Tempted by the Bear - Book 3 Read online

  Tempted by the Bear Book 3

  V Vaughn

  Sugarloaf Press

  Copyright © 2015 by V. Vaughn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Ravven

  Editing by Jodi Henley and Red Adept Publishing

  Don’t miss an installment from V. Vaughn. Sign up for her newsletter.

  Contents

  Part 7

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part I

  Part 8

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part 9

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Part 7

  Lucy – Just when I thought I had my life all figured out, fate throws a curveball. My true mate, Sven’s twin is a more than a potential brother-in-law, and now I have to determine what to do about it.

  Isabelle – I planned to die, but my destiny is something much greater than I ever imagined. Not only is Jean Luc Ouelette the werebear who saves me, it seems I’m supposed to save him.

  Chapter 1

  Isabelle

  A man hovers over me and strokes my face so tenderly I don’t think I’m in danger. Even if he’s the reason I have the worst headache of my life. I open my eyes to his teal-blue gaze. A seagull cries out overhead as I get lost in eyes so deep in color it takes me a moment to see the guy’s red hair that appears to glow with the sunlight behind him. The same man I saw when I was drowning.

  Fuck me now. I didn’t see God. Just some asshole who decided to save my life.

  I turn my head to the side quickly to make sure my mother’s dead body is still in the truck bed with me. The nearly black blanket is still over Helga, and a telltale strand of her gray hair peeks out. At least I managed to kill one of us.

  I scowl as I return my gaze to the man. He says, “Please don’t try to shift and make me knock you out again.”

  “I won’t.” I sit up and groan as my brain sloshes around in my head and ignites fresh pain in my nerve endings. “Twice was enough.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I answer. “I’m alive.”

  A scowl mars the guy’s beautiful face as he leans in close. “What’s wrong, ma cherie?”

  I push him away with my hand, and his shoulder is firm under my fingers when I do. “Enough with the my love crap. You ruined a perfectly good suicide. That’s what’s wrong.” My hand tingles where I touched him, and I look down at it.

  “Mon Dieu!” He shakes his head, and something flashes in his eyes. He’s a werebear too, and I wonder if he’s about to shift.

  I chuckle at the absurdity of my situation. I thought I could break the curse on the De Rozier women by drowning my mother and me. Now the world still has one ticking time bomb of crazy. Me. My bipolar tendencies should mature in a couple years, and when they do, look out. Because I’ll be one batshit crazy polar bear who’ll stop at nothing to get what I want. I shudder at the thought as I glance around the truck bed and discover the metal rake I saw before. It’s used to dig through sand to get clams and other shellfish, and apparently to knock out partially shifted polar bears. I gaze again at the blanket that covers Helga’s body. This guy and his friend found us handcuffed together around a pole and must wonder if I killed her.

  The other man has approached the truck and peers over the side at us. His hair is red too, but it’s more of a chestnut shade that I suspect looks brown without sunlight. I watch him as he looks at me and then moves his gaze to his friend to ask, “What’s her story?”

  “She wanted to die with her mother.”

  Does he know who I am? They’re no longer speaking in French, and I appreciate it. They both stare at me as if I was asked a question, so I say, “It’s a long story.” I glance over at my mother’s body. “What’s important is that she’s no longer alive.”

  The man next to me says, “She kills carelessly.”

  I frown as I recall the pool of blood that lay under the convenience store clerk my mother killed with a swipe of her claws. “Who are you?”

  “Jean Luc Ouellette,” he says. “And you are Isabelle De Rozier, no?”

  He’s from the clan whose territory is in New Brunswick. We were being watched when we entered Canada, and it explains why they know what Helga did. I’ve got to get out of here. My body tenses up as my hands clench into fists. “Yes.”

  Jean Luc sits back as if he’s preparing for my next attempt to shift and says, “Easy now. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

  I snort at the thought they could hurt me now that I’m conscious but think better of it quickly enough to cover it up with a cough. I take in how the man’s T-shirt is tight across his chest and the light splay of freckles on his upper arms where the hair has been worn off. This guy’s hot, and I suppose if someone is going to ruin my suicide attempt, he’s not a bad choice. I might be able to swing one more day on earth. Besides, he made me tingle when I touched him. I imagine what his hands would feel like in intimate places and let out the breath I was holding in a big sigh as I ask, “What are you going to do with me?”

  The man places his hand on my arm, and now I’m sure he’s got magic fingers, because electricity travels all the way to my sensitive places. Maybe I developed a weird sixth sense when I died. Our gaze locks as he says, “First I will fix this for you. Then you’ll come to my house and we’ll figure out what you need.”

  Jean Luc says something in French to his friend. I’m not ready to take what he said at face value, and I ask, “What did you say?”

