Page 28 of Bearly Yours
“There were no skid marks, no dents or scratches on the vehicles other than those that happened as the vehicles had crashed into the bottom of the pass. There were no unnatural smells on your parents—so they weren’t drugged—and there were no other obvious smells around the vehicles, so no one had touched the vehicles other than your dad and mom and the bears they’d gone with on the supply run. Alpha Demarco checked those out himself because of his stronger alpha senses. He interviewed everyone who’d gone on the supply run, and they all didn’t remember anything unusual other than the supplies not being in Moonhaven, necessitating your dad needing to pick them up in Portland.”
“But...”
Roarke squeezed my shoulders, his deep voice saying quietly, “But a locket that had hidden your scent for your whole life was just stolen. A locket with a picture of your parents in it—”
“And that puts a different spin on things entirely,” Alpha Riggs finished.
Chapter 7
Roarke
Iwent home reluctantly after making sure that Emrie was safe with her Clan at the lodge, and shook my head at the memory of seven helpless bear shifters not knowing in the slightest how to comfort a distraught Emrie.
The only ones who seemed to remotely know how to help her were Mateo, Mathan and Riggs, and only because they were really observant, and in Riggs’ case, had an insight into Emrie that—if I was honest with myself—now made me a little jealous. Because it was a deeper connection than Emrie and I currently shared.
I sighed as I pulled in front of my farmhouse-style home and sat in the car with the engine off. The mama bear and her cubs fountain in my driveway burbled, creating a shushing, peaceful melody that drove some of the tension in my body away.
I leaned my forehead against my steering wheel and closed my eyes.
Emrie was my mate.
She was my mate!
I couldn’t remember how old I was—hundreds of years old at the very least. Somewhere around seven hundred. I’d given up hope that my mate would ever be found. As one of the lastdragon shifters in the world, I figured the likelihood of me ever finding my mate was next to nil, and so I’d adjusted my life and my thinking around until I felt I could be happy, and then I’d just moved on with my life.
And for a time, I’d been happy. Sure, no one who knew me would probably say I’m a happy dragon. I tend to grunt and growl. I’m uncommunicative at best, and I don’t suffer fools lightly. But, especially in this last few years with Emrie, I’d been happy. Content.
Emrie was a constantly unfolding joy, my work was interesting, vibrant and fulfilling, and—coupled with my work on the Council—it helped me stay busy. I had hobbies that gave me a creative outlet when I needed one, and my other friendships with various paranormals took up the rest of my time. All of these things had worked successfully for years to help fill the gap of my missing mate. A gap I never thought I’d fully fill.
It was like a gaping chest wound that never fully healed.
You just learned to kind of...deal with it.
I grabbed the bags of groceries next to me, headed into my house and to my kitchen to put them away, and got out the ingredients I needed for comfort food.
Carne Asada Nachos.
All of those females who claimed that only females needed comfort food when they were sad or distressed clearly knew nothing about the male psyche. I was a male. I’d just found my mate after I’d resigned myself after seven hundred years to never finding her, and she’d been attacked by another male. She nowsmelledlike another male, which was beside the point, even though my dragon nature didn’t like it. But most importantly, she was hurting. I’d left her to the tender, confused ministrations of her Clan, but my mate washurting, and there wasnothingI could do to make it better.
So, yes, I needed comfort. And yes, I knew it wasn’t healthy to eat comfort food when you’re emotional. I’d heard it so often from Draven that I could quote him expounding on the unhealthy connection people had with food and their emotions verbatim. I got it. But I just didn’t care at the moment. I needed my emotional support nachos, and I needed a lot of them.
Besides, when Draven got like that I just casually mentioned that his food is blood and he has an unhealthy attachment to it on a daily basis. Also, that he gets particularly nippy and bitey when he’s stressed and/or angry and/or—I shuddered—amorous, so he had no room to talk.
That always shut him up.
I wrapped my apron around my waist and tied it off, then got started on searing the meat, my hands automatically getting out the pan, adding the oil, and adjusting the heat on the burner as my mind simmered over the day’s events. After I got a good sear on both sides, I turned the heat down, got out an onion and tomatoes, and went to work roughly chopping them.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I washed my hands at the sink,, dried them off, and pulled my phone out to see who’d texted. It was from an unknown number. My brow furrowed in confusion as I opened the text, and then I smiled in relief.
I could feel the tension drain from my muscles as I stared at a pic of Emrie on one of the couches in the lodge. She was in her pajamas, and the koala they were fostering was wrapped around her shoulders, nuzzling her face. Taco was leaning into the picture with a cheesy grin, and Mateo was behind the couch, his sharp, intelligent eyes focused on Emrie with concern. Drew was making some kind of ridiculously silly expression, and Emrie had been caught by the camera mid-laugh.
The joy on her face was incandescent. It was so beautiful that it literally made my chest ache.
I blamed the stinging in my eyes on the onions I had just chopped. And then I shook my head. I was too old to lie to myself. That was for the young. The truth was, Emrie had always had the ability to melt my heart.
Unknown Number: She’s okay. We’ll keep her safe.
Riggs, I hurried to input his name in my phone.
