ROMANCE: Awakened by the Alpha Bear (Werebear Fantasy Billionaire Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Alpha Male Bear Shapeshifter Paranormal Romance Short Stories)) (29 page)

Chapter
Six

Getting
out of the swamp was a tedious task. It took Bronte several months to control
the creature which resided inside of him. In 1643, he made it his mission to
find every rare plant that existed to break the curse.

As fate
would have it, things did not work out well for the two provinces because of
the broken engagement and disappearance of Lady Ambrosia. A feud ensued between
the two families, and his parents were in danger. Bronte returned home to
protect his family in the hope that his father would understand. He died before
Bronte could tell him what happened.

One
thing good resulted from his return. He was able to protect the rest of his
family, including his mother. She gave him the mother’s love that strengthened
him and made him believe all things were possible.

“Son,
you are my son. No matter what that witch has done to you, you will always be
my son,” she told him.

“I love
you, Mother,” he hugged her.

Her
encouragement and acceptance was what Bronte needed to motivate him to continue
his quest for freedom. After the death of his mother, he left in search of the
rarest flowers on earth. With the many lands he inherited from his father, he
was able to grow his wealth by making a profit from selling some of those
lands. Travelling the world also gave him a chance to collect many pieces of
art which he would trade several years later for up to ten times their original
value.

After
consulting with many wizards, he told them what Hilda, the witch, told him. Their
advice was to find these rare plants, so they could make potions from them.
Over the next century, he would search far and wide, finding the rarest of
plants, but no potion made from these flowers did any good.

After
two centuries of searching, he almost gave up. Bronte found that changing his
identity every twenty years was easier than finding the cure. He had now grown
accustomed to living a somewhat normal existence by being able to control the
dragon.

In
1964, he came a across a priest who became famous for exorcising demons. With a
little hope remaining, he paid the man a visit. Father Lucius was a devout
Catholic Priest who believed in the casting out of demons. He traveled
extensively to perform this task and was renowned the world over.

It was
believed that he was a direct descendant of Alse Young, one of the women that
were executed in the Salem witch trials. Rumor had it that he believes he is
paying penance for his ancestors’ past behavior.

It was
a day like no other day for Bronte. When he arrived at the church, the priest
had just come back from one of his infamous ‘rituals’ where it was said that a
girl had been possessed by a demon.

“What
can I do for you?” Father Lucius greeted Bronte, but refused to shake his hand.

This
bothered Bronte, and he was convinced that it had something to do with what
happened to him. He followed the man to a tiny office in the basement of the
church. This was where the priest spent most of his time when he wasn’t casting
out devils. There were books scattered everywhere. From what he observed, the
priest read anything he could get his hands on concerning the paranormal and
existential. He wondered why the man would be reading about human behavior, but
he quickly put it out of his mind.

“I need
your help Father,” he said to the man who placed himself on a seat behind a
desk filled with books and what looked to be tiny statues of different shapes.

“What
can I do for you?”

“I’ve
been cursed, a spell,” he told the man in the collar.

The
priest asked him how he knew he was cursed, and Bronte told him he knew because
a witch put something inside him. The priest did not look convinced, though he
agreed to do the exorcism. He told Bronte what was to be expected, and they
agreed to give it a try.

“Have
you tried getting this spell broken in a similar manner as how you got to be
cursed in the first place?” Father Lucius asked.

Bronte
pulled up the chair indicated to him and faced the priest whose eyes were so
pale, the gray was almost lost in them. His skin, in comparison, was a deep
tan, which told Bronte that the man spent a lot of time outdoors.

Father
Lucius walked him through the exorcism process and told him he was not
convinced he was not possessed, but was willing to give it a try. The priests
said he did not carry the symptoms of the possessed. Nevertheless, if there was
something dormant inside him, then God would be able to cast it out.

Father
Lucius took him to a room off the office which he hadn’t noticed. It was more
like a tiny cell with a cot. On the four walls were crosses, and in one corner,
a tiny table with a glass jar filled with water. He told Bronte to lie on the
cot, which he did.

The
priest took a bible and started reading from it, after which he prayed. After
he prayed in English, he began to speak Latin while getting the jar of water
from the table in the corner. Bronte watched as the priest came forward, dipped
a boney finger inside the jar and made a mark on his forehead.

Father
Lucius looked at him intently as he continued to speak in the strange tongue.
The man’s next move was to pick up a cross made of wood and brass and brought
it to within inches of Bronte’s face.

“I
command thee in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ to come out this instant!”

Bronte
half expected that the shadow would appear and leave his body, but nothing
happened.