  “I told Henri we can get rid of the body now. Nobody will ever find it, ma cherie.”

  “Thank you.” I frown. This man is willing to cover up a murder for me. Granted, my clan wouldn’t prosecute me for it, considering what Helga has done, and I bet the Ouellette wouldn’t either. But he’s making this awfully easy for me, and I wonder what he expects in return. I gaze at my savior and notice tiny lines around his liquid eyes that remind me of the waters of my home in the Arctic. I ask, “Have you told Tristan I’m alive?”

  “No.” The truck bounces as Jean Luc jumps down, and Helga’s body swishes across the metal as Henri tugs at her feet. Jean Luc tilts his head at me. “I won’t until you are ready.”

  I nod. That’s good. Since I plan to revisit suicide again as soon as possible, I suppose it’s best if I don’t have my brother doing everything in his power to stop it. For the second time in the span of a minute, I say, “Thank you.”

  I’d better be careful, because something tells me being indebted to Jean Luc could get complicated. I begin to move toward the end of the truck to get out and help, but Jea
n Luc holds up his hand and barks out, “No.”

  “I killed her. I think I should do some of the work.” I slide over the edge of the tailgate as Henri chuckles. Maybe it’s my headache, but it irritates me, and I ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “Jean Luc isn’t used to having his orders disobeyed.”

  I glance over at my redheaded savior to find his brow furrowed in annoyance. I ask, “Everyone does what you say?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize it’s a stupid question and grin at him. “You’re the Ouelette alpha, aren’t you?” Since this clan operates on their own, I bet he gets his way all the time.

  He nods, and I have no idea what makes me do it, but I grab the shovel out of his grasp. “Let me show you how this is done.” Wood is smooth in my hand as I walk over to the shallow grave they’d been digging. I turn to the men when I get there, and Jean Luc raises his eyebrows in amusement at me as Henri hits his friend’s arm and starts walking too. He winks at me as he says, “I like you, Isabelle.”

  My mood does a one-eighty, and I snap back. “Don’t.” Because I’m not sticking around.

  Chapter 2

  Lucy

  Life at Annie and Tristan’s house is chaotic. Poor Annie can’t stop crying over Isabelle and Helga’s death, and Tristan is still not home. This afternoon, about twenty De Rozier werebear are due to arrive. Sven is amazing under pressure. He dealt with the triplets this morning until the nanny arrived, while I took over Annie’s list. Now he’s over at the dorm hanging shower curtains, filling toilet paper dispensers, and making sure each room is ready for its occupants.

  I’m about to go to the grocery store. “Annie, do you have a list of what we need?” I ask as I pull down a stack of reusable bags.

  “Oh, right,” she says. “Usually I just think of the meals and buy that way.” Items in a drawer rattle as she searches for a pen and paper. “They’ll need breakfast food.” The drawer slams, and she jerks out another one. “Why do I keep all this crap?” She sighs and then yanks the drawer completely out of the cabinet.

  I stare in amazement as she walks over to the garbage can to lift the lid. A rush of items scratching against wood sounds as Annie dumps the contents of the drawer in the can. She plucks a pen and notepad out of the pile, and they clatter on the counter where she sets them before she tries to shove the drawer back on its tracks. When she can’t get it right she starts to cry.

  Oh boy. I walk over and take the drawer from her to align it right and say, “Hey. You know what? That’s how I shop too. Besides, we can always go again tomorrow if we need to.”

  “Thanks,” says Annie. Tears roll down her face as she writes, but I don’t think she realizes she’s crying as she says, “Bacon and eggs. They need lots of protein to build up their strength again.”

  A tear splats on the paper, and the ink runs as she tears the list from the pad. “Thanks, Lucy.”

  I’d go hug her, but I think that would open the floodgates, so I smile back. “No problem.”

  When I get outside, I glance up to notice the sky is gray. Rain is expected to fall this afternoon, and I wonder if I should grab an umbrella, when Sven walks out of the dorm. He smiles as he approaches me. He asks, “Where are you going?”

  “The grocery store. I’m going to stock those industrial-sized refrigerators and pantry.”

  “Let me know when you get back, and I’ll help you unload. Everything in the house is almost ready to go.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sven grabs the stack of bags I’m carrying and walks me to the car. “Little Bear, do not worry about Nadia, my wife. I will make it okay.”

  I place my hand on his cheek. “I know.”

  He kisses me quickly before he walks away. I watch for a moment as my stomach clenches. Sven may be fine with an annulment, but I find it hard to believe his wife will be. I don’t know many women who are so nonchalant about giving up their guy to some other girl, especially when it wasn’t their decision.

  I shake off my dread and get to the task at hand, which is buying enough food to feed a clan. Fortunately, the local supermarket knows the De Roziers are coming, and the manager herself comes out to help bag groceries. I’m touched when she hands me a stack of gift cards to hand out to assist them in their fresh start.

