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Summer’s Lease

By Drew Hunt

Published by

JMS Books LLC

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ISBN 9781611524307

Cover Photo Credit:

Natalia Bratslavsky

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Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
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Written Ink Designs

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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains

substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which
may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination
and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to
actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Summer’s Lease

By Drew Hunt

“Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date.”

—William Shakespeare, Sonnet #18

Chapter 1

“The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy

seas,” John Tennant said, then hiccupped. He turned his gaze
from the waves which, though moonlit, weren’t exactly cloudy.
Nor, as far as he could make out, were there any galleons,
ghostly or otherwise. Stumbling, he looked down and stared at a
smooth white stone that was no bigger than a golf ball. “Hello,
who put you there?”

He smiled, feeling happy for the first time

since…“George,” he said aloud, his mood abruptly plummeting.

Reaching the end of the garden path, John lifted the

dustbin lid and dropped in his bag of rubbish. Not that there was
much; he’d been in the cottage for less than a day. But
Morwenna, the owner of the half-dozen cottages that formed the
tiny hamlet of Bishop’s Cove, had advised him that the bins were
only emptied once every two weeks.

“And the bin men are apt to come early. Being from the

city, you might not be awake in time to put out your rubbish.”

John had bristled; he’d always been an early riser, but

then he supposed his definition of early might not be
Morwenna’s. If her multi-coloured, tie-dyed, and no doubt home-
spun clothes, the myriad bangles on her wrists, sandals on her
feet, and the nest of twigs and wild flowers in her hair were any
indication, she probably got up with the sun and danced naked in
the dewy grass. John resolutely turned his mind away from such
a mental picture. She was sixty if she was a day, and even if she

were younger, the image would have still been distasteful. John
didn’t fancy women.

Facing the sea once again, he breathed deeply of the salt-

laden air. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hypnotic
rhythm of the waves. The stress of the past few months began to
loosen some of its crippling hold.

John hadn’t known why he’d been surprised at

Morwenna’s unorthodox appearance. Hadn’t he figured she’d
be…free-spirited when he’d spoken with her on the phone?

Handing him a glass of wine, which she had explained

was fermented from the elderflowers that grew in her garden,
Morwenna had gone on to say something…strange. “Yes.” She’d
looked him up and down. “You’re exactly how I saw you. You’ll
do very nicely.”

“Um,” John had hesitated, wine glass hovering midway to

his lips. “Maybe I should explain. I’m gay. I don’t—”

Morwenna had laughed and clapped her hands. “I know.”
“Oh.” Obviously she was one of those new-age types, or

perhaps just a bit touched, John thought.

Morwenna’s cat, which had been slinking around in the

shadows, slid out and wrapped itself around John’s legs. John
had not been tempted to bend down to stroke the thing—he didn’t
really care for cats: aloof, self-important creatures that they were.

“He likes you. Another excellent sign.”
John had taken a sip of the wine. It was surprisingly

palatable if you went in for rustic-type beverages, which he
usually didn’t.

Morwenna had insisted John take the rest of the bottle

away with him.

On getting back to his cottage, and after unpacking his

car, John had seen the bottle on the draining board and decided
to take a quick sip.

The sip had led to a glass, which had graduated to three

glasses.

“No wonder I’m a bit unsteady on me pins.” John smiled to

himself, leaning against the dustbin.

He hoped he wouldn’t have a hangover in the morning,

but then, would it matter if he did? He didn’t need to get up
early—he’d got a long leave of absence from his middle-grade
paper-pushing position in the Department of Work and Pensions.
The job was dull, but it suited him. Maybe he was dull, too.
Though George had always told him off when he started to go
down that road.

George’s life insurance and his work pension meant John

didn’t need to work ever again if he was careful with his
investments and lived simply. Careful and simple were John’s
middle names. He sighed. Yes, the money was nice, but he’d
much rather have George alive and well.

John’s only big expense of late had been renting the

cottage. But fate, in the guise of a curious gust of wind, had
almost literally landed the summer getaway in John’s lap.

He thought back to that day in Regent’s Park.
After feeding the ducks, he’d settled himself on a wooden

bench to enjoy the spring sunshine. It had been a cold winter
and this was one of the first nice days they’d had.

Within seconds of settling his thin frame, a breeze got up,

disturbing a nearby pile of litter. A brightly-coloured piece of
paper separated itself from the rest and skipped across the grass
toward him, coming to rest against his right shoe. John ignored
the paper, but another gust blew the thing up his leg and onto his
lap. The large typed words, Relaxing Cornish Getaways, caught
his eye, so, not having anything else to do, he began to read the
rest of the leaflet, thinking when he got up, he’d deposit it in one
of the rubbish bins that were dotted around the park. But,
although he had no memory of doing so, he must have folded
the glossy leaflet and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. The
next time he’d seen the brochure was a week later when he went
to collect his dry cleaning.

The woman in the shop had saved the paper for him,

remarking on how nice and peaceful the hamlet looked. John
had intended telling her to throw it away, but was distracted by a
call on his mobile phone that turned out to be a wrong number
and ended up taking the brochure home and absent-mindedly
dropping it on the small table in the hallway of his flat.

A couple of days later his mother-in-law had popped in for

a chat and a cup of tea. Doris, bless her heart, had done a lot of
“popping in” since George’s death. The woman was well-
meaning, but she reminded John of George, and—at least she
and her husband Bill had been supportive of George’s sexuality,
which was more than could be said for John’s own parents, who
had treated his coming out with indifference.

Doris had pounced on the brochure and immediately

started in on how John should take a break. “You haven’t had a
holiday since George died.”

“It’s been less than a year.” He could quote the exact

number of days and possibly hours since George had collapsed
after climbing out of the bath. He could also quote the doctor
who had tried to offer comfort by telling him George probably
was dead before he’d hit the carpet.

“I know,” Doris had said, no doubt picking up on his

thoughts. She’d taken his hand and given it a squeeze.

John had sighed. He knew a holiday without George

wouldn’t be much fun. They’d been a couple for almost twenty
years and had done pretty much everything together.

But Doris had been determined to get him moving

forward, trotting out all the old sayings about how John should
get out more, how George wouldn’t have wanted him to sit at
home and mourn for the rest of his life. Then she’d brought out a
few new arguments, the most persuasive of which was that he
and George hadn’t ever visited Cornwall, so there wouldn’t be
any ghosts of past visits to haunt him.

John had done what he did best…prevaricated. The most

Doris got out of him was a promise to think about it. He knew,
however, that if he were to go anywhere, it would be somewhere
exotic with more amenities than a rustic cottage close to the
edge of—if not beyond—civilisation. He’d wondered about a
holiday on a tropical desert island with cool breezes and hot
scantily-clad male natives serving him drinks and—no, he wasn’t
ready to move on. George was barely cold in the ground.

But Doris had been relentless. She’d brought up the

Cornish cottages on her next two visits. John had admitted he’d

mislaid the brochure. In point of fact, he’d thrown it in the waste
paper basket.

“But it’s on the hall table, I saw it when I came in.”
“What?”
Doris got up, walked into the hallway, and came back a

few seconds later holding the brochure.

Jesus, I must be losing it. Maybe I need that holiday more

than I think, John had thought, eyeing the creased sheet of
paper. It had definitely been the same brochure, with the same
slight tear in the upper-left corner.

John took in another deep breath of fresh sea air, opened

his eyes and started to turn back to the cottage. He might as well
go to bed—not that there was any prospect of sleep; he hadn’t
had a single night of uninterrupted rest since George’s passing.
Although, maybe the crashing waves, the long journey from
London, and Morwenna’s wine might just…

He gasped and froze in place. There, not fifteen feet in

front of him, between him and the sanctuary of the cottage, was
a huge—no, make that enormous—brown bear.

The creature turned its head and stared at him. The

bear’s blue eyes narrowed and he could hear the animal’s
steady breathing. He was drawn back to the eyes. Do bears
have blue eyes? Does blue show up in moonlight? Or maybe it’s
the light spilling out from the open kitchen door that allows the
colour to show. And why the hell am I dwelling on colour
perception when I should be running for my life?

He couldn’t move. His brain was telling him he should be

shitting in his underwear, but instead he felt a curious calmness
wash over him. It had to be that bloody wine. He’d definitely pour
the rest of it down the sink when he got back into the kitchen.
Assuming I ever get back into the kitchen and don’t end up as
dinner for a hungry bear, he thought.

“Uh, nice Teddy.” Jesus, what was he saying?
The bear continued to stare at him.
“Nice night isn’t it?” John shut his mouth, knowing he was

sounding like a total prat. Definitely the alcohol.

But drunk or not, what did one say to a bear? He

imagined the books on etiquette so beloved by his social-
climbing mother would be silent on the subject.

John was pretty sure bears weren’t native to Britain, or at

least hadn’t been for about a thousand years. Maybe Teddy—
John suppressed a giggle at the silly name he’d come up with—
had escaped from a zoo or a circus or something. Perhaps that
meant he was tame, or as tame as such a creature could be. He
certainly was magnificent, all raw power, muscle and strength.
So animalistic. Jesus, am I getting a bloody hard-on over a wild,
escaped bear?

Teddy sniffed the air.
“Uh, I don’t think I’d make a very tasty snack for you,”

John chuckled. “But I might have something in the cottage.” He
pointed to the open kitchen door behind the bear. “Although I
haven’t managed to go to the supermarket yet.” Shut the hell up!
John told himself.

With a snort, Teddy shook his head and ambled away, his

gait loping but unhurried.

Weirdly, John felt sorry to see the huge creature leave.

And with his—John didn’t know why he’d assumed the bear was
male—departure, John felt panic rush in. He stumbled for the
cottage’s back door, locking and bolting it behind him, despite
what Morwenna had said about how it wasn’t necessary in their
little community.

John leaned against the door and tried to calm his racing

heart. With the adrenalin coursing through him, he was certain
he wouldn’t get any sleep that night, and doubted he’d packed
the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed after George’s death.
John had refused to take the darned things, as they made him
feel empty, and he was pretty empty as it was.

* * * *

“Just one word,” Mitch Benjamin said the next morning,

bending his six-foot eight-inch frame to get under the lintel of
Morwenna’s kitchen door.

Boris, Morwenna’s black tom cat, hissed from beside his

feeding bowl.

“And you can shut up, you demon-possessed spawn of

Satan.”

“If that was your one word,” Morwenna said, coming into

the flagstoned kitchen and making for the stove, “you can’t
count.”

“Why?” Mitch put his hands on his hips and surveyed his

old friend, who was pointedly ignoring him as she lifted the lid of
a saucepan.

From the foul odour that billowed out, Mitch guessed she

was boiling seaweed again. His revulsion at the smell was
superseded only by the remembered taste of the stuff.

“Why, what?” She stirred the green slop before tasting it.
Mitch had to look away.
“Bit more flavouring, I think.” She smacked her lips.
Mitch tried to keep a hold on his temper, betting his friend

was deliberately baiting him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d rented
out number six?”

“Didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important?” Mitch said loudly, glaring at her. From

behind him, Boris gave a warning hiss. Whirling on the feline,
Mitch shot it a “don’t mess with me” look, which had absolutely
no effect on the cat, whose back remained arched, tail fluffed
out, and hair on end. “You don’t scare me. Go do something
useful like catch a mouse or something.”

Mitch turned his back on the cat, knowing that although they

couldn’t stand each other, Boris wouldn’t attack him. He hoped.

“How long is he staying?” Mitch asked once he’d calmed

himself.

“Who, Boris? I imagine he’ll stay until he wants to leave.

You know cats.” She replaced the lid on the saucepan and
adjusted the flame under it.

Mitch ground his teeth, his temper rising again. “The guy

in six.”

“Oh, him.” She lifted her trusty mortar and pestle off the

shelf and then began to pick off various leaves from the herbs
she kept in earthenware pots on the window ledge, all the while

deliberately not meeting Mitch’s gaze.

“Morwenna!” Mitch barked. Sometimes his friend could be

so exasperating. “This is important.”

She finally turned to face him, a sprig of rosemary between

her fingers. “Love, the universe has brought him here for a reason,
and I believe it will take the summer for that to manifest itself.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. His friend had some pretty off-the-

wall flights of fancy, though he knew better than to disparage
them. She’d been proved right too many times in the past.

“Just so long as he stays out of my way.”
Morwenna came toward him and laid a hand on his cheek.

“Be nice to him. He’s a paying guest, and we need the money.”

Mitch looked down at her. “I can pay more. You haven’t

increased my rent for years.” He made small wooden pieces,
such as stools and baby chairs, that Morwenna sold for him in
the local towns.

“It isn’t just the money. Why leave the cottages empty

when so many people need them? Like this new guest. I can
sense that he’s had a…difficult time of things and being here
may be the medicine he needs right now. Just as it was for you.”

Morwenna had a generosity of spirit that had instantly

drawn Mitch to her. Her grandmother had been exactly the same
way. It had somehow skipped a generation with Morwenna’s
mother, who had run off to the bright lights at the first possible
opportunity.

Mitch swallowed. “It’s just…I have to be careful.”
She stroked his cheek. “John, the guy renting six, is no

threat. Boris likes him.”

Mitch’s eyes swivelled to the cat, who was still standing

on guard, watching his every move. “Why doesn’t that fill me with
reassurance?”

“It’ll all be fine. Trust me?”
Trust was something Mitch found hard to give, but

Morwenna had never let him down. It was still odd that she
hadn’t mentioned this John guy earlier, but he guessed she had
her reasons.

“Okay.” He found a smile from somewhere.

Morwenna withdrew her hand, stood on tip toe, kissed his

cheek, and then went back to her herbs. Over her shoulder she
said, “Oh, and John said the cold-water bath tap was leaking.
Would you be a sweetie and take a look?”

He shook his head, muttering, “Okay.”
As Morwenna had constantly refused to accept more rent,

they’d come to an agreement whereby he’d perform any minor
repairs to the cottages. On his way over to Morwenna’s cottage,
Mitch had seen the new guy turn onto the cliff path, so he figured
if he went over to number six now he could get the job done
before the guy came back.

“Thanks,” Morwenna said, beginning to grind the herbs. “I

suppose you won’t be staying for lunch?”

He snorted and left without another word, saving one

more threatening glare for the cat, whose unblinking green gaze
followed him out.

* * * *

John had decided a walk along the headland and maybe

down onto the beach would cure his hangover. There had to be
something in that wine; he couldn’t remember ever having
hallucinations, especially after only three glasses. The previous
night, after he’d checked that all the doors and windows were
closed, he’d tipped the rest of Morwenna’s wine down the drain and
rinsed out the bottle. He’d thought about taking the bottle back that
morning, but that would have suggested he’d drunk the whole thing
the night before, and he didn’t want to give her the impression he
was an alcoholic. So he’d decided to give it back in a couple of
days and refuse all offers of more, should she make them.

Surprisingly he’d found that he’d packed all his pills, so,

despite his reluctance, he’d swallowed a couple of the cursed
orange-coloured ones with some water and went to bed, not
waking until the morning sun came streaming in through the
window. He’d been so out of it he’d forgotten to draw the curtains.

The morning was clear, if a little blustery. Though as it

was mid-June, a certain amount of sea breeze was to be

expected. Indeed, it had been his experience that there could be
wind off the sea at any time of year.

As he made his way along the uneven path, John recalled

joyless trips to Brighton with his parents when he’d been small.
His mother had endlessly promenaded him, his father, and his
younger sister along the front hoping to see and be seen by
anyone who mattered. All John had wanted to do was find a
library or a book shop and escape. He’d enjoyed visits to the
pavilion, but again, his mother had done her best to suck any joy
out of the occasion.

Here, on this bare cliff-top, John could be himself, do as

he pleased, when he pleased.

“Bandit, stop pulling!”
John turned around to see a white-haired older man with

a distinct military bearing walking his dog on a flexible lead.
Unfortunately, they were heading John’s way, and there was no
escape, save jumping off the cliff.

“Good morning,” John said.
“Hello.”
John smiled down at the fawn and black little dog which

was wagging its curly tail vigorously. It turned its wrinkled face up
to him and let out a bark. He didn’t attempt to stroke the dog, just
in case it bit.

“That’s a surprise,” the man said.
John looked up at him. T-shirt, shorts, and socks all neatly

pressed and in the same olive drab. Yep, definitely ex-military.

“Normally, Bandit’s frightened of new people,” the man

explained, bending down and scratching the dog between its ears.

John nodded. He had some kind of affinity with animals,

though he didn’t know why. He’d never had a pet; his mother
thought them dirty and too much of an inconvenience. He’d once
suggested getting a corgi, pointing out that the Queen kept them.
This argument had held some weight with his mother, but
ultimately she’d decided one wasn’t worth the trouble, even
though John had said he’d look after it.

Once he’d left home and started work, he hadn’t had time

for a dog, and as neither he nor George were much into cats,

they’d remained a pet-free household.

Bandit stood on his hind legs and waved his front paws at

John, who, surprising himself, knelt down to better interact with
the dog.

“You’re a clever boy.” John smiled and high-fived the cute

little dog.

“Bandit’s a she.”
John looked between the dog’s legs and felt foolish.

“Sorry. With the name, I thought…”

The man smiled. “You’re not the first to make that

mistake. The black mask across her face gave me the idea, even
though it’s probably more of a boy dog name.”

“What is she?” John asked, standing up and brushing off

his knees. He wasn’t about to mistakenly mention the wrong
breed. He knew dog owners sometimes were offended if you got
such details wrong.

“A pug,” the man said, looking surprised John didn’t know.
“Ah, yes of course.” John nodded sagely. “I’m John by the

way, John Tennant. Staying in one of the cottages.” He turned to
point to them, surprised to see how far away they were.

“Nick. I’m in number two. Saw you come in yesterday.”
The man didn’t give a surname, much less a rank or serial

number.

They made vague promises to meet up again, said their

goodbyes, and each resumed their walks.

Within a short time John’s stomach reminded him he

hadn’t had breakfast, so he headed back, realising he needed to
find a supermarket to stock up on a few fresh items.

