Happily Ever Alpha: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance Page 7

  “Get lost in the maze yesterday?” Kellan asked as he met Arya at the village entrance.

  She shook her head, frowning. “A friend of mine got hurt ... and so I spent the day with him.” And had used it to trap her into an afternoon of cards with not only him, but his siblings as well. She’d learned to play Whist and Cribbage, and had even won a few hands of the latter, though the men had teased her, saying that it was a good thing they weren’t playing for money or she would have been cleaned out.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Kellan took her hand and inhaled, expecting her sweet scent. He frowned when it came to him mixed with another, darker scent—a man’s scent. It must have been her friend she was talking about, and he was surprised to find his hackles rising; he didn’t like it one bit. Something in the back of his mind niggled, but he suspected his emotions were simply a product of the mating bond, and he brushed it off.

  “Everything is very quiet today,” Arya murmured, looking around. There were few people outside, and yet she felt as if there were many more eyes on her. She caught a glimpse of someone peeking at her through a curtained window before the person pulled back, the curtains concealing them with a swish of floral-patterned cloth.

  “Does your village ever have to go into town to buy supplies?”

  Kellan blinked, looking down. “Why do you ask?”

  Arya pointed at the curtains. “The pattern on those curtains is very modern—it looks like perhaps something bought in a merchant’s store rather than woven by hand.”

  Kellan laughed. “My sister, Leah, would be pleased to hear you say that. She is the town seamstress and weaver, and most likely made the cloth for those. But we very rarely go into town for anything unless it is an item we absolutely cannot make on our own. We prefer to be self-sufficient. And the less frequent are trips, the less likely anyone can follow us back and discover our location.”

  Arya nodded. “If your sister truly can do such things with her own two hands, I think I would like to meet her.”

  “I was just going to take you to her.”

  Leah’s cabin was only three buildings away from Kellan’s, and Arya could already tell from the outside that it belonged to a woman—the scent of baking bread wafting out from one of the open windows, the potted flowers in the sills and by the door, and the frilly curtains. Windows of a house were like the eyes of a human—you could look at or into them and see the soul residing within.

  Kellan stepped up and, placing Arya slightly behind him, knocked on the door. It opened only seconds later to reveal a small, slender woman with dark, curly hair pulled back from a pretty face. Her eyes, the same brilliant green as her brother’s, smiled warmly at him, and then turned curious as they settled on Arya. She wore a dress only a few shades lighter than her hair that was covered with an apron.

  “Kellan.” Leah wrapped her arms around him, and Arya noticed that her sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows—likely to avoid coating them in the flour that dusted her hands. The exposed forearms were slender, but also muscular, and Arya imagined that Leah was probably a woman who could handle herself in an attack. Kellan hugged her back gently, not seeming to care that his shoulders were being dusted with flour. “It’s nice of you to stop by, and to bring your mate too.”

  “I’m not his mate,” Arya blurted out before she could stop herself—she didn’t know why, but it seemed important for her to make that clear. “Or, at least not yet. I haven’t decided.”

  Leah raised her eyebrows as she stepped back. “So Kellan has told me. Why don’t the two of you come inside? I have a loaf that’s going to burn, and another one that’s ready to be baked.”

  Arya followed Kellan inside the two-room cabin—one spacious area that had the kitchen and living area, and another room separated by the door she assumed was the bedroom. Leah moved past the counter, where a mound of dough was set out, and bent in front of the hearth to pull out the loaf. Her eyes were drawn to the loom set in the middle of the living area, where a woolen blanket seemed to be in the works. Her feet carried her over to it, and she allowed her fingers to play over the colorful threads.

  She looked up to see Leah standing a few feet away, watching her. “It’s beautiful,” Arya told her.

  Leah smiled slightly. “Still in the works, I’m afraid, but it’ll be a work to be proud of when I’m done with it. You’ve done weaving before?”