After
repeating the ritual a third time, Bronte closed his eyes and tried to will the
reptile to leave his body. He felt a small stirring in his body as he tried to
awaken the creature within. He could hear the incantations the priest was
repeating, but it didn’t seem to have an effect on him.

“In
nomine patris et filii et Spiritus Sancti, ut tu illo dimitti. Exire nunc, ego
præcipio tibi!”
In the name of the father and the son and the Holy Spirit, I
command thee to release him. Get out now, I command thee!

Father
Lucius was convinced that Bronte was delusional at the most. He’d already done
the exorcism twice, but he knew some demons were stubborn, so he went for the
third try. Bronte was showing no signs of possession, whether it be blasphemy,
bloodshot eyes, cursing and speaking gibberish…. nothing. When he’s touched him
with the holy water, he just looked at him calmly, and the cross didn’t even
phase him.

However,
when Bronte had closed his eyes, the most extraordinary thing happened. Father
Lucius saw the shadow rise up and the eyes of the dragon looked deep into him.
The weird thing was that, the thing was not a demon, but an animal, something
he’d never encountered before.

It was
as if the creature spoke to him. It was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever
witnessed in his twenty years of performing this ritual. He closed the bible
with a snap and Bronte’s eyes shot open and the shadow sank into his body once
more.

“What
happened?” Bronte asked.

The
priest’s gray eyes narrowed, and they looked keenly at Bronte who now sat upon
the tiny bed. “I see the mark on you, but I’m afraid I cannot help you,” he
replied, after looking at Bronte for some time.

The
priest, who was about six feet, was thin as a reed with sunken cheeks and very
thin lips. His eyes were cold looking, yet moist in the corners and a little
bloodshot, the way drunkards looked.

“Why
can’t you help me?”

“Your
situation is far different from what I am accustomed to. It also seemed that
you have accepted or bonded with whatever is inside you. You want to tell me
about it?”

They
went back the office, and he sat in the chair he’d taken earlier. Lucius went
back to the chair behind his desk and pulled a handkerchief from a drawer and
wiped his face. The man appeared exhausted and Bronte wondered if perhaps he
was ill.

Bronte
took a deep breath and told Father Lucius everything, from the time he was
supposed to be married until the moment he came into his church. It was a very
long story, three centuries wrapped up in an hour.

When he
was done, the priest's eyes bulged as if they were about to pop right out of
their sockets. His mouth opened several times as if to speak, but nothing came
out. All this time, his eyes never once left Bronte. Then finally, he got up
from around his desk and stood before the young man, who was over three hundred
years old.

“May
God have mercy on your soul,” he said, finally taking Bronte’s hand. “Man was
meant to live for a time, and then die. Only God can give eternal life. But now,
someone has gone and messed with the nature of God by making you roam the earth
for eternity.”

It
wasn’t a regular handshake. It was more like a grip of encouragement, the way a
father would hold his son’s hand. Bronte noticed the way the man’s voice had a
dull tone, yet it was deep and a bit grating. There was no emotion in the
voice, but his grip spoke for itself and the eyes moistened as they bore into
him.

The
priest was no more than around forty, and would have been an attractive man if
he led a normal life. It seemed his life devoted to the paranormal was taking a
toll on him and made him look twenty years older.

“There
is someone around your age… what am I saying?” Father Lucius looked away,
embarrassed. “He’s a young professor in the School of Theology at Harvard. He
does extensive research on this kind of thing. He’s helped me a lot in the past
two years, and I’m sure he may be able to offer some insight.”

“Thank
you Father,” Bronte replied.

Father
Lucius wrote down the name and address of the professor and handed it to
Bronte. They both knew that this was the beginning of a long relationship, so
their goodbye was more like “see you later”.

He went
to Boston within a few days, desperately hoping that the person the priest
recommended could help him. Professor George was only thirty three years old.
He was a past student of Harvard who started researching into the paranormal
and the fantastical. He was as tall as Bronte with blue eyes and blond hair.
The man listened to Bronte’s as he had recounted it to Father Lucius. They were
in his office at Harvard, and he seemed fascinated by Bronte’s situation.

“A
witch's curse is different from a demonic possession, so I can see why an
exorcism failed. Technically, you are not possessed by a demon. You have been
merged with a dragon,” he told Bronte.

“What
can I do? How do I get rid of it?” Bronte asked.

“Give
me some time to study your situation. Tell me what she told you once more,”
Professor George said, making notes in a notebook.

“‘This
thy curse shalt not remain, when the rarest of flowers thou hast obtained’,
that’s the last thing she said to me,” he told the professor.

“Flowers.
You said you’ve tried making potions from rare plants and it didn’t work?”

