The Bear Rules: A Boxed Set of Shifter Romance by Michele Bardsley

Author:Michele Bardsley [Bardsley, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Freeman Publications
Published: 2016-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

Bear Winter

1

HOPE BOLTED UPWARD, clutching the patchwork quilt to her chest. Shudders wracked her body as she gulped in deep breaths. She buried her face into the old, familiar blanket, reaching for any kind of comfort. The last wispy layers of the nightmare faded, but her skin crawled with residual fear.

She slept on a too-soft mattress that occupied an elaborate bronze frame. Across from the bed, a white marble hearth housed a low-burning fire. She glanced at the rose-covered wallpaper and elegant mahogany trim and frowned. Where the heck—oh yeah. Silver Creek. Cripes. She took a deep breath to still the pounding of her heart.

A terrible ringing thrummed in her head. She pressed her palms against her ears, but the unceasing bells wouldn’t stop. She pulled away her hands, realizing with shaky chagrin that the trill of the phone had woken her.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hope?” Her grandmother’s gravelly voice pierced the static-filled line.

Hope blew out a relieved breath. Gran’s voice had comforted her on nights long ago when childhood monsters had haunted her dreams. But her grandmother no longer held sway over Hope’s demons. She knew the truth: Monsters were real. Some were so evil, so vile, they could never be vanquished, and the ugly memories they created could never be purged.

“Hope? You there?”

“Yeah.” She grabbed the clock off the nightstand and groaned. Damn. She’d only been out twenty minutes—if the restless fear-filled journey into dreamland could be considered sleep. “Jeez, Gran. It’s nearly midnight.”

“Midnight? So what?”

Hope rolled her eyes. Her grandmother’s motto should have been “screw propriety.” When she figured something needed to be done, she didn’t wait for the so-called “right moments.” According to the old woman, there was doing it or not doing it. Virginia Matthews, age 76, was a lot like an Old West Yoda.

“I’m staying in Reno until the end of the week.”

“Gran! You’re already supposed to be here.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

No. Never.

Stop asking.

She bit her lip to keep the words from spilling out. Every day for the last three months Gran had asked the same question. Dread curled through Hope, stabbing at her conscience like hot knives, and seeping into the raw wounds left by guilt and self-damnation.

Hope stared at her red strands of hair draping her nightshirt. She took a curl and looped it around a finger. “I managed to pull the sheets off the tables and inventory the bar. We’re going to need some more rum—last year it seemed like everyone wanted Long Island Teas.”

“It’s only February. We don’t open until April.” Gran’s voice was soft, reproaching. “How long do you plan to run away from your problems?”

“I was thinking along the lines of forever.” She tugged on the coiled lock of hair. “I can’t get this place ready by myself.”

“We have plenty of time to bring the ole girl back to life.” Her grandmother paused. “Why do you sound skittish? You usually like being alone.”

Hope settled against the pillows, released the trapped ringlet, and rubbed her left temple.

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