  Arya shook her head. “I’ve only ever worked with a needle and thread—embroidery and some mending.”

  Leah clapped her hands together in a prayerful gesture and looked up. “Praise the gods, a woman that can use a needle and thread! You would be amazed at just how many women in our village come to me for this kind of work. They’re plenty good at other things—pottery, cooking, even carving—but the needle and thread are elusive. This alone, in my opinion, should get them to forgive you that you’re human.”

  “Leah.” Kellan coughed even as Arya’s lips twitched. “I don’t…”

  “… know if that’s the wisest thing to say?” Leah finished, propping her hands on her hips. “Maybe not, but you know I’ve always spoken what’s on my mind, and nothing is going to change that. Would you like to learn how to use a loom?” she asked, turning her attention back to Arya as though her brother had said nothing.

  The lip twitching became a full-on smile. “I do believe I would like to.”

  “Then let me wash my hands.”

  The two women sat at the bench together, and Leah showed Arya the basics—how the warp was loaded and the yarn reefed and layered. Then she showed her which levers to pull when and how to send the shuttle across, and soon Arya’s fingers were flying, the yarn seeming almost to weave itself as she guided the loom.

  “She’s a natural,” Leah said to Kellan with a grin.

  Shaking his head, Kellan couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you think so, but we really didn’t come so you could put Arya to work.”

  “Of course not.” Leah patted Arya gently on the shoulder. “Why don’t you and Kellan have a seat, and I’ll bring out some tea.”

  Arya rose. “It’s really no trouble at all. I think I would like to try using your loom again sometime.”

  “Be careful,” Kellan said, laughing. “If you keep saying things like that Leah might decide not to let you go.”

  Leah brought out tea and biscuits, and Arya bit into one of the warm, sugary pastries, sighing. It had been awhile since she’d had anything like this. “These are wonderful.”

  Leah smiled. “Not what you expected is it?”

  Arya frowned. “I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

  Leah sat, then picked up her own cup and sipped the steaming hot tea. “You were expecting a crude lifestyle—tasteless food, sparse décor, harsh living conditions…us being animals and all.”

  “Leah,” Kellan began, the word both a warning and a plea, but Arya shook her head and held up a hand.

  “It’s alright,” she said, keeping her eyes on his sister. “To be honest, I really had no idea what to expect. I’d never once imagined anything like this in all of my life. It feels surreal, as though I’m living in some fairy tale. You are all so kind, so unbelievably decent.”

  Leah smiled again, but this time it was a full, open one. “I really do hope you don’t let her go,” she said, turning to her brother, “because even if you haven’t made up your mind, I have. I want to keep her.”

  They all laughed.

  * * *

  The next day that Arya arrived, the village seemed less hostile. When she stepped out of the maze and walked to Kellan’s cabin, she still felt eyes on her, but the stares were no longer openly hostile—or at least, not all of them. Most of the villagers still looked upon her with mistrust, or at least caution, but none of them looked as though they were ready to chase her out with a broom—or worse. Arya wasn’t certain what brought along the change, but she suspected it had something to do with how well her visit had gone with Leah.

  Kellan met her hal
fway to his cabin, and Arya’s heart sped up a bit as he took her hand and kissed it. The afternoon sunlight shone through the trees and glanced off his thick, brown hair, giving it a lustrous sheen, and his green eyes glowed warmly. Several days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw, giving him a rugged woodsman look. She found herself instinctively comparing it with Lucas’s sunbaked complexion and sizzling blue eyes, and shook her head. Was she actually considering a choice between the two men?

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, lowering her hand and giving her a quizzical look.

  “I was just thinking that you are far too handsome for your own good,” Arya said, and smiled, knowing it was not a lie and he wouldn’t be able to contest it.

  Sure enough, Kellan grinned. “You’re just flattering me in the hopes of trying to distract me,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her along into walking beside him. “Not that I’m complaining. But it seems there is something on your mind.”