Chapter 2

One of the first things Mitch saw on entering cottage six

was the empty wine bottle in the sink. He recognised it
immediately as one Morwenna used for the evil brew she called
elderflower wine. If the city guy had drunk the lot, no wonder he’d
been behaving like a moron the previous evening. Mitch had only
tried Morwenna’s wine once and had had a headache for days.
But then, he never was one for drink even though it didn’t leave
him intoxicated. He guessed his rapid metabolism processed the
alcohol before it had a chance to affect him.

Closing the back door, he took the stairs to the upper

storey two at a time, remembering to duck his head as he
ascended.

A quick look at the faucet confirmed what Morwenna had

said. The bathroom was old, probably from the 1920s. The
faucets were stiff to operate and prone to dripping. He’d tried to
persuade Morwenna to modernise the cottages and thus be able
to charge more rent, but she was convinced the vacationers liked
the rustic experience. Mitch had done rustic and basic for most
of his life and now preferred the comfort and convenience that
modernity brought.

Getting the top of the faucet loose took a fair bit of

strength, even for him. The stubborn son-of-a-bitch had probably
not been off since World War Two. “Or maybe even One,” he
grunted, the thing finally coming free. “Fuck!” He was drenched
in a torrent of water—he’d forgotten to turn off the water at the
main shut-off-valve.

Judging it quicker to shut off the water at its source in the

kitchen rather than wrestle the faucet back together, Mitch ran
downstairs, forgot about the low ceiling, and hit his head. Seeing
stars, he made his way to the kitchen, pulled out the crap in the
cupboard under the sink and reached for the handle, which, of
course, was stiff. Pulling his head out of the cupboard Mitch felt
droplets of water falling on him. A quick look up confirmed his
worst fears. Water was seeping from the ceiling.

“God damn it!”

Trudging upstairs, Mitch pulled off his sodden plaid shirt,

knowing he had some major clean up to do. Why the hell hadn’t
he shut off the supply first? That was basic plumbing. He could
only put his lapse down to being rattled at the new guy’s
presence. And that was dumb. Morwenna had had other guests
come to stay. Heck, he lived in a hamlet of vacation cottages. It
was just the sight of the guy had stirred something that was
better left unstirred.

* * * *

John turned the key in the lock but found the door was

already unlocked. He could have sworn he’d locked it on
leaving—he never forgot stuff like that—but then he’d never
imagined a huge bear before. Shaking his head, he pushed the
door open and almost fell over something on the floor. Looking
down, he saw that the cupboard under the sink was open and its
contents strewn about. And there was water on the floor, too.

“They have strange burglars in Cornwall,” he muttered,

not sure if he should call the police or…

He heard a thump from upstairs. Remembering his phone

and camera were by his bed, not to mention his wallet, John
inched his way toward the stairs, determined to tackle the
burglars himself.

“Get the fuck on, you motherfucker!” This was followed by

several scraping sounds.

John paused, his foot on the bottom stair.
“That’s it, you bastard,” came the same voice.
What the hell was going on up there? John went to

investigate, but froze when the next stair creaked loudly. The
scraping from upstairs stopped. The silence was so profound,
John could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, a deep voice announced,

“It’s okay, I’m just fixing your leaky faucet.”

Relief swept through John. Yes, of course. That explained

the mess in the kitchen. He felt foolish for allowing his brain to
conjure up something more sinister. He started to ascend the

stairs once again.

“Thanks. That was quick, I only told Mor…” The rest of

John’s words died in his throat.

There, kneeling in front of the bath, was a huge man

naked to the waist, his back rippling with bulging muscles.

“Should be through in a minute, but as you can see,” the

man gestured with a massive arm, “I had a bit of an accident.”

“Uh, that’s okay.” John felt his dick stirring to life.
A quick twist of a spanner, and the guy got to his feet,

back still to John, whose mouth fell open. The guy was a giant.

“There, all done,” the man said, turning around and

inhaling.

John looked up and up. If the guy’s back was amazing, it

was nothing to his broad chest, covered in masses of brown fur.
The chest gave way to the broadest shoulders John had ever
seen on anyone outside of a Mr Universe competition, and he’d
studied the models in those many times. Thick neck, brown beard,
strong and large straight nose, and a pair of eyes of the most
piercing blue. The man’s forehead was smudged with blood.

“Hi,” John said, trying not to squeak. “You’ve hurt

yourself.”

“No, I’m fine.” The guy swapped the spanner to his left

hand and held the right out to shake. “Mitch Benjamin.”

John, who was no weakling at just over six feet and

weighing in at one hundred and ten kilograms, felt puny in
comparison to this giant, whose hand seemed to swallow John’s.
But despite Mitch’s size, John was amazed at how gentle his
touch was.

On contact, lust was transformed into serenity; there was

no other word for it.

“Let me clean this mess up, then I’ll get out of your hair,”

the vision of masculinity said, the sound seeming to come from
deep within his chest.

It will take hours to clean up, I hope, John’s mind

declared. Out loud he said, “It’s okay, I can do it, shouldn’t take
long.” What? his mind screamed. Why’d you say that?

“If you’re sure.” The guy looked relieved.

“No problem.” John’s devious mind quickly scanned the

room to see if there were any other small repair jobs that needed
attending to, to keep Mitch longer.

As a sop to his more lascivious side, John asked, “Would

you like a cup of tea or…” He remembered he didn’t have any milk.

“It’s okay,” Mitch said, withdrawing his hand. “I need to get

moving.”

John hadn’t realised they’d still been holding hands. The

loss of contact left him feeling curiously bereft. Shaking it off as
the lingering effects of the sleeping pills, he asked, “Hope you
didn’t have to come far.”

Mitch paused in the packing of his tools and smiled over

at John, the smile doing a lot to banish his empty feeling. “I live
over in number three.”

“Oh.” There wasn’t much else John could think to say.

Then he again noticed the gash on the man’s forehead and it
was still bleeding. “Oh, you’re bleeding, hang on, I’ll get the first
aid kit out of my car and—”

“It’s okay, it’s not too bad.” Mitch touched his forehead, his

fingers coming away stained red.

“Won’t take me a minute to get a sticking plaster.

Probably should put some antiseptic ointment on the cut, too.”
John hated to see the big guy hurt.

“It’s okay. I’m a quick healer.” Mitch closed the lid of his

toolbox and straightened, John marvelling once again at the
man’s height.

“How tall are you?” John’s mouth asked before his brain

could censor the question.

“Six eight.”
“Wow.”
John managed to resist asking the follow-up question

about how much the guy weighed.

They walked downstairs, Mitch leading the way, John’s

eyes feasting on the acres of flesh and muscle. This was
especially attractive when Mitch got down on the floor to turn the
stopcock back on under the sink.

At the back door, Mitch offered, again, to clean up the

mess on the kitchen floor, but John again refused.

“If you leave the doors and windows open it should dry out

the ceiling pretty quickly.”

John nodded and was about to ask Mitch if he thought

that would be safe given that there’d been a bear in his garden
the night before, but managed to stop himself at the last second.
There hadn’t been a bear.

“Well, thank you again,” John said, holding out his hand.

He just had to touch the man one more time.

Mitch transferred his enormous toolbox into his left hand

and they shook. Again John felt a wave of warmth.

Mitch let John’s hand go. He looked uncomfortable. Scuffing

an enormous boot on the mat, he swapped the toolbox back into
his right hand. Not meeting John’s gaze, he mumbled, “Like I said,
you shouldn’t have any more trouble with that faucet now.”

“No, thanks.” John knew he couldn’t prolong the

encounter any longer, so he bade the handsome hunk farewell,
reminding him he needed to do something about the cut on his
forehead.

* * * *

Mitch knew he’d been right to be wary of the new guy; he

was…special. He gave off waves of vulnerability that Mitch had
had a hard time not acting upon. But Mitch had too many issues
of his own, so he would just have to stay away and wait out the
summer until the man left.

He paced his tiny cottage, his bear anxious to be set free

and run on the beach. But his human side knew he’d have to
wait until it was fully dark and late enough that no one would be
about, especially the new guy.

Hell, he thought, passing his front window yet again and

glancing out of it to see if he could see John. What a stupid-ass
thing to do, allowing my bear to be seen by a stranger.

But his bear had been drawn to the man, sensing his pain

and emptiness, knowing on an instinctive level that John had
also lost someone dear to him. But from now on, Mitch knew

he’d have to keep away from the man and his cottage, even
though his bear felt a need to guard it and its occupant from any
and all dangers.

Mitch recalled John’s surprise at first seeing his bear.

Amazingly, and perhaps most disturbingly, John’s initial shock
and fear had almost instantly been replaced by…interest, even
desire. And, most dangerous of all, these feelings had been
present also when John had met his human. The mate bond,
although still quite weak, was definitely there.

“No!” Mitch said, slamming his fist on the table as he

passed it. He wasn’t going to allow his instincts, either human or
ursine, to take over, not again. It hurt too much the last time. The
human would return to his life in the city in a couple of months
and life for Mitch—lonely, boring, but safe—would resume.

He continued to pace, frequently glancing out of the

window at John’s cottage. He told himself he was just checking
the light levels, but that was hogwash.

“Teddy!” Mitch snorted and shook his head, smiling at

John’s goofy name for his bear. “Ah, shit!” He’d have to talk with
Morwenna. Maybe she could give him a potion or something to
help take the edge off. But then, she was no doubt responsible
for his current plight. “Damn her meddling!” The table was
thumped again.

Another glance out of the window, and Mitch saw John

leaving his cottage. Mitch came to a halt behind the curtain so he
could watch.

“City folk,” Mitch snorted when he saw John lock his door.

No one would break into his cottage. Mitch knew his bear
wouldn’t allow it, and neither would Mitch.

He watched as John walked toward his car. A pang of

anxiety hit Mitch; maybe the guy was packing up and leaving.
But sense soon prevailed, because he realised there was no
luggage.

As Mitch watched, Nick, or the Admiral as he’d privately

dubbed him because of his military clothing and background,
strolled into view. The Admiral’s little snappy, pain-in-the-ass dog
pulled on its lead to get to John. The Admiral turned in John’s

direction and they approached, John squatting to pet the
annoying creature.

Although Mitch couldn’t lip read, he could tell from both

men’s body language that they were having a pleasant
conversation.

A growl burst from Mitch’s throat when he saw the Admiral

pat John’s shoulder. Though definitely not his type, the Admiral
had kept himself fit in his retirement, and still struck quite a
handsome pose, one Mitch wondered if John was attracted to.

Mitch had had to wrestle with his bear urging him on the

couple times he and John had shaken hands. He’d almost been
undone at John’s concern at the cut on his forehead. No way
could Mitch have allowed the human to touch him in sympathy;
he couldn’t have controlled his bear-inspired urges then.

Mitch was able to breathe again when he saw the Admiral

turn away and start walking down the cliff path. Obviously John
had rejected the man’s overtures.

Flicking his gaze back to John, Mitch saw the guy open

his car door and climb inside.

He’s going into Newquay to hook up with someone at a

gay bar, the bear growled.

“Jesus, I’m losing it,” Mitch said, shaking his head.
Once John had driven away and Mitch could no longer

sense the guy’s presence, rational thoughts began to populate
his brain. It was too early for the bar to be open, and even if John
fucked his way through every one of the bar’s patrons, it was
none of Mitch’s concern; John was a free agent, nothing to do
with him.

Mitch eased his fingers from their death grip of the top of the

sofa. Looking down, he saw two sets of claw puncture marks on
the leather. Must have partially changed. He was unable to recall
the last time that had happened. “Yep, I’m definitely losing it.”

* * * *

Going into the bathroom to start cleaning up, John spied

something red and orange in a corner. On closer examination,

he saw it was a checked cotton shirt. Opening it up he noticed
that it was huge. It had to belong to Mitch. That’s why he was
shirtless.

Unable to stop himself, John buried his face in the damp

fabric and sniffed deeply of Mitch’s manly essence. Instantly
John felt aroused, yet calm.

Walking into the bedroom, he draped the shirt over the

back of a wooden chair to dry. His stomach rumbled, reminding
him he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. He needed to go find a
supermarket as he didn’t fancy dry cereal and tea without milk.

* * * *

It’s pathetic, John told himself that night when he couldn’t

sleep and had reached over to touch Mitch’s now-dry shirt. In the
morning he’d fold it, find a bag for it and take it over to Mitch’s
cottage. At least that would guarantee him a few minutes with
the hunk.

* * * *

John had no sooner laid a booted foot on the crooked

bottom step before the door was flung wide open and Mitch
stood there, his bearded face grinning from ear to ear.

“You been gone a mighty long time, Ben Mitchell,” the

mountain man said, racing down the porch steps and engulfing
John in a bone-crushing hug. “Too fuckin’ long.”

John opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on,

and why was Mitch calling him Ben? But Mitch took that
opportunity to plunge his tongue into John’s mouth and deliver a
kiss, the depth and passion of which John couldn’t ever
remember receiving before.

The kiss finally ended, leaving John so dazed he wasn’t

sure any more what his name was.

Mitch released one of his arms and guided John inside.

Feelings of warmth and an odd sense of familiarity washed over
John, bringing back his confusion. A quick look around showed a

single room, bare floors with rag rugs, sturdy and heavy-looking
wooden furniture that appeared to be handmade. A fire blazed in
a stone hearth, its warmth beckoning John toward it.

“There’s some stew in the pot,” Mitch said, breaking into

John’s thoughts.

John turned to the man, about to ask him again what was

happening, where they were, and why was he speaking in an
American accent? But again Mitch stole John’s breath and
thoughts with another long kiss.

“Missed you, Ben, so much.”
Oddly, the name seemed to fit him. John wondered if Mitch

was still Mitch. This was answered when the guy said, “Yep, ole
Jack Humbolt here has been a complete mess without you.”

Where had he gone? John shook his head.
Obviously forgetting about the food, Mitch said, “You must

be tired. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Before John could protest, Mitch’s huge hand reached for

his. John looked down. His own hand looked larger than he
remembered. As they moved toward the bed, John caught a
glimpse of himself in a mirror. He was a lot bigger, broader and
hairier.

Mitch sat on the bed, and, seemingly without effort, lifted

John to straddle his lap so they were chest to chest, John seeing
Mitch’s blue eyes up close. They really were beautiful.

“Don’t know what I ever did to get a guy as perfect as you,

Ben Mitchell.”

“You’re the perfect one,” John found himself replying,

backing the comment up with a touch to Mitch’s cheek.

John wanted to run his hands over Mitch’s broad

shoulders, so he did.

Next, John undid a few of Mitch’s shirt buttons before

bending to nuzzle in the man’s rich, soft pelt of chest hair.
Sniffing Mitch’s scent, John felt safe, protected, and at home.
This all began to seem less weird.

Blindly, his face still rubbing in Mitch’s chest hair, John

undid and pulled down his trousers and underpants.

“Need you,” John said, kissing and licking Mitch’s left tit.

“Got me,” Mitch groaned, applying pressure to the back of

John’s head.

John needed more. He needed Mitch’s dick. Reluctantly

pulling away from the heaven that was Mitch’s chest, John
worked at the man’s belt, finally managing to unbuckle it.

Mitch lifted his bottom off the bed enough for John to slide

the man’s coarse denim jeans down the powerful thighs. John
spent a moment admiring the amazing strength that those limbs
must possess. But like a siren, Mitch’s dick kept calling to him
and he could ignore its entreaties no longer.

John gave his undivided attention to the monument to

masculinity that stood, large and proud, in front of him. Without a
doubt, it was the biggest and most beautiful dick he’d ever seen.
His mouth watered and his hands shook. He needed to taste and
touch that dick.

John took hold of the heavy organ in both hands. Yet

again, feelings of familiarity spread over him. Somehow he’d
been here before. As he watched, a pearl of clear fluid appeared
at the cock head that peeked out from its collar of foreskin.
Dipping his head, John lapped up the precum, its taste bursting
on his tongue, encouraging him to dive down for more, Mitch
obliging with a steady supply of the delicious stuff. Truly nectar
from the gods.

But John felt driven to do more to please this man-god.

Opening his mouth wide, he leaned forward and took in several
inches of Mitch’s tool. When the oversized head hit the back of
his throat, John expected to gag and was surprised when he
didn’t. Taking an experimental swallow, his muscles somehow
knew what to do to accommodate the impressive girth.

Pulling back to draw breath, John turned his eyes up and

took in Mitch’s magnificence towering above him. The man was
smiling, and John was overwhelmed with joy that he was giving
pleasure to this man.

Setting up a rhythm on Mitch’s pole, John also began to

play with the man’s huge, egg-sized balls that churned with cum
in their loose sac.

Feeling his own need to climax, John reluctantly ceased

his exploring of Mitch’s scrotum and began to wank his own dick.

Within moments, John felt fingers combing through his

hair. This act of tenderness sent him over the edge. Spending
himself on Mitch’s bare feet, John glanced up, but Mitch’s
handsome features had been replaced by those of a bear.

John came awake and found the sheet and blankets

tangled around his legs. He was panting, his heart threatening to
beat out of his chest.

“Jesus,” He rubbed at his face, only to discover his hand

was covered in cum. “What the…?” He’d been in secondary
school the last time he’d had a wet dream. What the hell was he
doing having one now?

As he came around, the dream remained sharply

focussed in his mind. And what a dream. It had felt so real. He
could recall every sight, touch, smell, and taste. He couldn’t ever
remember having such a multi-sensory dream before. This
brought on a deep sadness. John, or Ben as he’d been in the
dream, felt like he’d had a deep connection to Jack/Mitch.

But Mitch wasn’t his partner. George was. “George!” John

let out a sob and curled in on himself, allowing his tears to fall
freely.

His legs starting to cramp, and feeling he’d cried himself

out, John wiped his eyes, climbed out of bed, and padded to the
bathroom to clean up.

He knew there was little chance of more sleep. John wasn’t

sure he wanted to sleep anyway, just in case he was returned to
the log cabin. The events inside the cabin left him with mixed
emotions, ones he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine. Walking
back into the bedroom for his dressing gown, John realised he
hadn’t packed it. Spying Mitch’s shirt still draped across the back
of the chair, he decided to use that instead.