“Yes,
I’ve spent three centuries traveling the world collecting the rarest of
flowers, none of them worked. I’ve seen hundreds of sorcerers, wizards,
witches, and medicine people, all in vain. What has she done to me?”

“It
seems the curse has some condition that you need to fulfill. The answer is in
that parable. We just need to find it and fulfill that condition to set you
free,” he told Bronte.

“Thank
you Professor. At least, after so long, I now understand my situation some
more. But, how was I able to live this long?”

“The
witch must have been a powerful one. It seems the creature living inside you is
unable to die, thus making you immortal.”

“This
life is torture. I can never have a relationship, children, or stay in the same
place for long. This curse makes all that impossible.”

“How
have you managed to live without loving all this time?” The professor asked.

“I’ve
been lucky, I guess,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Professor, if you come
up with anything, you know how to reach me.”

He left
Harvard with mixed feelings. It seemed no one could break the curse, but at the
very least, he was aware of what it really was. He spent the next fifty years
seeing the professor at least twice per year.

In
2014, he’d met him once already, just before his life began to change. The last
meeting yielded the same result, but he liked talking to the now eighty year
old. He was more like a therapist for him in many ways. He offered advice on
how to live and how to deal with people. Bronte had to admit that his life
became more meaningful after meeting Professor George. Before, he was just
surviving, but the professor taught him how to find meaning in his life.

Chapter
Seven

Her
knees wobbled tremendously as she walked to her desk. Bronte hadn’t come in
yet, and she was grateful for the time alone to gather her wits. What should
she call him now? Wouldn’t it be awkward addressing him as Mr. Petrakis after
the passion filled night they shared? Then again, it could never be “Bronte”.
That would be inappropriate for the office. It’s not like they were dating.

Silene
spent the morning mulling over what happened, and though her pulses began to
race thinking about it, she realized it should never have happened. It took
every ounce of her will to steel herself for when Bronte arrived, which he did
while pouring her morning coffee.

“Hey
beautiful,” he’d moved up behind her.

Startled,
her hand shook and the dark liquid splashed from the cup onto the counter in
the little kitchenette of the office.

“Mr.
Petrakis, you startled me!”

“Wow,
how formal are we today? I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he replied
apologetically, pulling a pink rose from his briefcase and handing it to her.

Hesitantly,
she took it and brought it to her nose, “Thank you.”

Shyly,
she lifted her eyes and they came into contact with his. His hand came up and
he brushed the back of her hand against her cheek. The urge to rub against it
like a cat was almost overpowering. She had to close her eyes and try to shut
him out. That was a mistake.

It was
a feather light touch of his lips to hers, but it created such a spark that
those wobbly knees she had trained to remain steady were weak again. Her eyes
fluttered, trying to open, but grew heavy as his kiss deepened.

The
kiss ended abruptly as they heard the elevator open and footsteps in the outer
office. Bronte smiled and walked quickly to his office while Silene tried to
pour another cup of coffee without spilling it.

“Silene?”
It was one of the secretaries from the outer office, Sharon.

“Yes?”
She turned to see the girl staring at her with her big brown eyes. She was
African American, average height, and somewhat on the plump side. Her hair was
dreadlocked, the kind you did at the hairdresser’s.

“Are
you alright?” There was concern etched on Sharon’s face.

“Why do
you ask?”

“Your
hands, they are shaking. Let me do that,” Sharon took the coffee pot and poured
two cups of the steaming liquid, handing one of them to her. “Come, sit for a
minute. What’s this?” Sharon picked up the rose which she’d placed on the tiny
plastic table in the kitchenette.

She
took the flower from Sharon’s hand and twirled it for a few seconds. She
watched as the petals went round and round while she thought of how she would
tell Bronte that it was a bad idea to be together.

They
had their coffee in silence, and she could feel Sharon’s eyes on her with every
sip that she took. It was uncomfortable, and that’s exactly why she thought
having an affair with the boss was a bad idea. She could imagine the stares and
whispers about her and she was not prepared for that.

“Excuse
me,” Silene finished her coffee and got up, placing the mug in the sink.

She was
headed to the door when Sharon said, “You forgot this.”

She
turned to see the girl with the rose in her outstretched hand. She took it and
replied, “Thank you.”

With
her mind made up, she went directly to Bronte’s office. He was just finishing
up a call so she waited for him to hang up the phone, then placed the rose on
his desk. He looked up at her in surprise and then rose, coming around to perch
his buttocks on the edge of his desk.

“What’s
wrong?”

“We
can’t do this!”

He was
beside her in a flash, “What’s the matter? Talk to me.”

“We
can’t do this. People will talk. You should see how that girl looked at me,
like she knew,” she started pacing the floor. “Let’s not do this, please. We
can’t let this happen.”