  Arya smiled ruefully even as she cursed inside—it seemed that his perception of her ran beyond physical signs; but then, so had his sister’s. “I’m just wondering what it will take to get your village to be more at ease around me,” she said, which was true enough.

  Kellan squeezed her hand gently, and Arya found she liked having her hand in his—it was warm and strong, and felt a good fit. “They’ll come around as they get to know you better. You’ve already made a bit of progress during your visit with Leah yesterday. She told some of the village women about you after you’d left yesterday. Leah is respected, and the villagers trust her judgment. You will just have to show them that she wasn’t in error with her words.”

  Arya nodded. “I’m nervous. Your people have every right to hate me.” And there was always the possibility that she would reject Kellan, and then what? Would there be any point in trying to be accepted by a people she wasn’t even going to be living with, anyway?

  “The fact that you are willing to admit that is proof enough that you are a decent person.” Kellan smiled. “Trust me, you will win them over eventually.” They stepped inside his cabin. “Wait here for just a moment,” he told her, and then went into his bedroom.

  As Kellan ducked inside, he had to admit to himself that she was winning him over too. No, he amended as he sat down on the edge of his bed for a moment to think. She had already won him over. No longer was he thinking about trying to impress her simply for the sake of the mating ritual. He was constantly looking for her smile, for the flash of approval in her eyes. When he’d brought her over to his sister to visit, he’d actually found himself getting jealous over how much of Arya’s attention Leah had taken up. It was ridiculous, considering that his sister was no threat to his success with the ritual, and only proved to him that his head and his hormones weren’t the only thing involved.

  After he’d walked Arya back to the maze, he’d asked his sister for advice on what to do the next time she came. He had little experience with courting females, and never in his life though he would be trying to win over a human. He knew that he needed to spend more time with her alone, but that he needed some sort of agenda or his mind would quickly follow in the direction of his overactive hormones. Not that he would mind it very much, but when he finally did take Arya to his bed, he wanted her to be willing in every possible way.

  Looking up, his eyes settled on the package his sister had left on his bedside table for him, and smiled. Leah was the most reliable person he’d ever met—and the only family he had left. She was just as saddened by that fact as he was, which was another reason she was so keen to have Arya around—if she did accept him as her mate, it would give him the chance to finally expand their dwindling line.

  Arya was wondering what was taking Kellan so long when he finally emerged. Her eyes settled on the long, rectangular box tucked beneath his arm, and her eyebrow quirked. “A present for me?”

  He nodded, holding it out to her. “I thought I might teach you how to use it today.”

  Curious, Arya opened the package to find a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. Excitement and surprise pulsed through her veins as she gingerly lifted the bow from the box, running her hands down the glossy wood, gently plucking at the string.

  “Of all the gifts I’ve ever received,” she murmured, “this is certainly the most unusual one.”

  “I was hoping to distinguish myself.” Kellan flashed a crooked smile. “Though, admittedly a bow is much easier to come by than the trinkets and baubles I’m sure a lady like yourself is used to.”

  Arya looked up. “It also carries much more meaning than any silly, frivolous item picked up in a boutique or shop.” She smiled at him. “Especially since you are going to teach me how to use it.”

  “That’s the plan.” Kellan said, his eyes lighting up, and Arya noticed for the first time the tension in his shoulders as they relaxed—he’d been nervous. The thought warmed her, not because she wanted to see his discomfort, but because he always seemed so confident, so assured, that it was nice to know he was just as human as she—or at least in the ways that counted.

  Kellan grabbed his own bow, which was significantly larger and heavier-looking than hers. He led her outside the village and into the woods to an area he had set up for target practice—a small clearing with a trio of shooting targets nailed to a row of trees.