  When I return to Annie and Tristan’s house, I wait to turn into the driveway as a large chartered bus rumbles out. They’re here. I drive up to discover Sven talking with a group of men, and Annie holds a clipboard as travel-weary werebear mill around her. When I step out of the car, the happy squeals of children make me glance over at the extra-large swing set. Tristan’s triplets are reconnecting with their friends as little bodies scramble over the play structure.

  Sven notices me, and he brings his crew over to help carry bags. The lack of formal manners must extend beyond my mate, because the guys smile at me and grab sacks without any introduction or hellos. I must admit, it’s efficient.

  Cans rattle as I carry groceries into the dorm. In the kitchen I’m met by Annie’s mother, Donna. She reminds me of what Annie will look like in twenty years with her dark-blond bob and warm smile. She says, “Lucy, it’s so nice to see you again. I’ve been hearing wonderful things about you, dear.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Le Roux.” My bags thump on the counter as she smears mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “It’s nice to see you again too.”

  “Call me Donna. You’re all grown up now, and Mrs. makes me feel old.” A knife thuds on a wooden board as she cuts the sandwich. All available counter space is quickly covered with the supplies I purchased as the men discard their sacks. I smile at her, and she turns to the woman who is arranging fruit on a platter to add, “This is my friend Peggy. She’s Keith’s mother.”

  “Hi. I’m Tori’s college roommate. Nice to meet you.”

  The woman has salon-red hair with large curls and is dressed in bright floral-print clothing. I love her style immediately. “Likewise.” I take in the spread of food that is set out. “You two know how to feed a clan.”

  Peggy flashes her coral-lipstick smile at me. “Years of practice, my dear.” She comes to where I’m standing and says, “We’ve got this. But I think Annie might need your help.”

  “Got it. Thanks, ladies.”

  I step back outside to find Annie. She’s speaking with a woman, and I wait for her attention. She turns to me as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Lucy. I’ve just about given out all the room assignments, and as you can imagine, most everyone wants to bathe. Could you go fold the last load of towels for me?”

  “On it,” I say. Annie insisted we wash all the bedding and linens before use. I weave my way through people to get to the laundry room. It’s equipped with three industrial-sized washers and dryers, and a door clicks open when I pull to reveal a mound of white terrycloth. The fabric is soft in my fingers as I yank it out and let it fall into an oversized laundry basket.

  Annie has a thing about natural daylight, and this room is cheery, with pale-yellow walls and two windows that overlook her gardens. I smile as I recall she said that if one has to do laundry, then at least they should have something lovely to look at. The basket scrapes over the tile floor as I drag it over for the view. I bend down to retrieve a towel.

  A low growl sounds behind me, and I chuckle at Sven’s reaction to my bottom presenting itself in one of his favorite positions. I wiggle it in response and am rewarded with his firm grip on my hips. The familiar true mate tingle travels through me and right to my core as I stand up and lean against him. He grinds his hardness against my butt and kisses my neck. I moan as I inhale his scent. It’s not quite the same, and when his hands reach up to cup my breasts, I frown as I try to identify what’s different.

  His hands slide down my belly, and I say, “God, I wish we could do it right here.”

  Sven growls again as his hands keep going.

  Now his fingers are under my waistband, and I turn around to stop him before someone catches us. What I see makes me gas
p. “You’re not Sven!”

  The guy manhandling me has got to be his twin though, because he looks just like my mate with a short haircut and an evil grin. I shove at his chest, and the muscle underneath is rock hard as I ask, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He chuckles and waggles his eyebrows at me. “When you stick an ass like yours out, it’s hard to resist. And up until a moment ago, you didn’t want me to.”

  I huff as I put my hands on my hips. “That’s because I thought you were Sven. Who are you?”

  This guy is one cocky jerk, because he scans my body with his eyes as he licks his lips and says, “Serge, his twin.” He steps into my space to tower over me, and his scent is sexy and so much like Sven’s that it taunts me as he says, “And you might as well drop him now, baby, because you’re my true mate.”

  Chapter 3

  Isabelle

  The sea air is like a balm for my sore lungs as I breathe it in. My hair whips around my face as I ride in the open back of the truck while Jean Luc drives us toward his home. He and Henri are in the front. I gaze at the blisters on my palms from digging Helga’s grave and know by tonight they will have healed completely, which is a werebear trait that has served me well over the years. Unfortunately, right now it makes suicide a problem. If I jumped out of the moving truck into oncoming traffic as a human, I could die. But not as a werebear. I’d recover within days. Drowning was the perfect answer to my dilemma, until I was thwarted by a couple of men who value life. I let out a sigh.