Instantly upon shrugging into the oversized garment, John

felt that now-familiar sense of longing mixed with comfort wash
over him. He had to be imagining it. Padding barefoot
downstairs, he convinced himself he’d been under a lot of strain
recently and suddenly having that strain released, his mind was
playing tricks on him.

Chapter 3

Mating season was no big deal for the bear. He didn’t

have a mate and saw no prospect of acquiring one. Albeit, his
metabolism speeded up and he had to eat more food. This led to
an increase in weight, which his body converted to greater
muscle mass. This often brought his human form attention from
people on the odd occasions when he ventured into the local
towns. The admiring glances and sometimes downright stares
were flattering, if unwelcome. His human form didn’t want to
have sex with any of the men who looked his way, and he
definitely wasn’t interested in mating with female admirers.

With the arrival of John, the bear was uncharacteristically

restless. The human had given him the name Teddy, but the bear
refused to refer to himself by such a label. He wasn’t a pet dog.

The bear made several patrols of the outside of John’s

cottage, needing to make sure the human inside was safe. To
warn off any potential suitors, the bear marked the perimeter of
his territory, and woe betide anyone who breached it.

Feeling all was safe, the bear ambled down to the beach

and went for a swim in the sea, where he caught several fish as
well as a crab. They made for a tasty change from the clams and
the occasional rodent. Although his diet mainly consisted of
grasses and seeds, the human side of the bear’s nature
reminded him that meat offered the best sources of protein.

Satiated, the bear walked out of the waves, shook himself

a few times, and slunk toward his cave. He’d found the natural
break in the rock many years earlier; it was wide enough for the
bear to enter, but was in a location unlikely to be spotted by
passers-by. The cave offered a dry shelter away from the wind
on nights when he wished to remain in bear form. It also held a
few changes of clothing so when he transformed back to human,
he didn’t scare anyone who happened to notice him, although
few people visited the cove during the winter months, so he
could walk around naked—his preferred state—if he so chose.
The cold weather usually deterred this practice, however.
Originally hailing from the Pacific Northwest where it rained more

often than not, the bear knew his human had grown soft in his
middle age and preferred to spend the winters in front of a
blazing log fire. The frosting on top of the cake would be to share
such a cosy den with a mate, but…

The bear let out a roar of anguish. Even though it’d been

the best part of a century since a hunter’s bullet had torn the
bear’s mate from him, not a day went by without him mourning
the loss.

Sticking his snout outside the cave and sniffing the air, the

bear drew comfort in being able to sense the nearby presence of
the new human. He didn’t know whether it was an actual scent or
something more internal and cerebral, he was aware that the
man his human ached to claim as his mate was close at hand
and thinking about him. This caused the bear’s penis to
unsheathe itself and drip fluid onto the sand.

Retreating deeper into his cave, the bear mounted a

boulder that he’d rolled there years earlier. He’d chosen it as it
was smooth and just the right height to rub against when the
pressure became too much and he needed to spill his seed.

Within a very short time, the bear had worked himself up

to such a state that he was ready to explode. He thought about
pausing to allow his human’s lust to ebb and thus prolong the
pleasure, but he couldn’t wait; the need to spurt was too great.
Letting out an enormous roar, the bear painted the top of the
boulder with several long ropes of cum, the smell of which drove
him to grind harder.

Letting out a final grunt, the bear dismounted, sniffed at his

issuance, licked some of it up, then, after feeling he’d got his
human’s urges somewhat under control, stalked out of the cave
and made his way back up the cliff to check on John one last time.

The bear was surprised to spy John through one of the

cottage’s windows, and glory be, he was wearing a shirt the bear
recognised as belonging to his human form. Did this mean John
was accepting the bear’s human as his mate? The bear shook
his head, his human side insisting it was too soon. The bear
returned to his own cottage, determined that this internal
discussion was not over. Not by a long way.

* * * *

Pulling his suitcase from under the bed, John unzipped it

and stared into its empty depths. Empty, that was how he felt.
Why had he come to Cornwall? It was a mistake. He felt more
separated from George and that scared him. At least in London
he had his memories, places they’d visited, pubs and restaurants
they’d eaten at, parks they’d walked in.

Yet again, he felt guilty for his wet dream. He should be

dreaming about George and all the times they’d made love. He
shouldn’t be conjuring up images of sucking off virtual strangers.

John flopped on the bed next to the suitcase and buried

his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, George. It won’t happen again,
I promise.” He sobbed, letting the tears flow, knowing he
deserved to suffer for the betrayal of his lover’s memory.

Yes, he’d pack his stuff; take his key back to Morwenna

and think up some excuse or other for why he couldn’t stay.
Maybe his grandmother had fallen and broken her hip, and he
needed to return to London to look after her.

Shame on you, an internal voice reprimanded. Your

grandmother is dead, and what do you think she’d say to you
using her as an excuse for your cowardice?

“Shut up,” he said, raising his head and looking at himself

in the mirror over the antique oak dressing table.

He looked a sight. Morwenna was bound to see that

something was up. But then, wouldn’t it be natural for him to be
upset at hearing bad news about his grandmother? He could say
they were close and…

And there isn’t any mobile phone signal out here, so how

would you have heard about this fictional hip fracture?

Sometimes he hated his logical conscience.
“Don’t have to give her a reason,” John said, squaring his

shoulders. “I’m not in secondary school anymore, needing to
explain my actions to the headmistress.”

Nodding at his plan, John got off the bed and began to pack.

* * * *

Mitch burst through Morwenna’s kitchen door, getting a

distinct feeling of déjà vu. However, unlike the previous morning,
Boris held his tail aloft and sauntered out of the room, completely
ignoring Mitch, which surprised the man. Maybe the cat was
beginning to accept him after all these years.

“Hello again,” Morwenna said from her seat at the kitchen

table, not looking up from whatever she was doing. “Just brewed
a pot of tea; help yourself. I’d do it, but this bit is tricky.”

Over the years Morwenna, and her grandmother before

her, had tried to educate Mitch in the pleasures and rituals of
drinking hot tea. He thought the practice of warming the pot,
sticking a woollen cover on it, and so on were a lot of bother for
something that was barely drinkable at best. But Mitch needed
Morwenna’s help, so he retrieved a cup and saucer—another
quaint English custom—and poured himself a cup, adding plenty
of sugar and milk. He still remembered the time he’d asked
Morwenna’s grandmother for cream. She’d cackled for days over
that faux pas. Seemed you only served tea with cold milk or
maybe lemon in the summer. Shit, he should have used lemon
instead. That made the drink mildly more tolerable, reminding
him of a hot version of iced tea.

“What are you making?” He took a seat around the corner

from her at the kitchen table.

“A bead bracelet.” She lifted it up.
“Oh.”
Morwenna sold handicrafts to various retailers in the local

towns; such things were pretty popular with the tourists, as were
his baby seats. Looking at the table, strewn with beads, shells,
and coloured stones, he wondered if maybe he should add
tables to his range. He took a sip of the tea and almost spat it
out. Choking, he asked, “What the hell’s in this?”

“Camomile. It’s supposed to help you relax.”
God knew, Mitch needed something, so he took another

sip. He wrinkled his nose; no, it still tasted like lawn clippings or
something worse.

“There,” Morwenna said, biting off the thread and

displaying the finished bracelet to Mitch.

“Very nice.”
Morwenna shook her head. “You’re a hopeless liar.”
“Sorry,” Mitch grunted. He didn’t feel like getting into it

with her; he’d hardly had any sleep that night.

“I hope you feel better than you look,” she said, laying a

comforting hand on his arm.

Mitch let out a breath.
“John?” she simply asked.
Mitch nodded, uncomfortable about discussing private

emotional matters with a woman, even one he’d known all her life.

“What do you want to happen?”
“Him to go away and leave me alone,” he replied

immediately.

Morwenna paused. “Why? Has he done or said something

that—”

“No,” Mitch shook his head and began to pull at his hair

which he suspected was in a mess. “It’s just me, my bear. He
keeps urging me to get closer to John but I…”

“Am afraid to.” She stroked his arm.
Trust Morwenna to get right to the heart of the matter.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked gently.
That was by turns easy and difficult to answer. Mitch took

another sip of tea and shook his head. “I can’t drink this crap.”

She took the cup and saucer to the sink.
“Can you give me something to…take the edge off or

something? Maybe help me sleep, stop my mind from churning
and…Oh hell.” He tugged at his hair again. “I don’t know.” He
was avoiding answering her question, and doubted he’d be
allowed to get away with it for long.

“What are you afraid of?” She returned with a glass, its

contents black and mildly sweet-smelling.

“What’s that?”
“Mitch, love.” She put the glass on the table in front of him

and laid a hand on his forehead.

“I’m afraid of being hurt. There, satisfied?”
“That you’re hurt and afraid, no. That you trust me enough

to tell me what’s hurting you and making you afraid, yes.”

“What’s in the glass?” He asked again, not willing to

expose his emotions any further.

“Black liquorice.”
He eyed the glass suspiciously.
“It should help take the edge off, like you wanted.”
He looked up at her. “How?”
She retook her seat. “Black liquorice is supposed to

reduce a man’s potency.”

“You mean I won’t be able to get it up?”
“Mitchell Benjamin, don’t be crude.”
“Sorry.” He picked up the glass and gave its contents a

sniff. “Doesn’t seem too bad.” He took a sip. It wasn’t bad tasting
either, so he took another, larger, drink.

“Though how effective it’ll be on a man, uh, man-bear like

you is anyone’s guess. But every little bit helps.”

“Suppose.” He drained the glass and set it back down.

“Can you give me something to help me sleep? I didn’t get much
last night. ‘Cause I was…Well, awake a lot.”

She smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. But the best thing that

will help you is to talk about this, get it out in the open and…”

Boris entered the kitchen, ran past the table and meowed

at the back door.

“What’s up with him?” Mitch asked, having never seen the

hateful feline behave like that before.

“John’s coming,” Morwenna said, getting to her feet.
Mitch started to rise; he would escape through the living

room and leave through the front door.

“Stay,” Morwenna said, fixing him with a look. “I think you

need to hear this.”

Mitch wasn’t sure about that, but before he could say

anything, there was a knock at the door, the cat whined and
scratched at the wood. What the hell was wrong with that
creature? Maybe it needed some potion or other.

“Come in.” Morwenna held the door open to admit John,

who paused when he saw Mitch.

His bear stirred at the sight of the man, who looked like

he’d been crying; his eyes were red at least.

“Sorry, I won’t bother you as you have company. I’ve just

come over to—”

“Oh, Mitch isn’t company, he’s an old friend. Come in, take

a seat and have a cup of camomile tea. It should still be hot. You
do drink camomile, don’t you? Mitch hasn’t got the hang of it yet.”
She said all this while guiding John to the chair next to Mitch.

“Oh, I, I…”
“And look, Boris is pleased to see you. He likes you. Odd,

because he doesn’t usually take to strangers. He’s known Mitch
all his life and can’t stand him.”

“I get on well with animals for some reason.”
“I saw that you had made friends with Bandit. She’s another

who takes a long time to warm to someone.” Morwenna brought a
cup and saucer to the table. “Will you take it with honey?”

“Uh, I suppose, I don’t normally drink—”
“You’ll like it. I buy it locally, it’s all organic. Boris, be a

good boy and stop rubbing John’s leg. You’ll get hair all over his
nice trousers.”

“He’s okay. I don’t normally like cats, but he seems really

friendly.”

Boris showed just how friendly by jumping up on John’s lap.
“Boris,” Morwenna scolded.
The cat took no notice, turned around a couple of times

and lay down. He faced Mitch and gave him a narrow-eyed glare
as if daring him to say anything. Some things hadn’t changed, it
seemed.

“Well, this is nice,” Morwenna said, taking her seat once

again. “Drink your tea while it’s hot.”

John took a sip, and to Mitch’s surprise, smiled.
Outside, Mitch heard someone trying to start a car. It

sounded like the Admiral’s.

“I’ve decided to cut my trip here short,” John began.
Something tightened in Mitch’s chest.
“Oh dear,” Morwenna said. “Anything wrong? Hope no

one in your family has fallen ill or something.”

John opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He

brought the cup up to his lips and took another drink.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I baked some herb scones this

morning. You must try one.” Morwenna got to her feet and
approached the counter. “And there’s some clotted cream, too.
Freshly made yesterday.”

“It’s okay. I think I should make a move to—”
No, Mitch’s bear growled. “At least have one of Morwenna’s

scones before you leave,” Mitch found himself saying.

“Uh, okay, thanks,” John said, petting the cat, who started

to purr loudly. “You are a sweet thing.” He scratched Boris’s chin.

Morwenna returned to the table holding a plate with

several scones loaded with yellow cream. “You’ll have one, too,
Mitch.” He knew it wasn’t a question.

“Any more of that liquorice stuff?” Mitch thought he might

need it, even though John looked like he was ready to bolt. He
felt conflicted about that.

“Yes, of course. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get some

more milk the next time I go into town,” Morwenna said.

Mitch bit into a scone. It had a strange taste, but not

unpleasant. John seemed to be having the same reaction.

Morwenna continued to keep the conversation going,

even though neither Mitch nor John added much to it. Mitch
didn’t know if it was just the power of suggestion, but felt the
second glass of liquorice water was helping to quieten his bear’s
urgings.

John was smiling, something he hadn’t done when he’d

come in. Boris continued to make nice with the guy, but kept
shooting Mitch looks, just to remind the man that Boris still hated
his guts.

That’s all right, pussy, I can’t stand you, either, Mitch

thought, glaring back at the cat, who twitched his whiskers and
began licking his paw.

“Glad you like the scones. They’re my grandmother’s

recipe. She always made them when company came.
Remember?” she asked Mitch, who nodded.

John looked momentarily confused, as well he might.

Mitch hoped John wouldn’t make an issue out of it.

“What’s in them?” John asked before taking another bite.

“Or is it a secret?”

Morwenna laughed. “Oh, no. Just a basic scone recipe,

flour, milk, a little butter. It’s the herbs that make the difference.
This time I put in huckleberry. Should help to make your dreams
come true.”

John stopped chewing. “Doubt my dreams could come

true.” He blinked a couple of times.

Morwenna reached across the table and squeezed John’s

hand. “Depends what you’re dreaming for.”

John choked. Boris stood, still on John’s lap and began to

rub himself against the man’s stomach. John reached down and
petted the cat.

“I also added violet leaves. They should help mend a

broken heart.”

John sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “Maybe some hearts

aren’t meant to be mended.”

Before Morwenna could reply, there was a knock at the door.
Boris jumped off John’s knee and disappeared into the

living room.

“It’s open!” Morwenna called out, starting to rise.
The door opened a crack and the Admiral put his head

around the door. “Sorry to bother you, but I can’t start my car
and…”

Morwenna looked toward Mitch, who sighed. Yes, he was

good at fixing things, but nothing mechanical. “I’ll take a look for
you,” he said before cramming the last of the scone into his
mouth and getting to his feet.

“And I should be making a move, too. Don’t want to hit the

evening rush hour traffic getting into London,” John said, wiping
his mouth with a tissue he’d pulled out of his pocket. “Thank you
for the scone and the cottage. It’s okay, you don’t need to refund
me the money, I don’t want to financially inconvenience you.”

“That’s okay, thank you,” Morwenna said, taking his plate.

“Let me give you a few scones to take back with you.”

Mitch looked at his friend, wondering why she wasn’t

trying to convince John to stay. Then he asked himself why he
wasn’t saying anything either. Wasn’t this what you wanted? His

inner voice answered that question for him. To get the guy out of
your hair?

“Sorry to hurry you,” the Admiral was saying, “but it’s

Bandit. She’s gotten into something, her stomach’s upset, she
won’t eat, and... So I thought I should get her to the vet and…”

“It’s okay, Mitch will soon get your car started,” Morwenna

said, clearing the table. “Sorry to hear Bandit is under the
weather again.”

“Yes,” Nick said, shaking his head. “The little creep won’t

ever learn.”

As he left the kitchen, John and Nick following, Mitch

grumbled at how the Admiral doted on the little dog—the least
sign of anything amiss and he hauled ass to the vet’s. Mitch bet
the vet had grown rich off the Admiral’s seemingly constant
fussing over his pet’s various ailments both real and imaginary.

As expected, Mitch didn’t know what to do to fix the car;

even John took a look but claimed he didn’t know any more than
how to add water to the windscreen wiper fluid bottle.

The dog, which up until then had been pretty much

ignored, decided to draw attention to itself by throwing up. Mitch
imagined that would be the end of it, as clearly the dog had
expelled whatever it had eaten, but it set the Admiral into a
panic. He picked up the little dog and cradled it like a baby. Mitch
had to turn away before he said something.

“Maybe Morwenna would drive me into town,” the Admiral

said, carrying the dog, which now looked a lot happier than it
had, over to Morwenna’s cottage.

“Well, I suppose I ought to put my suitcases in the car,”

John said, sounding reluctant.

The battle within Mitch began to rage once again. Yes, it

would be a lot simpler if the guy left and Mitch could get back to
his life. But John was cute, kind, and…He opened his mouth, but
John was the first to speak.

“Your forehead, I’ve only just noticed. It’s healed. I don’t

understand how.”

I’m a werebear, Mitch thought. “I heal fast.”
John’s hand came up as if he were about to touch Mitch’s

forehead, but then fell back. Obviously John had had second
thoughts.

Mitch wasn’t sure if he’d have welcomed the contact or not.
“Morwenna says she’s in the middle of baking bread so

can’t leave just now,” the Admiral said, rejoining them.

That was news to Mitch. Normally she only baked bread

on Mondays. But then there was plenty that was odd about the
past couple of days.

“Oh, I guess I could drive you there,” John offered, looking

uncertainly at his cottage then back at the Admiral.

