Chapter 22 #2
He rose up and crossed the final feet to her, huge and hulking.
She squealed, terror pinning her to the trunk as his claws raked the bark above her head.
But his big belly was right in her face, so soft, so welcoming.
She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up and shoving her hands in his fur, confident he wouldn’t hurt her.
The bear rumbled when she gave him a hug, then he pushed away from the tree to drop down on all fours, huffing at her. His big wet nose shoved into the crook of her shoulder, and he inhaled, then purred.
“You caught me,” Fern murmured, heat roaring through her.
He grunted, then lowered his head to nudge her legs apart.
“Hey!”
What she thought he was doing and what he had in mind were two wholly different things, though. Before Fern could react or scream again, the big bear opened his jaws and bit her thigh.
She gasped, expecting his teeth to be agonizing.
But the feelings flooding her were love, lust, and pure magic, no pain in sight.
Thick and powerful, pleasure coursed in tangible ribbons from the points where his canines punctured her skin.
Some pooled in her leg, a magical puddle beneath her skin, but the rest wove together, flowing out from the bite, climbing ever higher, coiling, then unfurling around her heart.
“Oh,” she breathed.
With his big tongue, Elliott’s bear licked her leg, pulsing magic into the puncture wounds, and when Fern glanced down, she could make out two of the four marks, red still, but stitching closed quickly with a tickle.
Elliott promptly shifted back, shrinking down to his somewhat more reasonable six-ish feet.
“Are you okay?” He dropped to his knees and inspected her marks.
“Yes, up. Here,” she panted. “Fuck.” Intense throbbing between her legs stole her ability to form a complete sentence, but he got the point. Was this the super compelling still? She thought that was supposed to end with the first bite.
Elliott consumed her through hooded eyes as he stood, dragging his fingers and his gaze up her body. “Do you feel anything?”
“Stop touching me so I can focus.” She plucked his hands away with a laugh, and he gave her space to close her eyes and relax.
A new rhythm had settled into her chest—it could have been her hammering heart, but it was different, she was fairly sure.
“Magic, pulsing, in here.” She tapped her sternum, then her stomach roiled once but faded. “Kiss me.”
He did, and she kissed him back as long as she could manage, running her palms over his ass and grinding his hard length against her stomach.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked, pulling away after too-short a time.
Her clit pulsed, desperate for his touch. But her heart raced, her mouth filled with spit, and the day was getting far too warm. “I feel fine,” she confirmed, wanting one more orgasm before the sickness took hold of her. “How abou—”
Turning to the side, she puked all over the moss-covered ground.
“All right. This is it. I love you, and we’ve got this. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she murmured as her stomach clenched again.
“Do you want to walk?” he asked.
She tried to shake her head, but wasn’t sure if she accomplished it or if it was her vision that wavered.
“I’m carrying you home.”
It got dark outside. There was a shower, cool and refreshing.
Floor tiles, also cool and refreshing. A glass of water that should have been cool and refreshing, if she hadn’t immediately vomited it up again.
The sun came, and she flinched away, burying herself in blankets and a warm hug.
There was a thunderstorm. She sweated too much, then stood in the shower, held upright by two calloused hands.
Ice cream might have happened, or PediaSure.
Who knew. It was dark, then light again, and finally, she could open her eyes without pain.
“Water?” Elliott’s warm voice tumbled over to her, and she realized he was lying by her side.
“Yes,” she croaked, slowly turning her head toward him.
The mug he handed her was cool and full, and she took a small sip. When it stayed down without issue, she chugged the rest.
“Food?”
“Please,” she said with a dazed nod.
He slipped away and returned not thirty seconds later with a bowl of yogurt and berries. “Open.”
She did, and he popped a spoonful into her mouth.
“Again.”
They went on like this until she’d finished her meal, then he gave her more water, and helped her into the bathroom, per her demands.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Weak but better. That was just like a bad flu, at least from my perspective. How are you?”
His big arms wrapped around her from behind, and he met her gaze in the bathroom mirror. “I’ve never had the flu, but I thought you were going to die.”
Dark crescents adorned his eyes, and she placed her hands over his, squeezing, as she said, “We’re almost there, right? I’m sorry you had to go through that. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Fern”—he turned her to face him and cupped her cheek in his palm—“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was—”
“Elliott, I’m fine. I wasn’t going to die. I’ve had the flu before. It’s probably scarier to you because shifters never get sick.”
He grunted.
“I’m fine, I promise. Now get out so I can pee.”
“I helped you before.”
“Yeah, when I was at death’s door—”
He tossed his hands up. “I thought you said you weren’t dying!”
“I wasn’t, it’s a figure of speech. Get out. Also, is this our first fight?”
“This isn’t a fight,” he said, laughing as he lumbered to the door. He stepped through it, but didn’t close it all the way.
That was enough privacy for her. Taking a second, she stood in front of the floor-length mirror and lifted the hem of her long shirt—Elliott’s shirt.
Her fingers found each of the four puncture wounds where he’d bitten her thigh, perfectly round pinkish scars that marked her as his forever.
She touched each one again, grinning stupidly.
After freshening up, Fern considered a shower and reached into the cupboard for a towel when a wave of heat and dizziness overcame her. “Fuck.”
He was at her side in a second, having never really left at all. A steadying arm came around her waist as she inhaled. Her nostrils were stuck closed. Panicked, she opened her mouth and gasped.
“What are you feeling?” Elliott asked, voice soft as he crouched to study her face.
She shrugged, flexing her fingers and toes. They were tight. “I have no idea. I feel weird, physically. Little things.”
Her tailbone pinched like she’d fallen on her ass, and her heart’s second rhythm was off on its own tangent.
“Did I just wheeze?” she asked, then heard it again, a squeak from her chest.
Rolling her shoulders back, her feet itched to move. Her palms landed on his chest, and she looked up at him. “Dance with me,” she demanded.
“Okay,” Elliott agreed through a surprised laugh, sweeping her into his arms and starting up a waltz.
She wanted to pillow fight, or for him to chase her down again, something fun. The memory of him—his bear—splashing beside her, gaining on her, coming for her, sent a river of heat coursing through Fern.
“You’re burning up.”
“I’m just horny,” she said. Then she chirped—or her chest did—and she stared up at Elliott with wide eyes. She didn’t want him to catch her; she wanted to chase him.
He stopped their whirling dance to brush his fingers across her forehead. “It’s definitely a fever. The super compelling’s done. It ended when I bit you.”
“I need to do something.”
“Like dance?”
“No. I’m hot. I need a bath,” she mumbled as a wave of non-horny heat assaulted her. He’d been right.
“Mhm.” His big hands wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to meet your animal.”
“No, no! I need water. I need to cool off. I need to swim,” she ranted as he carried her through the bedroom, the kitchen, and the back porch.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“What do—? Oh! The stream. Yes, perfect.” It was, she was sure of it, as she bounced over his shoulder while he carried her across the yard in long steps.
Her stomach cramped, tightening dramatically as a shiver ran its way up through her skull, making her break out in a sweat. “Fuck, fuck, put me down, put me down.”
Freezing in place, Elliott set her on her feet and stepped back, his eyes soft and questioning. “How are you feeling? Stretching?”
“Stretching? No. No. I feel like everything’s shrinking.”
“What?” his eyebrow lifted.
“I’m getting small. I don’t know how— I can just feel it!
Everything’s blurry. What the fuck?” She sucked in a breath of air and was hit with a warm, earthy scent, like vanilla with a resinous smokiness.
It set her soul alight, and she knew, instinctively, it was Elliott.
“You smell amazing,” she gasped, before spinning and bounding away.