  “Let me help you with that,” he said as Arya struggled to adjust the length of the quiver strap. He fixed it for her and then slipped it over her back, and Arya shivered slightly as the back of one of his hands gently brushed the underside of her breast as he adjusted the strap over her chest. He helped her string her bow, and then swiftly did his and hefted it up.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Arya nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He straightened. “You’re right-handed?” She nodded. “Then you’re going to grip the longbow here with your left hand—“ he indicated the grip with his right hand as he wrapped the fingers of his left hand around it, “and you’re going to nock your arrow here and make sure the shaft is resting just here against your finger.” He pointed as he worked, and Arya watched closely. “Then you pull back with your string, making sure your elbow comes straight back—” he did so, the muscles in his arms bunching, “look for your target, and release.”

  He released the bowstring and the arrow shot through the air almost faster than Arya’s eyes could follow, landing with a solid thwack in the middle of the target. “Bulls-eye,” he said, lowering his bow with a satisfied smile before turning to her. “Your turn now.”

  It was harder than it looked. It took her three tries just to get the arrow nocked, and her arms trembled slightly as she pulled the string back—the bow was heavier than she thought it would be, and though she’d grown a bit stronger after coming out to the countryside, her arms were still woefully weak from a life of relative idleness. As the daughter of an earl, she’d not had to do any strenuous tasks, and as a woman she’d not been afforded the opportunity to engage in the same kind of outdoor sports that men did.

  Her arrows flew wide of not only the mark, but of the tree itself, and by the time she went through the entire quiver she’d only hit the trunk twice. “I don’t know how you make it look so easy,” she said, sighing as they picked up the fallen arrows so that she could try again.

  “My father was a very good teacher,” Kellan said as she got into position once again. “And I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  Arya expected him to stand off to the side and watch her, but instead he positioned himself to the side of her, crouching so that his chest was pressed intimately against her back. She drew in a slow breath, inhaling his spicy scent as his fingers came to the hand on her bow, adjusting her grip, and then pulling her elbow back more so that the bowstring stretched further.

  “You’re too busy focusing on the mechanics,” he murmured, his lips so close to her ear she could actually feel his breath against her skin. “I want you to stop worrying, and just envision your target.” His grip
tightened on her elbow, relieving some of the stress on her arm as he helped take the weight off the bow. Arya wanted to sag in relief, but she knew that doing so would cause her to lean into his body, and his presence was distracting enough as it was.

  Frowning, she did her best to clear her head and focused on the target—the big, red circle in the center of the paper. “Breathe,” he told her. “Use your breathing to steady yourself, to forget about everything else. It’s just you and the target.”

  She did as he said, breathing deeply through her nose and focusing her attention until there was nothing else—just her and the target, the big, red bull’s-eye beckoning her. She didn’t even hear Kellan anymore. Her fingers released the arrow of their own accord, and it sailed smoothly across the clearing and landed in the center of the target with a satisfying thwack.

  As soon as it was over, the sounds and smells and sights of the forest came rushing back to her—the birds twittering, the scent of grass, and trees, and air… the sound of Kellan’s breathing in her ear, his scent surrounding her. A rush of adrenaline filled her and she lowered the bow, her arms trembling again.

  “That was incredible—” she started, turning to look at Kellan, but she misjudged how close she was, and her lips brushed against his accidentally. They both froze, Arya’s heart beating hard against her chest, and then Kellan’s arms came around her, pulling her close, and her mind was so scrambled she didn’t even think to stop him.

  Kellan had known it was probably a bad idea to get so close to Arya; the entire time he’d been helping her he’d had to hold his body completely still—his heart nearly exploded in his chest at the touch of her. He should have stepped back as soon as she’d shot the arrow, but he’d instead taken those last few seconds to enjoy the feel of her body pressed against his.

  She felt even better now, with his arms properly around her, pressing her softness into him. He kissed her with the intensity of a starving man devouring a feast, coaxing her mouth open so that he could taste her fully. Her tongue tangled with his, and her breathy little whimper did nothing to discourage him. Her nipples pebbled through the thin material of her dress, scraping his chest, and the scent of her desire had him pressing her back against the nearest tree trunk.