Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(16)

"Shit!" she said, out of nowhere, remembering that her erstwhile bear not-boyfriend had apparently left West and Elena's care the night before. "I forgot something. Are we done here? Or do you all need something else?"

She promised not to let him go without checking on him, because - yeah - she'd never actually bit a bear before. She didn't know what kind of effect either the bite, or the antiseptic saliva would have. Sometimes it didn't do anything at all, but like with the cows, it may act as a pretty high-schedule narcotic.

Branson was staring at her, brow furrowed. "I had some questions, but—"

But, she was already out the door. "I'll call you later, see if you need anything, all right Erik?"

He didn't have time to answer either.

"I guess it can wait," the dark suited man with the slicked back hair and the very reasonable tie-tack said. "Is she always like that?"

Erik chuffed a laugh, but said nothing. Izzy, on the other hand, wasn't anywhere as irritated by, or threatened by the presence of, authority. "No," she said. "In fact, I've never seen her act like that. She's normally so calm and collected and cool headed. Usually by the time she gets upset, something's already gotten so bad it takes a miracle - or a little hoodoo to fix."

Erik shot a glare in her direction. "Er," she corrected. "I meant that figuratively."

The look on Agent Branson's face was at once confused, and at the same time, not at all. Which was a little concerning to those in the room paying attention. Which, for once, was Erik and Norman. Erik took silent notice, and watched with a raised eyebrow as Branson collected his things, thanked everyone for their help in a tone that dripped just a little bit of sarcasm, and took his leave.

"Well," Erik said with a smile that was somehow dashing, "that got out of hand quickly. Didn't it?"

Izzy looked from Norman to her mate and then back again. "Give me that bucket," she said. "And yes, it did."





-6-


“Ain’t a thing in the world I can do about how I feel except pretend that I don’t feel it. That always turns out great.”


-Ryan


I can't believe I was out for three days. What the hell did she drug me with? I know they said it was just... whatever, vampire magic serum or whatever, but three days?

Ryan paced back and forth down the long, thick rug running along the hall outside of his study.

And how did I let her get the jump on me? I must be slipping. I can't let that happen again. I can't let my guard down, not even if I'm in—

He cut off his own thoughts with a loud snap of his fingers. Ryan Drake didn't fall for people. He brought them to their knees. He called the shots, not the other way around. Ryan shook his head and frowned deeply, pressing his fingertips into his temples.

Need to think. Need to think.

But when he did, all he could think about was her. Those slate gray eyes, that long, flowing hair so black it looked blue in the moonlight. He still felt the way her lips tingled on his neck, still felt the trill of excitement as she sunk in her teeth, and still hummed with anticipation that he'd never forget.

The way her legs locked around his waist, and how she'd held him so helplessly, as though he were nothing at all, nothing but a child, playing at being a man. He wandered into the study and collapsed into one of the thick, heavily-padded chairs. Ryan let out a soft, ironic laugh, and slid two fingers through the handle of his twenty-ounce coffee mug. He turned the hefty vessel around in his hands, letting the steaming Earl Grey warm his palms as he read the words Let Me Sew, Let Me Sew, Let Me Sew. Snowflakes and a Santa Claus on a sled rounded out the mug's decorations.

A corner of his mouth curled into a smile. This mug, like so much else around him, was a fading memory of a long-gone life.

His study was sparsely decorated. A couple of pictures of his aunt and uncle, a handful of knick-knacks, and some Jungian self-help books were about all there was to see, aside from the massive mahogany desk that stood in the center of the room, standing sentinel over absolutely nothing of any importance.

Opening the desk, Ryan slid free a leather ledger book, bound with a string around something that looked like a family crest. In reality, it was just a decorated circle of leather, but the idea of a family crest had always entertained him in a bleak, hopeless, darkly humorous way.

He unwound the cord and in one smooth motion, slid on a pair of absurd reading glasses that were obviously intended for a school librarian - they were covered in images of apples, books, and for some reason, tape measures. He'd never figured that one out. Balanced on the end of his nose though, they gave him the perfect vision he needed to read his tiny handwriting.

The muscles running down the side of his neck where Jamie had bit ached slightly. Each time he moved that arm, he felt a twinge, and then of course, he was back inside his own head, remembering the way she felt against him, the urgent heat of her body, the way she'd sucked, and how it made his head feel like it was floating.

More of the memories were coming back as time went on. He remembered her pushing the hair out of his face after he'd fallen and her talking to him gently, slowly, like a doctor helping a scared kid go into surgery. Jamie had cradled him for a time, but then his memory just went black. He assumed whatever it was that knocked him out took hold, because nothing he could do brought back any more.