Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance Read Online Free
Author: Selena Kitt
said, hoping she wasn’t getting Donal into too much trouble by repeating his words. Alistair gave his brother a long, cold look.
“But ye’re English, m’lady,” her betrothed reminded her in his Scottish brogue. “Mayhaps—”
“But shouldn’t I learn your ways?” She decided to try batting her eyelashes again. It seemed to have an effect on Alistair’s mood. “I would like to learn all of your ways. Can’t you teach me how to use a bow?”
This last seemed to decide her fiancé and Sibyl could almost see him fantasizing about holding her close while he instructed her on the proper way to hold the weapon. Alistair motioned to one of the groomsmen and told him to bring over a longbow and a quiver of arrows. She slung both over her shoulder, feeling much better about her plan. Poor Donal had no idea what he’d just given her, and surely wouldn’t have encouraged it if he’d known.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to Donal when she was turned away from Alistair so he couldn’t see. The younger MacFalon just winked and turned his horse toward his men.
“Let’s ride!” Donal yelled and all the horses’ ears pricked up.
“Stay wit’ me,” Alistair urged as the rest of the men took off, riding across the field of heather toward the line of trees in the distance. “Stay close.”
She did as she was told—she was starting to get used to that, a fact which disturbed her—riding at half the clip the other men were, keeping up only with Alistair.
“Are ye really not afeared, Lady Blackthorne?” Alistair asked as they neared the trees. The other men were already into the woods, heading down a well-worn path on their horses. “Of the wulvers?”
“I… don’t know.” It was a lie.
She knew they were all fooling, just putting her on, trying to get her to react in typical feminine fashion at some Scottish folk tale about men that turned into wolves or the other way around. And if they weren’t—if Alistair really believed in these strange, fantastical creatures—she had even less respect for him than she’d managed to muster already.
“I wanna show ye somethin’, if ye can be a brave lass.” He smiled at her, a secret smile that, this time, almost reached those cold gray eyes.
“Of course.” She gave him a nod as they entered the woods, the temperature dropping a good ten degrees just from the cover of trees. “I can be brave.”
Her father had taught her to be a brave girl, after all. She followed Alistair deeper and deeper into the woods, their horses side by side on a path they seemed familiar with. She heard the men whooping and hollering ahead of her and longed to be with them, riding astride instead of side-saddle, wearing a pair of breeches instead of this heavy velvet dress. Her father had taught her a lot of things, she realized, and most of them would be useless to her here, living with this man who wanted her to be something she wasn’t.
She had to smile at the thought of Alistair and Donal and his men believing she would be scared of an old wives’ tale. There were far more frightening things in the world, she was coming to realize, than what old women and men told youngsters around the fire to scare them into being good. She’d heard those tales herself as a child, stories of dragons and unicorns and griffins. Maybe they had scared her once, when she was what Moira would call a “wee bairn,” but not anymore.
She rode fearlessly into the forest, realizing she was far less afraid of wolves—or wulvers, whatever they were—than she was of marrying Alistair MacFalon.
Chapter Two
Sibyl would have enjoyed the ride through the woods, if it hadn’t been for Alistair’s constant yammering. The man loved to hear himself talk and she had no idea how they were going to find anything to hunt with his constant chatter scaring away all the game. She listened with half an ear to his
“But ye’re English, m’lady,” her betrothed reminded her in his Scottish brogue. “Mayhaps—”
“But shouldn’t I learn your ways?” She decided to try batting her eyelashes again. It seemed to have an effect on Alistair’s mood. “I would like to learn all of your ways. Can’t you teach me how to use a bow?”
This last seemed to decide her fiancé and Sibyl could almost see him fantasizing about holding her close while he instructed her on the proper way to hold the weapon. Alistair motioned to one of the groomsmen and told him to bring over a longbow and a quiver of arrows. She slung both over her shoulder, feeling much better about her plan. Poor Donal had no idea what he’d just given her, and surely wouldn’t have encouraged it if he’d known.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to Donal when she was turned away from Alistair so he couldn’t see. The younger MacFalon just winked and turned his horse toward his men.
“Let’s ride!” Donal yelled and all the horses’ ears pricked up.
“Stay wit’ me,” Alistair urged as the rest of the men took off, riding across the field of heather toward the line of trees in the distance. “Stay close.”
She did as she was told—she was starting to get used to that, a fact which disturbed her—riding at half the clip the other men were, keeping up only with Alistair.
“Are ye really not afeared, Lady Blackthorne?” Alistair asked as they neared the trees. The other men were already into the woods, heading down a well-worn path on their horses. “Of the wulvers?”
“I… don’t know.” It was a lie.
She knew they were all fooling, just putting her on, trying to get her to react in typical feminine fashion at some Scottish folk tale about men that turned into wolves or the other way around. And if they weren’t—if Alistair really believed in these strange, fantastical creatures—she had even less respect for him than she’d managed to muster already.
“I wanna show ye somethin’, if ye can be a brave lass.” He smiled at her, a secret smile that, this time, almost reached those cold gray eyes.
“Of course.” She gave him a nod as they entered the woods, the temperature dropping a good ten degrees just from the cover of trees. “I can be brave.”
Her father had taught her to be a brave girl, after all. She followed Alistair deeper and deeper into the woods, their horses side by side on a path they seemed familiar with. She heard the men whooping and hollering ahead of her and longed to be with them, riding astride instead of side-saddle, wearing a pair of breeches instead of this heavy velvet dress. Her father had taught her a lot of things, she realized, and most of them would be useless to her here, living with this man who wanted her to be something she wasn’t.
She had to smile at the thought of Alistair and Donal and his men believing she would be scared of an old wives’ tale. There were far more frightening things in the world, she was coming to realize, than what old women and men told youngsters around the fire to scare them into being good. She’d heard those tales herself as a child, stories of dragons and unicorns and griffins. Maybe they had scared her once, when she was what Moira would call a “wee bairn,” but not anymore.
She rode fearlessly into the forest, realizing she was far less afraid of wolves—or wulvers, whatever they were—than she was of marrying Alistair MacFalon.
Chapter Two
Sibyl would have enjoyed the ride through the woods, if it hadn’t been for Alistair’s constant yammering. The man loved to hear himself talk and she had no idea how they were going to find anything to hunt with his constant chatter scaring away all the game. She listened with half an ear to his
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