“Would you?” The Admiral smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”
Mitch wasn’t so sure about that. What if the creature

spewed up again in John’s car? It wasn’t new, but it was in good
shape and John obviously had it well looked after. The only other
alternative was for John to drive Morwenna’s ancient vehicle that
had once belonged to her grandmother. Mitch couldn’t drive, he
hadn’t ever learned, and applying for a license, getting
insurance, paying road tax would all draw the attention of the
authorities, something Mitch couldn’t afford.

“I’ll go get her blanket, just in case,” the Admiral said,

turning for his cottage, but Bandit had other ideas, she was
staying with John.

“It’s okay. I’ll hold her lead ‘til you come back.”
The Admiral thanked him, handed over the leash, and

departed.

John knelt and made a fuss of the dog, who rolled over

and presented her belly for tickling.

Mitch felt strangely jealous. He hadn’t minded overmuch

when John had petted the cat, but this…“She doesn’t look sick to
me.”

John looked up. “You’re not an animal lover.” It was more

a statement than a question.

“I think they’re okay.” Dogs didn’t mind him so much, but

he hadn’t met a cat that hadn’t hated him on sight. Mitch
guessed the best he felt for animals was indifference.

An awkward silence fell between them, part of Mitch—a

growing part—wanted to ask/beg John not to leave, while the

other diminishing part wanted to offer to carry his luggage out of
the cottage for him.

“Here we are. Did you miss me?” the Admiral asked,

presumably aiming his comment at his dog, who was wagging
her tail in greeting. “It’s so kind of you to offer to take us into
town like this,” the Admiral said, laying the hairy blanket over his
shoulder and getting down on one knee to pet his dog. “I know I
fuss too much about her, but she’s all I have and—”

“I totally understand,” John said, giving back the leash. “If I

had someone that I was responsible for, I’d worry about them, too.”

Mitch swallowed, his bear wondering what it’d be like to

have John care about him like that. It’d been so long…too long
since anyone had. “Can I come along?” Mitch asked, surprising
himself as much as John by the request.

“Okay,” John said. Did he sound reluctant?
And besides, Mitch thought, climbing into the front

passenger seat, forcing the Admiral to get into the back from the
driver’s side, No way am I letting him be alone with John.

Chapter 4

John wasn’t a fan of driving. In London he generally took

the tube whenever possible. The underground, though old and
dusty, was efficient at getting God knew how many million
Londoners where they needed to be. But years ago George had
persuaded him they needed a car so they could get into the
country on their days off. So they’d bought Siobhan, a Saab 900.
George had driven Siobhan—the name had been his idea—to
picnics in Epping Forest, days out roaming around Kent and the
Home Counties, and long weekends further afield. After John
had confessed how miserable his family holidays to Brighton had
been, George had insisted they spend their next break there,
doing everything John hadn’t been able to do when younger.
That had been the first of many visits to the seaside.

“Watch this bend up ahead, it can take you by surprise if

you’re not careful,” Nick said, forcing John to focus back on the
road. A good thing because the turn was indeed sharp and
John’s mind had certainly drifted.

Although the rugged Cornish coast was nothing like that

of Southeast England, John felt what similarities there were tug
at his memories.

Mitch, who had to be uncomfortable, crammed into the

vehicle like he was, said little. John had no idea why the man
had insisted on coming. Maybe he needed something from one
of the shops?

“Do you live full time in the cottage?” John asked Mitch in

an attempt to get the big guy to talk.

“Yes.”
Well, that was successful, he told himself.
“Me, too,” Nick said from the back. “The other three

cottages are let to whoever wants to rent them, though we don’t
get many who do. Morwenna seems quite selective in who she
allows to stay.”

That hadn’t been John’s experience. Morwenna had

practically been chomping at the bit to get him to sign up when
he’d first contacted her. In fact she’d talked him into arriving a

week earlier than he’d planned to.

“Bet it gets quite wild in the winter,” John said, glancing at

Mitch.

But it was Nick who spoke. “Yes it does. You get to see

Mother Nature in all her powerful glory. Quite thrilling really.”

Mitch snorted. John shot him a look, but the big guy

remained silent.

“You’ll have to give me directions when we get into town,”

John said, seeing a sign that said St. Duncan’s was about five
kilometres ahead.

Bandit, who had remained quiet but alert, happy to stand

on her owner’s knee and look out of the window, perked up and
let out a single yap.

“Recognise where we’re going, huh, sweetheart?” Nick

asked, scratching behind the dog’s ears.

Mitch let out a long sigh. Yet again, John wondered why

the man had wanted to come.

“Lived here long?” John asked, running out of things to ask.
“A while,” Mitch admitted.
Two words this time, John said to himself. Pity we’re not

driving to London, Mitch might have gotten to whole sentences
by then.

“Might be easiest if we use the supermarket car park,

there aren’t many places on the street,” Nick said a couple of
minutes later when the sign for Safeway came into view.

“No problem.” John indicated and turned right.
It being Saturday morning, the car park was packed. John

drove Siobhan up and down the rows of parked vehicles looking
for a space. He started to become tense; he didn’t like driving at
the best of times, and parking was his least favourite. That was
why George had done almost all the driving when they’d been
together.

Taking in a deep breath, John caught Mitch’s gaze and

felt a blanket of calmness wrap itself around him. It was weird—
he’d only ever felt this type of mood change here in Cornwall.
Maybe it was the sea air.

“Someone’s just pulling out over there,” Mitch said,

touching John’s left shoulder. The contact seemed to increase
John’s sense of…serenity.

“Thanks.”
John looked to his left. The space was near the end of a

row and fairly inaccessible. It’d probably be easier to reverse in,
something John hated doing, especially with other people in the
car, but there was nowhere else. Taking in another deep breath,
he drove the car past the space, put the transmission into
reverse and backed the car neatly between the lines, surprising
himself at how easily he’d done it.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” Nick was saying. “Bandit and I

are good friends with the nurses at the practice so they’ll fit us in
quickly.”

“No problem,” John said. “I need a few things from the

supermarket anyway.”

Since when are you staying? His mind asked. John didn’t

know, but evidently he was.

They all got out of the car, Nick and Bandit going in one

direction, while John and Mitch went in another.

“I think he’ll still be longer than he says,” Mitch said,

putting his hands into his jeans pockets.

“Don’t mind.” John shrugged. “Will give me a chance to

look around the shops. Want to come with me or do you have
somewhere else you need to go?”

“Nope. I’ll go with you, make sure you don’t get lost or

anything.”

John smiled and shook his head, saying that if he could

find his way around the capital, then a village that was little more
than a main street with a handful of side streets wouldn’t pose a
problem. Realising his comment could have been seen as
dismissive, he added, “But I’d be glad of your company. No one
is likely to give me any trouble with a huge bodyguard like you
next to me.”

“Damn right.” Did Mitch’s chest puff out?
John paused at the bottom of one of the side streets and

looked up its steep, cobblestoned inclination. “It’s like a picture
postcard.”

“Yeah,” Mitch said quietly.
Turning to Mitch, John said, “You’re really lucky to live

here.” Why did he say that? He loved London and all the
possibilities it offered.

Seeing a shop partway up the street that had various

pieces of bric-a-brac outside it, John decided to go have a look.
He’d always been interested in antiques and curiosities, although
their…his flat in London wasn’t big enough to allow him to
become much of a collector.

Two overweight American women were examining a

collection of jewellery boxes covered with various shells, loudly
exclaiming how cute they all were. Mitch, who had walked up the
street next to John, started to grind his teeth. John turned to
Mitch and laid a hand on his arm. Mitch’s face softened and
showed a hint of a smile.

Finally the women moved into the shop and relative peace

was established. So much so, John’s attention was drawn to a
collection of bamboo wind-chimes that hung on either side of the
shop’s entrance.

The sound they made was quite pleasant, much more

appealing than the high-pitched tinkle of the metal variety which
his mother favoured. Deciding a small set would work hung in his
living room window, John entered the shop in search of an
assistant, Mitch following faithfully behind.

The inside of the shop was dark and cramped. The

American tourists were exclaiming over something in one corner,
and John was doing his best to tune them out. This was difficult
as each seemed to be talking at the same time, and both pretty
much were saying the same thing.

John looked at a display of wooden salad bowls with a

fishing boat carved on the front. He wasn’t exactly sure what fish
had to do with tossed salads.

“Oh, Gloria!” one of the women shrieked. “Couldn’t you

just see your grandkids sitting in one of these on your screened
in porch? So cute!”

Gloria’s response was somewhat more muted and John

filtered it out as his attention was taken by a set of ships in bottles.

“Really clever how they do that,” John said, pointing them

out to Mitch, who nodded but made no other comment.

The women left the shop, still both talking at the same

time, so John went to go see what had gotten them so exercised.

His gaze lit upon a set of darkly stained wooden chairs

that were about the right size for a child to sit in. Picking up one
of the chairs, he was surprised at its weight. The thing felt solid
and appeared to be handmade. The price was reasonable, too.

“Very nice. Wonder if they’re made locally.”
Mitch cleared his throat and John looked over at him.

“They are. Made locally, I mean.”

John looked a question at him, wondering how he knew.

Maybe it was true what they said about everyone knowing
everyone else’s business in small communities.

“They’re mine. I make them.”
John looked from the chair he still held to Mitch and back

again. It was hard to credit that such a hulking man could
produce small items like these that, though solid and sturdy in
their construction, had to require a high degree of manual
dexterity.

“Wow.”
Mitch shrugged. “It gives me something to do, and it earns

a bit of money. More so in the summer with the tourists.”

John fingered the smooth and flawless dovetailing on the

back of the chair. In an attempt to imitate the American tourists,
he said, “Oh, lordy, ain’t they just so cute!”

Mitch pulled a face and John laughed.
“Honestly,” John said, turning the chair right side up

again, “these are truly magnificent pieces. Each one must take
you hours.”

Mitch ducked his head and began to blush. “I’m good with

my hands.”

John tried but failed to stop his thoughts from heading in a

certain direction. “I’ll get a couple for my nieces, they’ll love
them.” He carried the chair he’d been examining, plus another,
toward the back of the shop where he’d seen a cash register.

“You don’t have to,” Mitch said, following along behind.

“I want to.”
It wasn’t until they were walking back to the supermarket

car park, Mitch insisting he be the one to carry the chairs, that
John realised he’d forgotten all about the wind-chimes. Still,
there’d be other shopping opportunities.

As they walked, Mitch became quite animated about how

he was thinking about branching out into other types of furniture.

“Why don’t you make bigger pieces, you know, for adults?”
“Don’t have the room in my cottage. And they’d be more

difficult for Morwenna to get to the shops to sell.”

John wondered why Mitch didn’t drive. But instead of

asking, fearing the big man would clam up, he instead said, “You
know, pieces like this would sell for double, if not triple this price
in London. You should think about—”

“No.” Mitch stopped walking.
John looked at him. “Sorry if I upset you.”
Mitch started to walk again. It was a couple of minutes

before he said, “No, it’s me who needs to apologise. This is just
a hobby, something to do in the long winter evenings. I wouldn’t
want it to become anything bigger.”

“Okay, right.”
Mitch was a real man of mystery. He both intrigued and

attracted John—not that John wanted anything to happen
between them. Heck, it wasn’t likely Mitch was interested in men.
But in his dream…

“We’ll put these in the trunk of your car, then we can go to

the store.”

“Okay.” John nodded. Thinking it was a safe subject, he

asked, “Are you originally from North America?”

Mitch didn’t have much of an accent, but some of the

words he used made John think he might have hailed from there.
And then there was the dream. John shook his head, that was a
load of nonsense he needed to forget about, but it still remained
sharp in his memory.

“Yep, I spent some time in the States.”
Mitch’s comment didn’t seem to invite further questioning,

so John didn’t push his luck.

Inside the supermarket, John was surprised at how little

Mitch put in the shopping trolley. Still, he reasoned, maybe he’d
already done his shopping earlier in the week.

“I hate cooking for one,” John said, looking at individual

portions of lasagna.

Mitch made a non-committal grunt.
“Would you like to eat with me tonight?” John was

shocked he’d made the offer, but it couldn’t be unmade now.

“Well, I—” Mitch began.
“I’m a good cook, even if I do say so myself. Nothing too

fancy but…” John swallowed and forced himself to slow down.
“Sorry, I babble when I’m nervous.”

Great move, admitting you’re nervous, John’s

subconscious told him.

Mitch smiled, and John was slammed with another dose

of longing mixed with comfort. “If it’s no trouble, then yes, I’d like
to eat with you.”

John returned the smile and gripped the handle of the

shopping trolley to stop his hand from reaching up to caress
Mitch’s cheek. He’d only just met the man, he wasn’t over
George, and…

* * * *

What the heck did you wear to have dinner with a guy you

didn’t know, weren’t dating, didn’t want to date, but liked? Mitch
looked through his wardrobe at his meagre clothing resources.
He needed to do laundry—he should have taken a load with him
to the laundromat when John went into town. And what the hell
had prompted him to crash that little party? It was dumb to try
and get between John and the Admiral. There was nothing
between them, and even if there were, it was none of Mitch’s
business.

Sighing, Mitch took the solid blue silk shirt Morwenna had

given him for Christmas off its hanger and held it up to his chest.
She’d said the colour matched the azure shade of his eyes. He’d
thanked her for the gift but privately wondered when he’d get to

wear something so fancy. He never went out anywhere that
required him to dress up.

Well, now you do, an internal voice told him.
Mitch slipped into the shirt and started to do up the

buttons. It was fairly tight across the shoulders. He knew he put
on extra muscle during mating season, but even so. Still, it was
the only decent shirt he had that was clean. Heck, probably the
only decent shirt he had, period.

Looking at himself in the full-length mirror, he knew,

despite the tight fit, the shirt looked good on him. Was it the sort
of impression he wanted to give John? He didn’t know what kind
of impression he wanted to give John. Mitch had been surprised
by the man’s offer to cook him supper. He’d started to refuse, but
something in the man’s face had persuaded Mitch to say yes.
Now, as he looked for a clean pair of jeans that didn’t appear too
worn, Mitch wished he’d turned down John’s offer.

Knowing he’d need more of Morwenna’s liquorice potion,

he’d gone to see her immediately after getting back from St
Duncan’s. She must have anticipated his need, because no
sooner had he entered her cottage and had had a brief staring
match with that cursed cat of hers, Morwenna had presented
Mitch with a quart jar of the black brew. He’d thanked her, come
home and during the hours leading up to his supper date—It isn’t
a date, he told himself—he’d drunk half the jar’s contents.

Unable to settle, Mitch had gone into his workshop in back

of his cottage and returned to working on a doll’s crib he’d been
commissioned to make. As he worked, he began to entertain the
idea that he could give the piece to John as a thank you for
supper gift. Of course Mitch would tell the man it was for his
young nieces. Mitch knew he’d have plenty of time to start afresh
with a new crib for his other customer.

He wouldn’t have time to varnish the piece before leaving

for John’s, but he could still show it to the man, explaining he’d
finish it and return it in a couple of days. Mitch knew he didn’t
have to take the guy anything, but his mom had raised him right.
Okay, he could admit the crib was probably a bit much, but he
soothed that feeling away with the thought that he had nothing

else he could take.

Mitch had been surprised at his pleasure upon hearing

John’s comments about his chairs in the tourist store. He’d
watched with quiet pride as the man’s fingers had caressed the
polished wood. Recalling the scene now, Mitch grew hard,
wishing those fingers had been stroking him instead.

“Fuck,” Mitch said aloud, his wood plane halfway through

its stroke. “That crap Morwenna’s had me drinking isn’t working.”
He finished and went into his kitchen to drink down the rest of
the concoction.

He still didn’t know why he’d told John he’d made the

chairs. Maybe he’d needed the praise John was lavishing on the
chair to be aimed at him.

He shook his head. He would have to be careful around

the man, otherwise goodness knew what sort of mess he’d get
himself into.

His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a car

engine. Instantly recognising it as John’s, Mitch moved to the
living room and peeked out of the front window. Where was the
guy going? Surely he couldn’t have changed his mind and
packed up and left? Mitch’s heart began to pound.

He decided, even though she’d tease him about it, he’d go

over to Morwenna’s to see what, if anything, she knew.

* * * *

The gas stove was ancient, but seemed to function okay.

John cooked with electric at home, so the new fuel took some
getting used to. Back in the supermarket John had asked what
sorts of food Mitch liked, but he’d just been met with a shrug and
a simple, “Anything.”

John hadn’t known why, but he’d felt the need to impress

the guy. “Okay,” he’d said, rubbing his hands together. “We
could start with a pissaladiére. Had that the other week, it was
delicious.” John had felt himself warming to his theme. “Then for
the main course we could maybe have duck a l’orange. Oh, yes,
a tarte aux brugnons would be great for pudding, uh, dessert.”

As he’d talked, John had seen confusion if not downright panic
grow on Mitch’s face. Damn, he’d gone too far. “Although,” John
had added in an attempt to salvage the situation, “I’m not all that
sure about the cooker in the cottage. It’s…different from what I’m
used to at home.” He hadn’t said that the thing looked basic and
that he wasn’t sure it worked properly. “So would you mind if I
kept it simple and just put a couple of steaks under the grill, uh,
broiler, and maybe bake a couple of potatoes in the oven? I
could serve a side salad, too.”

At the revised menu Mitch’s face had cleared and John

had been treated to a broad smile. That had made something go
soft and squishy inside of John, so he’d turned away and delved
into the refrigerated meat section.

As he scrubbed the potatoes, John recalled the meals

he’d prepared for George. His lover wasn’t much of a cook, but
seemed to like everything John had set in front of him. Although
they often ate out with friends. Odd how many of those friends
had melted into the woodwork after George’s funeral.

But John was determined not to dwell on sad things. “Not

tonight.” Then he remembered. “Damn, I forgot to get wine.”

He looked at his watch and knew he wouldn’t have time to

get to St Duncan’s and back before seven. He briefly entertained
the idea of asking Morwenna for more of her homemade wine,
but rejected the notion almost instantly.

On his drive back from town earlier he recalled seeing a

pub a couple of kilometres down the road. John doubted they’d
have much of a selection, but anything was better than nothing.

