looked like he was struggling very hard to keep his impassive dragon-clanlord mask in place.

  "He's a bear, if you must know," she burst out.

  Darius relaxed slightly. "Oh, well, that's not so bad, as shifters of the regular animal kingdom go. There's a long tradition of intermarriage between the dragon clans and our fierce forest cousins. Does he come from a good family, at least?"