I could not wait to taste her honey.
Chapter Eleven
Nadia
Justwhenhehadmy curiosity at an all-time high, he ripped the rug right out from under me.
My mind was still working through the details of the incredible world revealed to me. It was difficult to comprehend at first, but now it all started to add up.
For most of my life, I had been in the dark, unable to see the world around me. The chaos had settled, and everything was falling into place.
Papa had a particular set of skills he taught me when I was young. I was far too young to be taught these skills because I took them most seriously. It made me leery of people, unable to enjoy the blissful ignorance that most children enjoyed in their childhoods.
I didn’t believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny, or the promises of being best friends forever with any of the other children. I didn’t even believe it when a guy said he liked me for my mind or personality—no one liked me for me. They all thought I was weird and quiet.
None of them could trick me and try to make a fool of me either.
“Repeat it back to me, so I know you listened,” Papa scolded, patting me on the nose with his index finger. I was rather bored with his Saturday morning lessons. It was the same thing over and over for months, and I knew his words like the back of my favorite cereal box.
“Papa, I know it. I knew you lied to Mama when you said you liked her roast last Sunday.”
Papa’s eyes widened, and he placed his scarred hand over his mouth to cover his smile. For a personal driver, he had a lot of scars all over his arms and one cut over his eyebrow where the hair no longer grew. “You saw that, huh?”
I nodded and tried to hold back a smile.
“Then I guess you need no more of my lessons?” he said with a defeated sigh.
I shrugged and continued brushing one of the antique dolls my mama had given me from their home country of Russia. “Mama gives me lessons too when you are not around. Once I master it, she moves on to the next subject.”
Papa’s mouth hung open, and I leaned forward and pushed it closed. “Careful, Papa, you will catch flies.”
He barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his salt and peppered hair. “You and your mama are sneaky little foxes. What has she taught you?”
I bit my cheeks, holding in my smile only to be attacked by Papa’s tickling.
It was one of my fondest memories of my papa and I. There were many more to be had, but I always remembered hissearch for truthlessons, and now that I was more of a sound mind with food in my belly and proper rest, I could apply them better.
Bear explained that all these wonderful people—shifters, or magical beings, whatever species they may be—helped save me all for the chance at redemption. It tugged at my heartstrings. I believed every word he said without hesitation.
Bear believed in every word he said about a Moon Goddess, about Journey being a priestess. He believed it. Now if it was true or not, that was up for debate, but after seeing a wolf shift before my eyes, why not believe it?
I had more questions, and I needed more answers. Not speaking hindered that, but old habits, well, they were hard to break.
I’d slipped several times, and I hoped I was on the verge of breaking the cycle and not reliving Master Cunningham’s special guest coming to reprimand me when I spoke out loud. I hated the flashbacks of being thrown into that dark corner of my mind and what happened that day when I defied his orders.
Bear helped me forget the tough times. My mind was put at ease when I was around him. I did not feel the impending doom when he was in the room. I was brought to the present. It made my body and heart feel things I’ve never felt before. He helped me trust, and for the first time in my life, I trusted a man… shifter… bear, whatever he was. He hadn’t lied to me.
It scared me. The longer I was left alone with him, the closer I wanted to be with him. I wanted his touch. I wanted to know more about him.
Who was the woman that broke him, rejected him? He was a fierce protector. He didn’t even know me but came to my rescue and brought me to safety. He’d even brought me to his cabin, and if I knew anything about animals, I knew they took pride in their homes.
Even now, as I sat at the table waiting as he preparedmefood, he was speaking about how he cut down each tree, how he laid down every timber piece by piece. That alone must speak how much he considered his home a safe space and was proud he brought a stranger into it.
But why me?
And why hold me, keep me in his arms whenever he could?
Did he have any idea what sort of thoughts could be put in one’s head when you invited them to sit on your lap, constantly touched them, and woke up with them holding you?