* * * *

Mitch burst into Morwenna’s kitchen.
Morwenna, who had her back to the door, stirring

something on the stove that smelled pretty rank, said, “You’re
making a habit of this. You’ll have the hinges off one of these
days.” She carried on stirring, not turning around.

“Has he gone?” Mitch said, not in a mood for his friend’s

taunts.

“Who?”
“Morwenna!”
Boris hissed at Mitch from his basket in the corner. Mitch

shook his fist at the cat, not in the mood for his antics either.

“If you’re talking about John,” she finally turned to face

Mitch, tablespoon in hand, “he hasn’t said anything to me.” She
shrugged. “But then why would he? I’m not his headmistress or
anything.”

Mitch pulled at his hair. It’d been a dumb idea to go see

Morwenna.

“I knew you’d find an occasion to wear it.” She pointed to

his shirt. “It clings to your chest. Very sexy.”

“Morwenna,” Mitch said more softly. “He’s gone. John I

mean,” he added, just in case she decided to play dumb again.

“I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.”
Mitch explained that they’d been at the store and John

had offered to cook dinner for him.

“There you are then. He’s probably forgotten something

and has gone back into town to get it.”

Why hadn’t he thought of that? It made perfect sense. But

even so, Mitch couldn’t shake the notion that something was wrong.

Morwenna pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
Mitch sat and continued to tug at his hair. He knew he

was over-reacting; what the hell was wrong with him? He was
behaving like a cheerleader who’d been stood up by the starting
quarterback.

“Will you drive me to town so I could—?”
“End up looking like a fool.” Morwenna put a hand on

Mitch’s forearm, ceasing his hair tugging. “Stop it. Everything will
be all right. Your date will go off just fine.”

“It isn’t a date.”
“I’ve made up another bottle of liquorice water.” She

pointed to the counter by the sink. “It’s somewhat stronger this
time. I’ve added…a few extra things that might help.”

“Thanks.” Mitch let out a breath. “What’s happening to me?”
“Mother nature. And she won’t be denied forever.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Will you help

me?” He turned pleading eyes on her. And didn’t that just make
him sound and look pathetic? He was a grown man…bear man,
weighing well over two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, and he was
asking for help from a sixty-two-year-old woman who would
probably bend if a stiff breeze hit her.

Morwenna smiled. “Always.” She rubbed his arm. “How

can I help?”

That was the sixty-four-dollar question.
“Do you want me to send him away?”
Mitch’s bear growled. He shook his head. “Why do I feel

like this?” He realised he’d asked this question already.

“You have an attraction to John, and if I’m not mistaken,

he likes you, too.”

“But…”
“But you’re both still grieving.”
Mitch closed his eyes. He’d been without Ben for the best

part of a century, but still wasn’t ready to move on. Shortly after
Ben’s death Mitch had gotten hold of a forged passport and
sailed to England. He’d assumed there would be fewer guns
there and he stood a better chance of surviving. By one of those
curious acts of fate that seemed to happen to him, Morag,
Morwenna’s grandmother, had been on the quayside waiting to
greet a distant cousin. It had soon become obvious the cousin
hadn’t made it aboard, and the ship had sailed without him. Mitch
had needed somewhere to stay, Morag had needed a
handyman, and so he’d taken up residence in one of the
cottages and had never left. In order to feel closer to his dead
lover, Mitch had reversed Ben’s name and adopted it as his own.

“I know what you said, but I’d feel easier if you would drive

me to St Duncan’s. Just in case.”

Morwenna patted his arm. “Whatever you want. But a

storm’s brewing.”

Mitch looked out of the window at a bright and sunny

afternoon.

* * * *

As they drove down the road Mitch’s unease diminished.

Maybe it was because he was doing something to find John.

“John drives a Saab doesn’t he?” Morwenna asked a few

minutes into their journey.

“Uh, yeah. A silver one.” It had felt comfortable, and the

air conditioning most welcome in the heat. Morwenna’s car was
uncomfortable and lacked any form of cooling.

“He’s here,” she said, making an abrupt left turn without

signalling, braking, or even slowing down.

Mitch grasped for the door handle to stop himself from

being flung into Morwenna’s lap. Her car also lacked seatbelts.

Trying to steady his racing heart, Mitch asked, “What’s he

doing at a bar?”

“Seeking Dutch courage?”
Mitch gave her a withering look. John had been drunk

when the bear had first seen him, so maybe the guy had a
drinking problem. Mitch hoped not.

The ancient suspension creaked as Mitch unfolded

himself from the passenger seat.

“Want me to leave you here so you and John can be

alone?” Morwenna waggled her eyebrows.

“I think you English call it a public house for a reason. No,

please wait.” Mitch wasn’t sure if John would be fit to drive,
although logic told him that the man wouldn’t have had time to
imbibe too much.

Mitch found John talking to a forty-something guy. They

were around the side of the bar sitting in lawn chairs under the
shade of an umbrella. A bottle of wine stood on the table in front
of John; Mitch noted it was unopened.

“I’m relieved the bear wasn’t one of yours then.”
“No, mate, all ours are accounted for.”
Coming closer, Mitch could smell various animals on the

man. It confused him at first, then he realised the man was
probably from a circus. He knew one was in the local area and
he had to be careful. Ducking back around the corner of the
building, Mitch continued to watch and listen.

“Oh well,” John said, getting to his feet, “I better get back,

my dinner guest will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

Mitch felt foolish for worrying John had skipped out on him.
“I’m jealous. She’s a lucky lady to have you cooking

dinner for her.”

Mitch’s bear grew agitated.
John chuckled. “It’s a guy. I’m gay.”
“Oh, I see.”
Mitch’s muscles tensed, ready to attack if the guy did or

said something to upset John.

“Then I’m doubly jealous.”
Mitch was about to make himself known, to make sure the

guy didn’t try anything, when he received a tap on his shoulder. It
was Morwenna.

How the hell hadn’t he heard her approach?
“Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves,” she

said, shaking her finger at him.

“I—”
“Oh, hello,” John said, coming around the corner. He

looked questioningly at Mitch, then Morwenna.

Mitch tried to come up with a logical reason why they

should be at the bar, but Morwenna saved him the trouble.

“I thought it was your car in the car park. Mitch was a

sweetie and helped carry in a box of jars of my pickled beetroot.”
At John’s look of confusion, she went on. “Jill, the landlady, uses
them in her bar meals.”

John smiled and nodded.
“If you ever don’t feel like cooking, they do a reasonably

priced meal here.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, thanks.”
Mitch squeezed Morwenna’s arm in silent thanks, but

guessed he spoiled the effect by asking John if he could beg a
ride back with him. “She drives like a maniac.”

John chuckled and agreed.
Mitch smiled. Everything in his world was right again.

Chapter 5

John was surprised at how comfortable the time alone

with Mitch was turning out. The two of them worked efficiently in
the kitchen—no easy task given the cramped conditions and
Mitch’s large frame. But the big man had a certain grace about
him that had John pausing in his own meal preparation to watch.
The way Mitch wielded a vegetable knife was sheer poetry. John
shook his head, trying to dismiss the stupid notions. Heck, he
hadn’t even drunk any of the wine, so he couldn’t blame his
inappropriate thoughts on that.

In veno veritas.
John told his inner voice to shut up. There was no truth in

his body’s reaction to Mitch. He was not attracted to the guy.

At least my mind didn’t add, ‘in aqua sanitas,’ John

thought, drinking from a glass of water Mitch had just handed
him without being asked.

Didn’t need to, you did it for me. Did his inner voice sound

smug?

John coughed.
Mitch, who’d just picked up his knife again, dropped it and

asked, “You okay?”

John nodded, cleared his throat, and said, “Just went

down the wrong way. I’m fine.”

Mitch smiled and returned to his chopping, picking up his

one-sided discussion on the wild beauty of the Cornish coastline.

As he half-listened, John looked out of the kitchen

window. Storm clouds had begun to gather. He mentioned them
to Mitch, who shook his head.

“Morwenna said we were in for a storm tonight. Dunno

how she knew.” Mitch shrugged.

John wasn’t altogether comfortable with the things

Morewenna seemed to know. He returned his attention to the
growing storm, marvelling at the raw power such natural
phenomena could potentially unleash. He wasn’t exactly afraid of
thunderstorms, but they weren’t on his list of favourite things,
either. He smiled to himself as he remembered a scene from The

Sound of Music.

“Remember, I wanted my steak rare.”
“Huh?” John snapped out of his daydream and rushed to

the cooker.

Thankfully, he’d caught the meat in time. He pulled the

grill pan out and put it on top of the cooker to rest the steaks.
Opening the oven, John tested the potatoes with a fork. The
skins were hard and crisp, just as George had liked. The sudden
and unexpected thought of his late partner pulled John up short.
He stood motionless, oven door still open.

Mitch, who had his back to John, looked over his

shoulder. “You okay?”

John nodded and closed the oven door. “How’s the salad

coming along? Things are pretty much ready here.”

The meal was relaxed. It took Mitch a while to unbend.

Gentle questions about his past both in Britain and the States
met with brief answers.

They talked mostly about John and George and how

they’d gotten together, and the tragedy that had separated them.

John could feel himself getting emotional, and, so it

seemed, could Mitch, who reached across the table and took
John’s hand.

“I know, I lost someone, too. A long time ago.”
“Does it get easier with time?”
Mitch shook his head. “Not much. I still miss him every day.”
John had wondered if Mitch was gay. He’d suspected, but

his gaydar wasn’t ever the most reliable.

Obviously sensing a change of subject was needed, Mitch

told John a little about his earlier life high in the Cascade
Mountains in the American state of Washington.

John tried to picture the rustic log cabin Mitch described. It

sounded peaceful and fine for a holiday, but John doubted he
could live long term without things like electricity and mains
water. “I suppose I’m spoiled in that respect, always living in a
big city.”

Mitch smiled. “Cities have their place, but give me the

wide open spaces every time. Although I have to admit, now that

I have running water, electricity, and natural gas, I wouldn’t want
to be without them. Maybe I’m getting soft in my middle age.”

“How old are you?” John had wondered about that, but

given Mitch’s earlier reticence, he hadn’t asked. But as Mitch had
brought up the subject, it seemed safe enough. “I’m hopeless at
guessing such things. My mum on the other hand, she’s pretty
sharp where age, and it has to be said, social class, are
concerned.”

“She sounds like an interesting lady. Did she have a big

influence on your growing up?”

“Yes and no,” John said with a groan, remembering all the

ways his mother had tried to shape his life growing up.

And so the conversation flowed. John only realising much

later that Mitch had avoided answering the question of his age.

Just as John was serving an apple pie—he thought there

was nothing more American than apple pie and ice cream—there
was a bright flash of lightning. This was followed a few seconds
later by an enormous clap of thunder.

John looked toward the window. It was almost totally dark

outside, and it wasn’t quite 8pm. Rain began to hurl itself against
the glass.

There was a second flash of lightning, followed a few

seconds later by more thunder, just as loud, if not louder, than
the last rumble.

“Guess Morwenna was right,” John said, bringing the

warm pie to the table. Just as he set it down the lights winked
out. “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” a reassuring voice said in the darkness. “This

happens now and then here. There should be some candles and
a box of matches in one of the drawers in the kitchen. You sit
down, I’ll go find them.”

John felt for his chair and sat. “Wow, it’s quite a storm,

isn’t it?” he said after another thunder clap that rattled the
windows in their frames.

“You’ll be okay.” A hand landed on John’s shoulder,

making him jump. “Like I said, we sometimes get power outages,
being so rural.”

“Uh huh.” John remembered what he’d said about living

without electricity for a week or so, but now with the distinct
possibility this might actually happen, he was uneasy.

The hand, which hadn’t left his shoulder, squeezed gently.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

John let out an involuntary shudder. Had it suddenly

grown cold?

“Damn,” Mitch said from the kitchen a couple of moments

later. “I’ve found the candles, but the box of matches is empty.”

“There’s the lighter for the cooker. That should work, I’d

have thought.” John started to rise.

“Good idea. Stay there, I’ll be back in a moment.”
How did Mitch know John was getting up? There was no

line of sight, it was almost totally dark, and John knew he hadn’t
made much of a noise. Stop it, he told himself. Your mind’s
working overtime again.

Mitch soon returned, his broad body lit by two flickering

candles in holders, one in each hand. “We’ll have to finish
supper by candlelight.”

John found himself relaxing, whether that was from the

return of light, Mitch, or the prospect of a romantic meal, he
wasn’t going to analyse the cause too closely.

* * * *

“Thank you,” Mitch said, patting his stomach. “That was

wonderful.”

And he didn’t just mean the food. Normally he ate alone or

with Morwenna, but her food choices rarely meshed with his.

“Glad you enjoyed it. There’s more pie if you want.”
Mitch shook his head. Yes, he could have eaten more—

even though it was store-bought, it was a good pie—but he’d
already had seconds and he didn’t want to cause John to wonder
how he could eat so much food and not be fat.

“I should do the washing up, but…” John sighed and

rubbed at his own stomach. “It can wait until later.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” Mitch picked up his plate.

“No, no.” John waved his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
They argued good-naturedly, Mitch getting his way

eventually.

Gathering up the dessert things, Mitch carried them into

the kitchen, John following with the candles.

As they did the dishes, the kitchen frequently illuminated

by bright flashes of lightning, Mitch had to admit they worked well
as a team, never seeming to get in each other’s way. The
evening had been a huge success; Mitch couldn’t remember the
last time he’d felt so relaxed around a stranger. Okay, when
they’d first sat down to eat, some of John’s questions had been a
little too personal, but the man had seemed to sense this and
had backed off.

Mitch had been right; the guy was carrying around a lot of

grief. Hell, he knew all about that. As Mitch held out a plate for
John to dry, their hands touched and Mitch felt something zing
through him. He expected it to settle in his dick, but instead a
warmth seemed to grow in his chest. Maybe the stuff Morwenna
was giving him was finally kicking in.

John took the plate and the connection was broken, but

the sensation in Mitch’s torso remained. Their eyes met for a
second before John looked away.

“If you dry that any more you’ll rub the pattern off it,” Mitch

said a few moments later, nodding at the plate in John’s hands.

“Oh, yeah.” John’s smile was shy. Mitch knew his was broad.
They soon finished the rest of the dishes and Mitch felt as

though he should make a move to go home. but he didn’t want to
leave.

“There’s still about half of the wine left,” John said, picking

up the bottle. “It should save until tomorrow.”

Mitch’s protective instincts kicked in; he sensed if he left,

John would drink the rest alone, and he didn’t want the guy to
get drunk and potentially hurt himself. Plus, the storm was still
raging and Mitch didn’t want to leave John alone with no power.

Emptying out the water and taking the dish towel John

held out for him, Mitch nodded at the wine bottle and said,
“Unless you have other plans, I could help you drink the rest.”

“I’d like that.” John’s smile was one of the brightest Mitch

had seen that evening. “I know the wine isn’t the best, but there
wasn’t much to choose from at the pub.”

“It was fine.” Mitch hung the towel to dry.
“I thought a red that was quite robust would work with steak.”
Mitch got down a couple of glasses from the cupboard,

took the bottle from John, and began to pour. “It tasted okay to
me.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t much of an expert on fine wine.

“I bought some cheese and crackers earlier. The cheese

is quite mature, uh, sharp.”

Mitch was touched yet again at John’s use of American

terms; it was unnecessary, but sweet. Mitch nodded his
agreement to the cheese. He watched as John prepared their
snack, interestingly just putting it on one plate rather than two.

There were a few seconds of awkwardness when they

reached the living room. John sat on the sofa, put the plate on
the centre cushion, and nodded for Mitch to take the far one.

“I’d put on some music, but—” John chuckled. “How did

you manage for all those years in the mountains without power?
Did you have a wind up radio?”

Mitch shook his head. How could he tell the man that for

most of his life electricity and radio hadn’t been invented? “We
managed just fine. Rose with the sun and went to bed with the
sunset. Though of course we had oil lamps and candles if we
needed them.”

Mitch wasn’t going to admit that, especially during the

long winter nights, he and Ben would most often just curl up in
front of the fire and make slow, gentle love. Mitch’s eyes
gravitated to the fireplace, unlit and empty, save for the two
candles.

“Does it work?” John asked. “Though there won’t be any

wood or coal to burn in it.”

“You cold?”
John shivered. “Seems wrong to light a fire in June.”
Mitch got to his feet. “I’ve got plenty of wood and old

newspapers in my cottage.”

“I couldn’t ask you to go out in this, it’s still teeming it down.”

“This is nothing. You haven’t seen rain until you’ve been

to the Pacific Northwest. We don’t get tanned there, we just rust.”

Before John could put up a protest, Mitch left the cottage

and jogged across the road to his own. Stuffing some newspaper
into a plastic grocery sack, he entered his workshop in search of
wood off-cuts they could burn. His eye fell upon the crib. Shit,
how had he forgotten to take that with him? Mitch hoped John
didn’t think he was an ungrateful guest.

“You’re all wet,” John said when Mitch came back. “Sorry,

talk about stating the obvious. I get it from my mother.”

Mitch smiled, set his two bags down and opened one of

them. “I was wondering if this might go with the two chairs you
bought earlier.”

John looked at the crib Mitch was holding out to him. “Oh,

wow.”

“It isn’t finished yet, needs a few coats of varnish and

maybe some more sanding.”

He watched as John’s delicate hands, so different from

his own, traced the grain, explored the curves, and stroked the
rounded corners.

“I should have brought it over earlier, but in all the

confusion I forgot.”

“It’s perfect. Hang on, I’ll get my wallet. Though you might

need to wait until I can get to the cash point tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s a gift, a thank you for dinner,” Mitch

explained.

John looked up at him in shock. “I couldn’t accept something

as lovely as this. It must have taken you hours to make.”

“Please take it. Would mean a lot to know something I

made went to a good home.” Mitch shivered and looked away.
The rain must have been colder than he’d thought.