Bronte
could see how affected she was and his heart gave a few leaps. It was never his
intention to hurt her or make her uncomfortable. It seemed she was having a
hard time under the circumstances. Until he could figure out a way for them to
move forward, he would let her have it her way.

“Come,”
he reached out and gently pulled her in his arms. “I didn’t think about how
this would affect you. I’m sorry. Are you sure about this?”

She
hesitated. “Yes,” she finally replied, pushing away from him.

“Okay,
let’s not do this, only because you are uncomfortable with it. If you change
your mind, I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks
for understanding,” she said as she smiled and walked towards the door.

“Silene,”
Bronte called her name and she turned. “You were amazing…as my cohost.”

She
knew his words had a double entendre by the way his eyes swept over her
breasts. A flash of memory of their time together caused an ache in the pit of
her belly.
No, Silene, you can’t!
She reminded herself.

“Thank
you,” her voice sounded weak to her, but she kept her composure with a smile,
then turned and walked out the door.

 As
soon as she reached her office, she locked the door behind her and sank into
the armchair beside the wall. It was hard. Her attraction to Bronte had grown
too deep in the short period they’d worked together. She’d never experience
such passion in her entire life, and maybe she never would again. At least, she
had one magical night to remember.

For the
rest of the day she tried her best to keep out of his way. Not having any
meetings with him made it easier, and by the end of work day, she was able to
breathe a sigh of relief. She was the last one out of the office. On her way
home, she stopped at the twenty four hour market to do some well-needed
shopping. Her refrigerator and cupboards were basically empty.

The
feeling slowly crept up on her. It was subtle, and at first, not noticeable at
all. The first sign was the hair on the back of her hand standing on ends. It
was something that happened when she got cold. It wasn’t strange on a summer
night because there has been often a little breeze coming off the coast. This
happened while she was leaving the car and heading inside the supermarket.
While she was inside, she quickly forgot about it.

When
she headed back outside with her bags, she noticed that the hair on the back of
her neck also stood erect, but she ignored it because there were a few men
leaning against a pickup, looking at her with interest.

As soon
as she was inside the car, she locked the doors and started the ignition, then
pulled out of the lot. Something gave her goose bumps and an uneasy feeling in
the pit of her stomach. She was dying to get home, inside her apartment, where
it was safe. It crossed her mind that maybe the men who were leaning against
the truck in the supermarket parking lot gave her the willies.

Luckily,
there wasn’t much traffic to prevent her from getting home quickly. She parked
in her usual spot, but noticed that one of the lamps in the yard had gone out.
Quickly, she grabbed her two bags, stepped out of her car and locked the door.

It was
then she felt the intense sensation that crept over her body. She could not
describe it except that she felt an extreme chill, and every hair on her body
stood on end.  She could feel that she was not alone, but looking around, she
saw no one.

When
she reached her apartment, the feeling was still there, like someone was
watching her but without the chills. Before bed, she double checked all her
windows and made sure she locked the doors.

With a book,
she curled up at around nine, after taking a well-needed shower. All this time,
the feeling never left her, but she tried not to look scared, just in case she
was right. When Silene thought about it, the only way someone could be watching
her inside her apartment was unless they planted hidden cameras.

“That’s
impossible, isn’t it?” She closed the book with a snap, speaking aloud to
herself.

Not
able to concentrate on what she was reading, she placed the book on the
nightstand and turned the lamp off. She closed her eyes, trying to relax enough
to get some sleep. The feeling of extreme chill edged with fear gripped her and
her eyes shot open. What stared back at her in the dark was a pair of yellow
eyes.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
She let out a blood curdling scream that reverberated through the apartment.

With a
trembling hand, she flicked the switch on the lamp, but the thing had
disappeared. Silene jumped off the bed and ran into the living room where she
picked up the phone and dialed, listening to hear the 911 operator take her
call.

“Hello?’
A sleepy familiar voice responded.

Her
mind went blank. She could have sworn she’d dialed the emergency number, but it
was Bronte who answered.

“There’s
someone in my apartment!”

“What?”

“Someone’s
watching me. He was hovering over my bed… with yellow eyes!” She exclaimed.

“I’ll
be there in a few minutes. Turn on all the lights and wait for me,” he replied.
Bronte was wide awake by this. Flicking back the covers, he got to his feet
quickly and pulled on some clothes. He knew exactly what was happening, but
there was no way he could tell her without revealing his true self.

He was
at her apartment within twenty five minutes. When she opened the door, she ran
into his arms, “I saw it Bronte. I saw those eyes!”

“Pack
some stuff, you’re coming with me,” he told her. “I won’t take no for an
answer.”

“Okay,”
she replied with a tremor in her voice.