“Thank you. I know Emily and Sarah will cherish it. Thank

you.” John looked up then and caught Mitch shivering. “You’re
cold. Sorry, there I go again stating the obvious.”

Mitch smiled. John was so sweet.
“You left a shirt here yesterday. You can dry off and

change into it.”

Mitch followed John upstairs with a third candle, admiring

the man’s ass in a pair of expensive-looking tan chinos. John
might not be a male model, but he sure knew how to wear his
clothes to best effect. Mitch, on the other hand, was too big and
bulky to look good in anything.

“Here you go,” John said, emerging from the master

bedroom, Mitch’s old orange and red plaid shirt in hand. “It isn’t
as, uh, sexy as the one you’re wearing. The blue really matches
your eyes, but at least this one’s dry.”

John blushed and handed over the shirt, Mitch sensing

the guy felt awkward at having said too much.

“Thank you.” Mitch took the dry shirt, their fingers touching

briefly, rekindling the warm tingle in his chest. “Morwenna chose
it. I’m too dumb to pick out nice clothes.”

John bristled. “You’re not dumb.”
Mitch shook his head, and immediately John nodded his.
“Someone dumb wouldn’t be able to make such beautiful

mini furniture. That takes real skill.”

It was Mitch’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “Just something I

learned from my dad.” He shivered again.

“Go change. I’ll start the fire.”
“I’ll do it. The wood’s damp and might need some

persuading to catch light.”

“Okay, probably a good idea, I haven’t lit a fire in years.”

* * * *

Pacing the small, candlelit living room, John silently

castigated himself for opening his mouth and telling Mitch he
looked sexy in his shirt. What the hell was up with him recently?

He sat on the sofa, nibbled at a cracker, but couldn’t

settle. Standing up again, he reached for the now empty wine
bottle and headed for the kitchen. Realising he was walking into
darkness, he retraced his steps and picked up a candlestick.

“I’m never touching another drop while Mitch is around,”

he said to himself, tossing the bottle into the pedal bin.

He thought about making a pot of coffee to try and

mitigate the effects of the alcohol, but decided a cup of cocoa
would work just as well and might help him sleep.

The water in the kettle had barely started to simmer when

Mitch came back downstairs.

“You okay?” John asked the huge, red-orange clad chest.
“Great, thanks.”
John’s eyes swept upward and met Mitch’s gaze. “The

storm doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon.”

Mitch smiled. “It’s certainly one of the wilder ones.” As if to

emphasise his point, the room was lit by another bright flash,
followed only a second or two later by the loudest clap of thunder
of the evening, the noise causing John’s ear’s to ring.

“Getting closer,” Mitch’s soft voice observed, helping to

centre and calm John’s racing heart.

“Uh, yeah.”
Just then the kettle came to the boil and Mitch turned to

extinguish the flame under it.

John set about opening packets of instant hot chocolate

mix into a couple of mugs. Over the continued rumble of thunder,
he said, “Normally I prefer to use cocoa powder and hot milk, but
I thought the instant kind would be easier here.” Why was he
babbling about inconsequential crap?

John took the kettle from the cooker and brought it to the

waiting mugs.

“Here, let me,” Mitch said from immediately behind John,

an arm reaching around to take the kettle.

“Thanks. Don’t know why I’m so flustered all of a sudden.

Storms normally don’t bother me.”

The kettle was set down and the hands rested on John’s

shoulders. “You’re safe.”

John would give anything to lean back into that solid bulk

and be wrapped in Mitch’s strong arms. He’d definitely be safe
there. Shaking his head to clear it of the foolish notion, he said,
“Need to stir the cocoa.”

“I’ll do it. You go back into the living room and sit down. I

took the liberty of entering your spare room and pulling the
comforter off the bed and bringing it downstairs.”

“Oh, thanks.” John turned around and looked up at Mitch.
“Knew it’d be a while before the fire got going and I didn’t

want you catching a chill.”

John shuddered, but it wasn’t from cold. If anything, his

body felt a flush of warmth at Mitch’s proximity and steady gaze
on him.

* * * *

John watched as Mitch squatted in front of the fire and

coaxed the flames into life. Again, the man’s movements seemed
deft, unhurried, and graceful. John took a gulp of his hot chocolate,
uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were going.

“There, think that’ll hold,” Mitch said, looking at John from

over his shoulder.

John smiled. “Come and get your hot chocolate while it’s

still, uh, hot.”

“I’ll just wash my hands first,” Mitch said, disappearing off

into the dark kitchen.

John was about to remind him to take a candle but

guessed the man knew what he was doing.

On returning, Mitch smiled down at him and asked,

“Feeling any warmer yet?”

John nodded, disconcerted by the man’s obvious concern.

“Yes, thanks.”

John watched Mitch settle himself at the other end of the

sofa and pick up his mug, feeling a strange need to move closer
to the guy. He had no clue why, he hadn’t been all cosy and
romantic with anyone since George, and he wanted to keep it
that way, didn’t he?

John shocked himself by lifting up the edge of the blanket

and saying, “This is plenty big enough for the both of us.”

Mitch paused for the longest time, John was about to drop

the blanket and curl himself into a ball, when Mitch nodded,
probably more to himself, and said, “Thanks, appreciate that.” He
drained his mug, moved the plate of crackers, and slid closer to
John, the springs of the ancient sofa protesting at the movement.

At first they sat side by side, not touching or talking. The

storm outside seemed to be lessening, the gaps between the
lightning and thunder increasing. What thunder there was
seemed to be coming from further away. However, the wind still
blew and the rain still spattered against the window.

“Feeling warmer?” Mitch eventually asked.
John nodded. “Yes, thanks. Good idea to bring down the

blanket.”

“Uh huh.” Mitch yawned.
“Sorry, it’s probably late and I’m being selfish in keeping

you up.”

“Not at all. Still only nine fifteen.”
John pulled his wrist from under the blanket and from the

firelight was able to see that Mitch was right. How he’d known
the time without consulting a clock John wasn’t sure.

“Just with you saying you used to go to bed with the

sunset…”

“That was years ago. Now I find I don’t need as much

sleep.”

“Yeah, know what you mean.” But as if to give the lie to

his comment, John let out a deep yawn. “Wow, is it me, or is it
getting warm in here?”

“It is quite cosy now. Think it’s the fire that does it, or the

hot chocolate.”

John yawned again and stared into the flames, imagining

them as yellow knights battling the forces of darkness and cold,
burning all those who stood in their path.

Suddenly John jerked upright. He must have nodded off,

and in doing so rested against Mitch’s side. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” came Mitch’s soft voice.
John looked over at his guest. “You sure?”
“It was,” Mitch paused, “comfortable.” He laid his left arm

along the back of the sofa and beckoned with his right hand for
John to resume his position.

John leaned in, but was careful to keep most of his weight

away from Mitch. Soon Mitch’s arm fell from the back of the sofa
and rested against John’s left side. Unable to resist, John

snuggled into Mitch’s chest and laid his head on the guy’s oh-so-
wide shoulder. Mitch’s arm tightened around John, holding him in
place, not that John had any thought of escaping.

John felt surrounded by Mitch, his body, his warmth and

his unique smell. “Like your aftershave. Really woodsy.”

“Don’t use any,” Mitch mumbled, his head tipped back as

it rested against the cushion.

John felt too warm, safe, and content to want to question

how Mitch smelled as he did. All he wanted to do was float away.
Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine it was George holding
him.

Their friends—more George’s than his as it turned out—

would often accuse John and George of being old before their
time, as they often preferred to stay at home and watch
television, read books, or just snuggle. Alas they hadn’t had an
open fire, but they’d made do with an imitation log gas fire.

* * * *

Mitch shifted position. With reluctance, John sat up. From

the relative peace outside it was obvious the storm had all but
blown itself out.

For the past few minutes John had been receiving

messages from his bladder which were becoming harder to
ignore.

Pulling off the blanket, John got to his feet and stretched.

“Back in a minute, just need to visit the loo.”

Mitch snorted. “You English and your odd expressions.”
John smiled, shook his head, and would have started a

discussion on the differing ways they used or abused the
language they shared, but his bladder was now on red alert and
he needed to make a dash upstairs.

Upon his return, feeling much more comfortable, John

saw Mitch standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

“It’s pretty much stopped raining now,” Mitch said.
John drew back the curtain. A good deal of rain had fallen;

the rutted roadway that ran between the cottages had several

puddles on it. Looking up he could see the clouds had parted
and the near-full moon was shining brightly.

“I’m gonna head home now,” Mitch said, finding

something fascinating to stare at on the wood floor.

“Okay.” What else could John say? Then he thought of

something. “Thank you again for the crib. It’s wonderful, and
worth much more than a basic home-cooked meal.”

“No problem.” Mitch met John’s gaze, briefly. “I enjoyed

the meal. But like I said, I need to do more work on the crib, so if
it’s okay with you, I’ll take it back and finish it.”

John nodded and thought about suggesting they do

something together the next day, but another glance at Mitch’s
awkward stance and shuffling feet decided him against it. Maybe
it was for the best that they return to their own, separate, lives.

“Well, thank you for a great evening,” John said, following

the big man to the back door.

“No, thank you. Hopefully the power will be back on

tomorrow and you’ll be able to get back to what you normally do.”

A clear message of you live your life and let me live mine,

John thought.

John watched as Mitch, shoulders drooping and head

down, trudged back to his own cottage, the bag containing the
unfinished crib dangling from one massive paw. Clearly
something had upset the big guy, but John felt he didn’t know
him well enough to enquire as to what. And did he want to know?
He had enough problems of his own.

Chapter 6

Mitch had surprised himself at how much work he’d been

able to do while not thinking about the wonderful evening he’d
spent with John. It had been too wonderful, too special, and too
enjoyable. He stopped himself; the list could go on and on.

Mitch knew he’d have to avoid the man completely for the

next couple of days, then maybe he’d allow himself to nod or
wave at the guy as they passed, perhaps exchange a brief word
about the weather or something. But no way could he enter the
man’s cottage again and spend time with him. John made Mitch
feel things, want things he couldn’t—shouldn’t want.

Mitch had stayed up half the night sanding and varnishing

John’s crib. He firmly squelched his inner voice’s taunt about
how he wouldn’t be able to avoid John when he delivered the
finished article to him.

“I’ll leave it on his doorstep or with Morwenna or

something,” he said aloud.

To stop himself from thinking about John’s smaller, softer,

and no doubt smoother body, Mitch decided to carve something
while the latest coat of varnish on the crib dried.

He’d stopped supplying the local stores with sailing ships,

coasters, spoon rests and the like because he couldn’t compete
with the foreign, mass-produced imports. Even though his items
were of better quality and made from locally salvaged driftwood,
tourists bought on price, and he had been squeezed out of the
market.

Holding a roughly square block of oak in his hands, Mitch

closed his eyes and sought inspiration as to what it should
become.

“No!” His eyes snapped open. He was not going to carve a

bear wrapping itself around a human to keep said human warm.

Dropping the wood on his workbench, Mitch began to

pace his small workshop. Why had he agreed to share John’s
blanket? Why had he encouraged the man to snuggle up to him?
The man’s face, troubled while awake, had softened in sleep.
Mitch had wanted to bring John peace and a sense of security.

But it had come at too high an emotional cost. John’s departure
for the bathroom had been the wake up call Mitch had needed.
Yes, it was good to look after others, but first and foremost he
had to look after himself. So he’d made his excuses and left,
hoping John would understand, and even if he didn’t, then…

Although tired, Mitch was too restless for sleep, and his

mind was too concerned with things that shouldn’t concern it to
allow him to focus back on his work.

He paused his pacing at the uncurtained window. Dawn

wouldn’t be for a couple more hours. He could go for a run. Maybe
the storm had washed up more driftwood he could carve into
something other than bears and humans in intimate embraces.
“Who the hell would want to buy that sort of shit anyway?”

John, came the single word in his head.
Mitch growled and made for the door, determined to

exhaust himself; then maybe he could work, sleep, heck,
anything other than think about that man.

* * * *

Images of running through forests filled John’s

subconscious. But what was weird was how low to the ground he
felt and how he was able to move so easily and quickly.

Could this be one of those flying dreams? he asked

himself. Am I dreaming or is this real?

Then came scents and sounds he couldn’t interpret. Though

one sound he knew. He ran toward the sound. But he couldn’t find
the bear who had called to him. He couldn’t find Teddy.

John snapped his eyes open and lay staring at the

shadowy ceiling. Turning his head, he could see chinks of
moonlight peeking through the closed curtains.

Turning over, he looked at the glowing handles of the

ancient alarm clock. Just after a quarter to three. “Too early,” he
croaked, his mouth feeling dry.

Plumping his pillow, John closed his eyes and snuggled

deeper under the blanket.

Unbidden, the events of the previous evening began to

replay themselves. How he’d leaned against Mitch, sniffed the
man’s unique smell, revelled in the heat radiating from the broad,
hairy body, listened to the quiet and calm voice offering
reassurance during the worst of the storm.

He was moving rapidly over the forest floor. He could both

hear and smell the river. Approaching the bank, he launched
himself into the fast-flowing water. Shock of cold, something
wiggling under his hand. Dipping his head under the
water…biting into cold, delicious flesh.

John jolted awake, a faint taste of salmon in his mouth. It

was still dark. He fumbled for the bedside lamp, but the room
stayed dark.

Throwing off the blanket, John rolled out of bed. His bare

skin immediately felt chilled. Yet again, he wished he’d packed his
dressing gown. As he padded toward the bathroom in search of a
glass of water, he determined he’d buy a dressing gown in St
Duncan’s or even Newquay in the morning. Stubbing his toe, John
swore and added a battery lantern to his mental shopping list.

Mitch’s shirt hung from the crude shower head. He lifted it

down to check if it was dry, but ended up pressing his face into
the silk to breathe in Mitch’s essence.

In the bedroom once again, he laid the shirt over the back

of the wooden chair. Before getting back into bed he opened the
ottoman and pulled out the spare blanket Morwenna had said
she’d put there.

He was warm, but sleep evaded him. Probably a good

thing, given where my dreams have taken me recently, he
thought, punching his pillow.

After about an hour of just lying there, John decided to get

up, get dressed, and fumble his way downstairs in the dark.

The fireplace was dark and cold. He thought about lighting

another fire —it would at least provide some illumination—but
decided to save the remainder of the wood in case he couldn’t
get more and needed to make a fire the next evening.

Feeling along the mantelpiece in the gloom, John’s fingers

closed around one of the candlesticks. He took it into the kitchen
and lit the candle with the lighter.

Matches and more candles were added to his mental

shopping list. Although he hoped the electricity would be
reconnected before the end of the day.

Maybe a walk, listening to the steady and hypnotic sound

of the waves hitting the beach, might settle him down and allow
him an hour or two more in bed free of disturbing dreams.

Tying the laces of his walking boots, John stepped outside

and took in a deep breath of fresh air. It wasn’t as cold outside
as he’d thought, and the moon, though close to the horizon, still
cast enough light to see by.

Deciding to live dangerously—when in the country do as

the country folk do—he left his backdoor unlocked and walked
down the garden path. If he spared a few seconds to look over at
Mitch’s dark cottage, he convinced himself he was just being
neighbourly, checking to see that everything was all right. “After
all, you do that in the country, too.”

Pausing halfway down the cliff steps, John took a few

seconds to take in the view out to sea at the white-capped waves
catching the moonlight. It was beautiful and peaceful. He’d been
right to spend the summer here.

Picking his way down the rest of the steps, John finally

made it to the sand, where he took off his boots and socks.
Placing the latter inside the former, he carried them in his right
hand and began walking.

The shoreline had several pieces of driftwood, no doubt

washed up by the storm. Then something else caught his eye.
Bending down to examine it more closely, John saw it was a
piece of curved glass about three by five inches. Picking it up he
brushed off the sand and felt at the glass’s smooth edges and
roughened surface.

“Sea glass,” he said aloud, proud of himself for his find,

not that he knew what he could do with it. Maybe Mitch or
Morwenna would know.

John began to walk along the sand, making sure to be just

out of reach of the sea which, by the looks of things, was going
out. He stopped every now and again to turn over a piece of
wood, pick up a shell or shell fragment, even the occasional

piece of seaweed. But he didn’t find anything as interesting as
the sea glass.

Finally the stiff breeze coming off the sea penetrated his

coat and he shivered. Looking back, John couldn’t recognise any
landmarks. How far had he walked?

“Damn,” he said, feeling a few droplets of rain on his face.

“Didn’t bring my raincoat.”

Deciding there might be more shelter closer in to the cliffs,

John went inland. The sand was finer, dryer, and harder to walk
on. Hadn’t he seen a film once where runners were shown
training on the beach because of the increased effort needed?

He didn’t think of himself as particularly unfit and often

walked to the local shops rather than taking the tube, but this
walk was starting to tire him.

Not surprising, given that it’s the middle of the night and

you haven’t had that much sleep lately, his conscience reminded
him, sounding suspiciously like his mother.

Spying a boulder ahead that looked as though it would be

about the right height to sit on, John trudged over to it and
boosted himself up onto its knobbly surface.

Finding a half-eaten tube of mints in his coat pocket, John

began to suck at one and turned to look back out to sea, but his
enjoyment of the scene was spoiled somewhat by the rain, which
was picking up in intensity.

A few minutes later, when it became obvious the rain

wasn’t going to stop any time soon, John slid off the rock to
shelter against the cliff.

A few meters ahead he could see an overhang, so he

made his way to stand under it, careful not to turn his ankle on
the uneven rocky ground.

To his surprise he saw an opening in the rock. A secret cave!
He could hear faint echoes of his mother warning him not

to go in, as it might be dangerous, but he was well used to
disobeying her.

As it was virtually pitch dark inside the cave, John had no

idea how big it was. His shouted “hello” didn’t result in an echo,
so he knew it wasn’t exactly cavernous. Stepping further into the

blackness, hand above and in front of him, John couldn’t detect a
ceiling.

Do caves have ceilings?
Stumbling into something solid, John put his hands out to

brace his fall. They landed on a large rock, but unlike the one out
on the beach, this one was smooth and had a curious trench cut
across its upper surface.

Standing upright again, John smelled something.

Something that wasn’t marine. “Cum,” he said aloud.

It had to be teenagers. He wondered if they came in here

and had circle jerks or something. He wished he and his friends
had done stuff like that when he was a teen.

John decided to explore a little more, so he held his arms

out again to feel for the wall. Before he reached it however, his
foot hit something soft. He yelled, his mind’s eye filling in the
missing visuals of a dead body. The teenagers were obviously
into things much more sinister than he’d first imagined.

Mouth dry and heart about to beat out of his chest, he got

down on his hands and knees and inched his way toward the body.

The first thing his fingers came into contact with was

carpet. Maybe the corpse was wrapped in it. Careful not to disturb
the evidence too much, John felt along the rough material. It was
a bag. Too small to contain a body, although he wasn’t giving up
on the idea completely: it could be that of a child. But he soon
abandoned that notion, as the shape was all wrong.

Feeling foolish for his outrageous thoughts, John decided

he might as well examine the contents of the carpet bag. It might
be stolen treasure or…

Stop it! his mind said resolutely.
John nodded in agreement.
The zip sounded loud in the otherwise quiet cave. That

was something he hadn’t noticed before, the drop in the sound of
the sea.

Gingerly sliding a hand inside the bag, all he could feel

were clothes—mostly jeans and shirts.

Why would someone have several changes of clothes in a

carpet bag hidden inside a cave?

Before John could think about it further, he felt someone

or something watching him.

Looking to the mouth of the cave he saw a large black

shape filling much of the entrance.

“Oh God!” John shrank back and covered his head with

his hands. But when nothing attacked him, he dared to look up.
Just then a shaft of moonlight lit the entrance.

“Teddy?”
John didn’t know why he was relieved. Maybe it was

because he now knew he hadn’t imagined the bear the previous
night. Last time he’d encountered the bear, they had been out in
the open, close to other people. He might have been able to
make a run for it if Teddy had attacked. But here, now, he was in
a cave, there was only one way out, and Teddy was between it
and John.

“Hello again, boy,” John said nervously. “You’re not going

to eat me, are you?”

Teddy snorted.
“Yeah, sorry, we had that discussion last time didn’t we?”

He chuckled, still feeling nervous.

Teddy vigorously shook himself, sending water droplets

flying in all directions, some landing on John.

“Wow, aren’t you beautiful? So big and strong.” Feeling

braver, John got onto his knees and inched closer to the bear.
“There’s a good boy.”

He paused a couple of feet away; the moon must have

just set because the inside of the cave was once again plunged
into almost total darkness. However, despite the lack of
illumination, John could sense Teddy’s eyes regarding him. He
could also hear the bear’s steady breathing. They stayed like this
for the longest time, neither moving.

The silence eventually started to feel awkward, and

John’s legs were cramping.

Shifting position, John asked, “Did you come in here to

get out of the rain, like me?”

Of course the bear didn’t answer.
“I’ve got some mints in my pocket.” John got out the tube.

“Would you like one?”

Teddy didn’t move.
“They’d probably rot your teeth or something.” John

peeled off a mint and popped it into his mouth. “Bad storm
earlier. Hope you weren’t out in it.” John continued to suck on his
mint. “Don’t like storms much.”

He recalled being in the cottage with Mitch and how the

big man had made him feel safe and warm when the lights had
gone out.

Realising he’d spaced out and hadn’t said anything for a

few minutes, John picked up the thread of his conversation
again. “Though ordinary rain showers are okay, I suppose.” In a
quieter voice he added, “Used to like walking in the rain with
George. He was my husband. Well, the authorities never let us
officially call each other that, but we were.” John closed his eyes
and remembered. “There’s something romantic about sharing an
umbrella as you walk down a street or in a park. No one pays
you any attention...they’re too busy rushing to get out of the
rain.” John blinked rapidly. “George and I first met in the rain, as
a matter of fact.”

Teddy scratched himself with a back paw.
“Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about me and

George.” John let out a breath. “I should move on. That’s what
they all tell me. Though by all I mean the few friends I still have
left. Most of them buggered off when George died. But it isn’t
that easy, you know? George was a part of my life for almost
twenty years. You can’t just carry on as if the past hadn’t existed.
Leastways, I don’t think so.”

Teddy let out a long breath.
“See, I knew you’d understand.” Swallowing, John asked,

“Can I touch you? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

You should be more worried about the bear hurting you.
But John knew Teddy wouldn’t attack him. Despite that,

he was careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Going to reach out and stroke you, that okay?”
The bear continued to breathe, but otherwise didn’t show

any signs he would object.

The fur on Teddy’s shoulder was thick and surprisingly

soft, but still damp from the rain.

“You’re so beautiful.” Had he said that already? It was true

nonetheless. “You smell wonderful. Outdoorsy, woodsy,
just…natural. I’m from London, that’s the capital city of Great
Britain, by the way. I didn’t think I’d like the outdoors, but coming
here to Cornwall makes me realise I do. Part of me thinks I could
make a home here.”

John felt a growing desire to wrap his arms around the

bear’s neck, snuggle up to his bulk, inhale more of his special
scent. But before he could do any of these things, Teddy
snorted, turned around, and ran out of the cave.

“Teddy?” John got to his feet and moved to the front of the

cave, but the bear was gone.

Dejected, John slumped against the cave wall and buried

his head in his hands—hands that smelled of Teddy.

* * * *

“So much for avoiding the guy,” Mitch sighed, settling

back in his tub.

He’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of getting John

out of his mind by shifting and going for a run.

Then, when he’d been a hundred yards or so from his

cave, his bear had smelled John’s presence. This had made no
sense, so the bear had dismissed it and carried on fishing.
However, the sensation had increased and became more urgent.
Hearing a cry of alarm the bear had leapt out of the waves and
bounded up the beach, fearful John was hurt or in danger.

But on reaching the cave, the bear had discovered John

was okay. The bear had decided to leave when John turned and
their eyes met. Back came the man’s terror; the bear could feel it
coming off him in waves. The bear didn’t know what to do. He
couldn’t leave the man like that.

The moon had come out and the increase in light must

have allowed John to see him better because instantly the man’s
anxiety had dropped.

“Teddy.” Mitch snorted, wringing out the facecloth in

preparation to washing his chest. “Fucking original or what?” His
amusement fled when he remembered what John had said a
little later. “He thought my bear was beautiful.”

That had stunned Mitch. His bear was a part of him, one

he wouldn’t be without, but it wasn’t beautiful. Big and strong,
yes, but no one had ever thought it beautiful, not even Ben, but
then as he was also a bear shifter there wouldn’t be any reason
why he would think Mitch’s bear anything special.

Going in search of the soap that he’d dropped earlier,

Mitch reflected on John’s monologue about George. He couldn’t
help but be jealous that John had had a lover previously. But
then, so had Mitch. Both of them were widowers, both shared the
grief of losing someone who’d completed them.

Mitch hadn’t thought his bear would have been able to

tolerate anyone touching him, but then no one, save Ben, had
ever really tried. But John’s touch had been soothing, calming.

And what was all that shit about his bear smelling nice?

Mitch didn’t think he had a smell. But it seemed to please John,
and his bear had been glad about that. However, Mitch had
gotten spooked when John had started talking about moving to
Cornwall to live. That couldn’t happen. So Mitch had forced his
bear to leave, much against the bear’s wishes.

Mitch looked down at his limp dick floating in the bath

water. Was its condition because of the stuff Morwenna was
feeding him, or the fact he was completely exhausted after being
awake the best part of twenty-four hours? He needed his bed,
and hopefully he’d sleep. Waiting until dawn meant, he hoped,
that he could avoid seeing John. How he could keep out of the
guy’s way later in the day, Mitch didn’t know. But he’d have to
find some way.

Chapter 7

“Morning, John,” Morwenna said, waving at him from her

front garden.

“Morning. Uh, just.” John had slept in, which was unusual

for him, but he’d had quite an eventful evening and night.

As if picking up on that, Morwenna said, “When I got up in

the middle of the night to go to the loo I saw you on the cliff path.
Couldn’t you sleep?”

John shook his head. “Any idea when the electricity will

come back on?” he asked, walking into her front garden.

“I phoned the electricity board earlier, they said they

hoped to get us reconnected by this afternoon, but there are
quite a few downed power lines in the area, so they couldn’t
guarantee it.”

John shrugged. “Thought I might go into St Duncan’s or

maybe if they don’t have what I need, Newquay.”

“Oh?”
John told her about the things he’d realised he needed the

previous evening when the power went out.

“I’m sorry, I should have checked to see that there were

matches.”

“Not a problem, Mitch used the lighter for the gas cooker.”
Morwenna nodded. Obviously it wasn’t news to her that

Mitch had spent the evening with him. “Would you mind picking
up a few things for me while you’re out? I don’t need much, and
wasn’t planning to go into town just for them, but if you’re going
in anyway.”

“Yes of course.”
He followed Morwenna into her cottage so she could

make out her list.

“I won’t be a minute. Take a seat. I’ve just brewed a fresh

pot of Earl Gray if you want a cup.”

“Thanks.” John’s grandmother had drunk the stuff. He’d

quite liked it when younger but had fallen out of the habit. His
mother couldn’t stand tea and had only ever drunk coffee.

Taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the

chair, John felt something solid in one of the pockets. Slipping a
hand inside, his fingers curling around the piece of sea glass.
Remembering he was going to ask Morwenna about it, he pulled
it out and showed it to her. “Found this while I was out walking.
Must have gotten washed up.”

She handled the piece of glass with what John could only

describe as reverence. “I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never
seen orange sea glass.”

“Is it rare?” John had no idea.
Morwenna nodded. “I’ll say. Orange is the rarest form of

sea glass you can find. Something like one in every ten thousand
pieces is orange.”

“Wow. Must have been beginner’s luck.”
Over tea and while Morwenna wrote out her shopping list,

which to John’s surprise had gone onto the second side of the
paper, they discussed what he could do with the sea glass.
Morwenna suggested jewellery, but conceded it was a bit on the
large size for that. “I’m sure Mitch would be able to build
something that would really show it off. I don’t know. Embed it in
the top rail of a chair back?”

“For children?” John wasn’t sure if that would be safe, or

even desirable if the glass was as rare as Morwenna said.
“Maybe in a chair for adults.”

“Good luck with that.” She shook her head.
This led to a discussion about Mitch’s work and how

Morwenna had tried to persuade him to expand, but he’d always
refused on the grounds of not having sufficient room.

“I even offered to have one of the cottages converted into

a workshop, but the stubborn old fool wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Old?” John said, surprised someone at least twenty years

Mitch’s senior would use that term.

Morwenna waved her hand. “Age is relative.”
That was true. They had a neighbour when John was

growing up who looked old back then, and John later discovered
the man had only been in his early fifties. He was probably still
alive, no doubt looking even older.

“I probably should take this back to the cottage before I go

shopping. Might be safer than carrying it around in my pocket.”

Morwenna agreed. Then she fixed him with a serious look.

“Last night could have been beginner’s luck like you said, but I
believe it was evidence that someone was watching over you.”

John shuddered. The only people watching him last night

were Morwenna on her way to pee, and Teddy.

“What?” Morwenna asked, tilting her head to one side.
“Someone was watching me last night.”
Morwenna waited for him to continue, John not knowing if

he should.

It was possible he’d imagined seeing Teddy the first time.

He’d been tired, drunk, and emotionally overwhelmed at being so
far away from home. But seeing the bear twice? And the second
time he’d also touched Teddy, smelled him, and heard him.

“Are there any brown bears around here?”
John expected Morwenna to laugh, tell him he’d been

imagining things, or insist he seek psychiatric help. But her face
remained impassive. “There have been sightings, yes.”

“Have you seen him?”
She nodded.
John let out a breath. Even though he’d been certain he

wasn’t going crazy, it was reassuring to know for sure.

“He—I call him Teddy,” John confessed, earning a smile

from Morwenna. “Let me stroke him last night. He’s…well I told
him he was beautiful, and he is. So powerful, strong, noble.”
John sighed.

“I knew it.” Morwenna smiled and clapped her hands,

making her bangles clink. “You do have someone watching over
you, and I don’t mean the bear, uh, Teddy.” She chuckled.
“Although he is a sign.”

“A sign?” This conversation was getting weirder by the

second.

Morwenna took John’s now almost empty teacup, swirled

it around, and turned it upside down on the saucer. “Let’s see
what the leaves have to say.”

“Okay.” He drew out the word.
“Please, just indulge this little old lady.”

John shrugged and nodded for her to continue. On one of

their many trips to Brighton he and George had had their palms
read by a gypsy in one of the booths on the front. The woman
had made vague references to John having an old soul and
various other things he couldn’t remember now. It had been
interesting but he hadn’t taken anything she’d said seriously.

Morwenna turned the teacup right side up and peered

inside. She hummed. “Ah, yes. I see.”

“What?” He leaned forward.
“There’s a broken heart. You’ve suffered loss.”
How general, John thought, resting back in his chair.
“The loss was recent, and very sudden.”
John nodded, but Morwenna was still gazing into the

bottom of the cup.

“And you’re still not over it.”
John swallowed. Had he spoken to Morwenna about

George? Maybe Mitch had said something to her.

“I can see a G.” She looked up at John, who swallowed

again.

“George.”
Morwenna nodded, her face full of sympathy.
John became uncomfortable. He didn’t like messing with

things like this. Now he remembered. It had been George’s idea
to see that gypsy. John had only gone along with it because
George had asked him.

“Sorry, Morwenna.” John pushed back his chair. “I have to

get going. If you’d give me that list I’ll be—”

“I see happiness ahead for you, but it won’t be without

complication.”

John shook his head. He’d had enough. “I’m sorry, but I

don’t understand how you could know all that from looking at a
few tealeaves.”

“The leaves are just a way of focusing the energy,

pointing the way.”

John didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“Think of it like a radio. The leaves help me to tune in to a

particular station.”

John let out a breath. This was silly. He didn’t mind

indulging Morwenna, but there were limits. He got to his feet. “I
really need to be going.”

Morwenna put down the teacup and stood. “It’s okay if

you don’t agree with me. But I believe there are things that we
can’t explain.”

John remembered a line from Hamlet. “‘There are more

things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your
philosophy.’”

“Exactly.” She nodded. “Think of it like this. Have you ever

looked up into the night sky in London and seen the stars?”

John nodded.
“You can see those same stars here in Cornwall, but there

are a lot more.”

“Yes, but—”
“Just because you can’t see these other stars in London,

doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“Yes, but—”
“I think George is the one watching over you.”
John sat back down, not knowing what to think.

Morwenna had been right on a number of counts, but…

“It’s okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Morwenna put a

hand on John’s arm. “What’s that?”

John looked up to see Morwenna looking over his

shoulder. He was tempted to turn around, but knew he wouldn’t
see anything.

Morwenna’s face was a study of concentration. “George is

holding out something. It’s thin, gold, there’s a small chain.”

“His gold tie slide. He wanted me to give it to his nephew,

but I haven’t been able to find it. I’m sorry, George.” John lost the
battle with himself and turned around. There was nothing there.

“Who’s Siobhan?”
John covered his face with his hands and began to weep.

“The car.”

“He’s pointing at, no, under the backseat. He’s very insistent.”
John stood up suddenly, overturning the wooden chair.

Through his tears, he ran down Morwenna’s garden path and

over to his car.

After fumbling in his pocket, John managed to extract the

car keys and pushed the button on the fob. He dived into the
back and began to run his fingers frantically under the seat.
Nothing. Morwenna was wrong. She’d tricked him. This had all
been a joke, at his expense. There was no such thing as true
mediums, clairvoyants, or whatever the fuck they wanted people
to call them. Fraudsters, that’s what they were. John sank to the
leather upholstery, his tears coming thick and fast.

He’d had enough of Mitch and his moods, Cornwall and

its heavy storms and out-dated electricity supply. He’d definitely
had enough of Morwenna and her new age trickery and mumbo
jumbo. He was going back home. He’d miss Teddy, but maybe
he was a trick, too.

* * * *

“Bloody useless shitting thing!” John cursed as he tried to

close the hatchback. How had he managed to get everything in
okay when he’d packed the car in London?

“Everything okay?”
John whirled around and saw Nick, Bandit wagging her

tail enthusiastically next to him.

Letting out a deep breath, John tried to calm down. If

anyone in this fucked up place was normal, it was Nick. “I can’t
get the door to shut.”

“Let’s have a look.”
John let go of the hatchback and it rose open.
“Leaving already?” Nick asked.
“Need to get home.” John would have said more, but he

didn’t want to take out his frustrations on Nick.

“Oh dear. We’ll both be sad to see you go.”
Bandit barked once as if in agreement.
“Yeah, well.” John sighed.
“You could always put some of the stuff on the backseat.”
“I could, but I don’t want to damage the leather. Siobhan

was George’s pride and joy and…” John sniffed, castigating

himself for being such an emotional wreck.

“The seats on this model fold forward don’t they?”
John nodded and admitted he wasn’t sure how to do it.

“George always took care of stuff like that.”

“Mind if I have a go?”
John shrugged. Then, realising he was being rude, added,

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

Nick handed John Bandit’s leash, walked round to the

side of the car and opened the door.

“I think you just lift the seat.”
Knowing he needed to learn how to do it for himself, John

stuck his head into the car next to Nick.

“Yes, it just flips forward like this.” Nick demonstrated.
There, nestled against the back cushion, glinting in the

early afternoon sunlight was George’s tie slide.

John gasped. “Oh, God. How…?”
“John,” Morwenna said softly from behind him.
He turned around, his mind full of apologies for all the

things he’d called her when he’d virtually thrown the key at her.

“Drink this, it’ll help you relax.”
“Morwenna. I’m so—”
She held the glass out to him. “It’s kava-kava. Drink it

while it’s still warm.”

“I was wrong, to…”
“It’s okay. Now, come on, drink it. I know it doesn’t taste

very nice, but it’ll do you good.”

John took a sip of the drink and pulled a face.
“All of it,” Morwenna gently scolded. “Then you can come

back to my cottage to take back your key, and we can both have
a slice of chocolate cake. I think we deserve it.”

* * * *

Mitch felt a strange heaviness in the pit of his stomach.

But then many things had been strange since that man had
arrived.

On his way to the kitchen, Mitch glanced out of his front

window and stopped short. John’s car had its trunk open—
revealing a couple of suitcases, various cardboard boxes and…

“No!”
Mitch tore out of his cottage and looked around wildly for

John. Thinking the man might be in his cottage, he ran over
there. The door was open, so Mitch barrelled inside, calling out
John’s name, but the place was eerily empty. He wasn’t too late,
was he? Then a small part of his brain reminded him the guy
couldn’t have left without his car.

Dazed, Mitch exited John’s cottage and took another look

around. He spotted the Admiral, neatly pressed and starched as
ever, coming toward him, his confounded canine dancing on the
end of its leash next to him.

“Jolly good morning, what?” the man said, curling his

moustaches. “Sun’s just about over the yardarm; care to join me
in the wardroom for a snifter, old chap?”

“Where’s John?” Mitch snapped, in no mood for the

foolish old-timer, who never seemed to realise he was no longer
on board ship.

“Told me he was sailing off on the next high tide. Damn

shame, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Mitch growled.
“Helped him pack his car. Couldn’t manage to fold down

the back seat. That man needs someone to look after him. Might
apply for the job myself. A sharp-looking young man like him.
Would love to take him on a long ocean voyage, just the two of
us. What?” The Admiral gave Mitch a quick up and down
inspection, shook his head sadly and marched off, spine ramrod
straight as ever.

Mitch sank against John’s car. It was his fault John was

leaving. He’d pushed John away and then he’d run off when the
going got tough.

“But he hasn’t left yet,” Mitch said, standing up and

squaring his shoulders.

There was only one other place John could be, and Mitch

was going there to get him.

He marched over to Morwenna’s cottage, his bearing

every bit as rigid as the Admiral’s, though his speed was maybe
a little greater.

“Morwenna!” Mitch shouted, pushing open the door.
Morwenna and John were sitting at the kitchen table, cups of

tea and plates of what looked like chocolate cake in front of them.

Morwenna got to her feet. “I’ve told you before about

bursting in here.”

Mitch wasn’t listening; his gaze was firmly locked on John.

From the man’s red eyes it was obvious he’d been crying. Mitch
rushed forward and in one movement pulled the chair back and
picked John up in his arms, the guy weighing surprisingly little.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said, crushing the man to his chest. “So

sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Please, Mitch, kiss me.”
Mitch’s heart raced as he stared at the man’s full, glossy

lips. He wanted to claim this man, consume him, but his more
rational side urged him to go slowly.

Their mouths moved closer. Mitch could feel John’s short,

excited breaths ghosting across his beard.

Mitch jerked awake, his heart pounding and his cock so

hard it tented the damp sheets.

Sighing, he threw back the covers and looked down at his

dick that begged for attention. “Maybe later,” he said, padding off
to the bathroom, hoping to be able to piss through the hard on.

He was surprised at not feeling hungry for breakfast. A

quick re-evaluation had him revising that last to lunch. Ever since
he could remember, he’d been able to somehow just sense the
correct time. The relatively modern practice of going in and out of
daylight savings messed with his abilities, but within a week or
so, he always managed to adjust.

Mitch rubbed at his stomach. It felt off somehow. He

wondered if he had any Pepto-Bismol, although doubted it, as he
rarely got sick.

Sure enough, upon opening the medicine cabinet in his

bathroom, he found the thing empty except for a dried-up stick of
lip gloss and half a tube of out-of-date antiseptic ointment.

After dressing, realising he’d left his silk shirt at John’s,

Mitch went downstairs and headed for the kitchen. Maybe he
could interest himself in something bland like a bowl of oatmeal.

Out of recently-acquired habit he glanced out of the front

window to check if everything was okay with John and his
cottage. Mitch came to a sudden halt when he saw the back of
John’s car was open, revealing suitcases, boxes, and the two
chairs he’d bought.

Mitch didn’t have time to register that the pain in his

stomach had flared, because he was too busy wrenching open
his front door and racing down the garden path.

He can’t leave!
This seemed eerily familiar. He’d done this before. He had

to find John to ask, plead with him to stay.

The kitchen door of John’s cottage was open. Mitch ran

inside and called the man’s name. The cottage, sparsely
furnished to begin with, felt even emptier. A quick look upstairs
confirmed what Mitch already knew. John had packed all his
belongings, save for a single sock that poked out from under the
bed. Mitch snatched it up, and ignoring the blue silk shirt that lay
draped across the back of a wooden chair, ran downstairs and
out into the garden. Wildly looking around, Mitch couldn’t see
John anywhere. The only person about was the Admiral walking
his dog.

“Nick, have you seen John?” Mitch asked, running up to

the man, the guy’s dog taking fright and hiding behind her
owner’s legs.

“Well, yes, he’s at Morwenna’s. He got a bit upset and…”
Mitch didn’t bother to hear the rest. He’d found out what

he needed to know. He steamed over to Morwenna’s.

“Morwenna!” Mitch said, bursting through the door.
He immediately took in both his friend and John sitting at the

kitchen table, cups of tea and slices of chocolate cake in front of
them. John’s eyes were red-rimmed; he’d obviously been crying.

Mitch fought a desperate urge to scoop the man into his

arms and kiss away his pain.

“I wish you wouldn’t keep bursting in here like this,”

Morwenna said, getting to her feet and facing Mitch. “You’ll give

me a heart attack one of these days.”

Mitch ignored her as he focused on John. “What’s

wrong?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound soothing and
sympathetic.

Go to him you idiot, a voice screamed at him. But Mitch

remained rooted to the spot.

“John had a bit of a shock,” Morwenna said, turning to

John and patting his shoulder. “But everything should be all right
now. Come in and shut the door if you’re staying. There should
be enough tea in the pot for another cup.”

It was said as an invitation, but from the many years he’d

known Morwenna, Mitch knew she meant it as an order.

Meekly closing the door, Mitch moved to the chair next to

John’s, his stomach roiling with nervous energy.

“On second thoughts,” Morwenna said, setting down the

teapot, “I think you might benefit from a dose of kava-kava as
well. Something told me to get some the last time I was at the
herbalist’s.”

Mitch watched his friend pour hot water from the kettle

into a glass and add some thick-looking goo. It smelled foul, but
he knew it was more than his life was worth to refuse to drink it.

“Thanks,” Mitch said, when Morwenna placed the glass on

the table in front of him.

“Drink it down, it’ll do you good.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mitch said under his breath and downed the

drink in one swallow. “Jesus Christ!”

John laughed. “That’s what I thought when I had some

earlier, but it’s helped.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Mitch asked, gulping from the large

glass of liquorice water Morwenna set in front of him. “I saw your
car, are you—”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Morwenna interrupted. “John

received some news from the other side that…took a little while
to reveal itself.”

Mitch stared at his old friend. He knew she had the gift,

had received it from her grandmother, but old friend or not, if
she’d upset John by telling him something unpleasant, then…

“Morwenna helped me find George’s tie slide.” He pulled

something thin and gold-coloured out of his pocket.

“Oh.” Mitch didn’t understand, or at least not totally.
John explained that Morwenna had gotten through to

George, who had revealed the whereabouts of the piece of
jewellery. That still didn’t explain why John had packed up and
was ready to leave. Despite the stuff Morwenna had given him,
Mitch’s stomach churned at the prospect.

“But before it was found, I said,” John swallowed, “some

pretty unforgivable things, which I’m totally ashamed of now.”

Morwenna patted John’s hand which lay on the table.

“Water under the bridge.” In an obvious attempt to change the
subject, she asked, “More cake?”

John shook his head. “No thanks.”
“John saw something very rare and almost unique on the

beach last night.” Morwenna winked at Mitch, whose mouth went
dry at the knowledge that John had told her he’d seen the bear.

“Oh, yes,” John smiled. His hand went back into his

pocket and pulled out a large piece of orange sea glass which he
laid on the table.

“Wow,” Mitch said. “May I?”
John nodded.
Mitch picked up the sea glass. It was surprisingly heavy,

but fit comfortably in his callused palm. It felt warm, solid,
smooth, but with millions of tiny etchings on its broad surfaces. It
was a thing of beauty.

John asked Mitch if he thought he could use it in one of

his pieces. Mitch’s initial reaction was of unworthiness at working
with something so fine. But then this was closely superseded by
feelings of honour that John would trust him with such a prize.
Ideas began to spark in Mitch’s brain. Maybe a display cabinet,
internally spot lit, perhaps from behind.

“We were wondering about setting it on the top rail of a

chair,” John said.

“Don’t think it would fit. It’s pretty big.” Mitch didn’t think

he’d ever seen a piece of sea glass as large.

“A chair for an adult,” John added, meeting and holding

Mitch’s gaze.

Back came Mitch’s desire to cuddle the man and soothe

away all his pain. Mitch swallowed. “I guess I could, but it’d take
me a while. I haven’t made chairs that big in, well, for a long
time.” Yea for me for thinking up something that would force
John to stick around longer.

John’s brilliant smile had Mitch going weak in the knees;

he was glad he was sitting down.

“Well, if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears,” Morwenna

said, sliding a plate with a large slice of chocolate cake on it over
to Mitch, who all of a sudden was ravenously hungry.

Chapter 8

John settled into a routine over the next week. He

generally went for a walk before breakfast—a meal he usually
ate with Morwenna. However, her vegetarian diet, though no
doubt healthy, didn’t much appeal to John. He craved meat for
dinner and usually lunch, too. Those meals he often ate alone.

Only once did he manage to persuade Mitch to eat with

him, and the man was quiet and ill-at-ease throughout. A pity,
because John had hoped to recapture something of the
ambience of the first meal they’d shared.

According to Mitch, work on the full-size chair was coming

along, albeit slowly. John understood Mitch had other projects
that had to take priority. And as he told Mitch, he was there for
the summer, so Mitch could take his time. That, oddly, had
resulted in one of the broadest smiles John had seen on the big
man’s face.

Now and again John bumped into Nick and the two of

them went on long walks with Bandit. Nick’s tales of his time in
the Royal Navy were fascinating, but as John told the older man
more than once, the descriptions of life aboard a rolling and
pitching ship proved to John that he was without doubt a
landlubber.

On numerous occasions, John tried to find the cave he’d

sheltered in, but, lacking a strong judgment of distance, couldn’t
work out how far along the beach he’d been that night. Nick, who
had lived in his cottage for several years, said he didn’t know of
any caves locally.

Although John felt comfortable with Nick, something held

him back from mentioning that he’d seen Teddy. The lack of any
further sightings of the bear was the only dark spot to John’s
holiday. He felt he could really talk openly with Teddy; the bear
seemed to listen and understand. Best of all, Teddy didn’t seem
to judge. John tried to pass this notion off as fanciful, but there’d
seemed to be genuine intelligence in those eyes. But fanciful or
not, talking to Teddy had given John a measure of comfort that
he didn’t realise he’d been missing.

John asked Morwenna what she knew about Teddy,

where he lived, how long he’d been hanging around, if he had a
mate. She wasn’t able to tell him much, apart from an impression
that the bear didn’t have anyone in his life. John didn’t question
why she held such a belief. The news just made him all the more
determined to befriend Teddy, as he knew what it was like to be
alone.

John tried staying up late and getting up early in an effort

to see Teddy again, but was unsuccessful, although one evening
he thought he saw movement in the bushes at the end of his
garden. However, by the time he’d got his shoes on and had
gone out, there was nothing to see.

Mitch’s wrinkled silk shirt remained on the chair next to

John’s bed. John knew he should return it, but somehow he
couldn’t bear to part with it. It was stupid. The shirt no longer
smelled of Mitch—he’d checked—and what the hell was he
doing sniffing other men’s clothes?

Going to bed that night, John caressed one of the shirt

sleeves and determined he’d take it over to Mitch the next
morning. “And no excuses this time,” he promised aloud.

As it was, it would be difficult to explain why John had

held onto the shirt for as long as he had, and that explanation
wouldn’t get any easier as the days went on.

* * * *

“I’m going to make a trip to the laundrette, uh, laundromat

in St Duncan’s. Would you like me to get anything for you while
I’m in town?”

John stood on Mitch’s front doorstep the next morning.

He’d hit on the idea that he could explain away the shirt’s long
absence because he was going to take it to be dry cleaned and
was waiting until he had enough other dirty clothes for the
laundrette, which was next door.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking a load of laundry in for me, it’d

save Morwenna the trouble,” Mitch said, smiling down at John.

John shrugged. Why did his heart beat faster at the sight

of Mitch’s smile? Also, the part of his brain he didn’t allow to
influence him too often was creating images of John sniffing the
big man’s dirty laundry.

What the hell’s up with you lately? You’ve turned into a

total scent pig. He’d heard the term once and thought the practice
of sniffing other people’s clothes odd and mildly distasteful. Now
he was giving thought to doing the same thing himself.

“Come in, I’ll bag it up.” Mitch held his front door open and

John came inside, the narrowness of the hallway necessitating
slight body contact which had John needing to hide a sudden
plumpness in his trousers. Jesus, it was like being a teenager
back in high school again. What the hell was up with him lately?
John was confused and more than a little ashamed of himself.
What would George think?

“Take a seat,” Mitch was saying while John’s internal

debate continued to rage. “I’ll just be a minute.”

John nodded. He’d use the time alone to give himself a

severe talking to. Just because the both of them were gay and
single…and widowed—he added quickly—it didn’t mean they
should rip each other’s clothes off and have mad, sweaty,
animalistic sex on the hearth rug. John’s dick, which had started
to soften, plumped right back up again at the mental picture of
the two of them going at it in front of a blazing log fire.

In an effort to distract himself, John looked around Mitch’s

living room. It was comfortable and masculine: sturdy leather
sofa and easy chair, dark stained wooden floor, colourful scatter
rugs that John believed to be Native American, heavy wooden
coffee table. John wondered if Mitch had made it.

“Here we go,” Mitch said, coming back into the room, a

large canvas bag in each hand. “Sorry there’s so much. Didn’t
get a chance to do laundry last week.”

“No problem.”
“I’ll take them to the car for you.”
“I’m not completely helpless,” John snapped. He was

instantly contrite when he saw the hurt expression on Mitch’s
face. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“It’s okay,” Mitch said softly.

John knew Mitch was the type of guy who naturally

assumed command, using his size and superior strength to
protect rather than dominate. It was a trait he was trying not to
allow himself to appreciate.

“Please, if your offer is still on, it would be easier if you’d

put the bags in the boot, uh, trunk.”

Mitch’s smile returned. “You don’t need to keep translating

for me. I’ve lived in England a long time.”

“Sorry. It’s just something I do automatically, try and make

people feel comfortable and at ease.”

Mitch nodded. “It’s cute.”
John could feel his face grow warm at the praise.
Mitch held up the bags. “Lead the way. Then I’ll get back

to my varnishing. Your crib should be ready by this afternoon.”

“Oh, great. Thank you. I’ll call my sister while I’m in town

and let her know. My nieces will love it, and the chairs, too.”

If he knew his nieces as well as he thought he did, they’d

pester their mother to come down to Cornwall to collect the stuff.
The idea had its appeal. He was missing his family more than
he’d thought he would.

Just before John drove off, Mitch handed him a twenty

pound note through the open car window, apologising for not
having anything smaller.

“No problem. I’m sure there’s a change machine in the

laundrette…laundromat. Shit. There I go again.”

Mitch smiled.
Wanting…needing to have a minute or two longer with the

handsome giant, John asked, “I imagine you found British money
quite different to American when you first came over.”

Mitch nodded. “It got easier once you guys adopted the

decimal system.”

“Oh, yes.” Realising he couldn’t artificially keep the

conversation going any longer, John said his goodbyes and
wound up the window.

It wasn’t until he’d got onto the main road that he realised

how odd Mitch’s comment about the currency was. Hadn’t Britain
gone decimal in the early 1970’s? How long had Mitch been in

Britain? How old was he? The man looked to be in his early forties.

John shrugged. He knew some women were coy about

their age, but he’d never known any men to be that way.

* * * *

Mitch surprised himself at how much pleasure he derived

by working on John’s chair. It was great to be working on full-size
pieces again. Also it gave him a legitimate excuse to think about
the man who was destined to sit in it. Not that Mitch needed an
excuse to think about John; his image was often in Mitch’s mind
and his name on Mitch’s lips.

One of the biggest problems Mitch faced with the project

was not to rush to finish it. On one hand, he wanted John to have
the piece as soon as possible; on the other, he needed to take
his time because he liked working on things for John, and also
there was always the danger John might do a disappearing act
once he took possession of the chair.

Mitch knew the trickiest part of the process would be how

to fix the sea glass in place. The glass was irregularly shaped
and had a slight curve to it. Mitch had asked John for his
suggestions, but the man had merely shrugged and said he was
no cabinetmaker.

In the end, Mitch decided to design a chair with a solid

central panel in the back, two turned posts at either side set at an
angle to the central panel to form a curve to support John’s spine.
Mitch would cut a hole in the middle of the central panel. The hole
would be the same shape as the piece of sea glass but slightly
smaller. He’d then chisel away wood around the rim of the hole to
the depth of the thickness of the glass. It was Mitch’s hope that
the glass would be flush against the front surface of the wood.
He’d use an epoxy resin to keep the glass in place. Mitch had
explained to John he wanted sunlight to be able to shine through
the glass if the chair were placed in front of a window.

“Wow, you’re so clever. Can’t wait to see it,” John had

enthused.

Mitch didn’t totally share John’s confidence in his abilities,

but John’s obvious belief in him did much to buoy Mitch’s spirits
whenever he felt overwhelmed by the task he’d set himself.

Then there was the problem of how much to charge. Mitch

had never made such a piece before so had no frame of
reference. He’d just as soon have given the chair to John, but
Morwenna told him John would find such an arrangement
unacceptable. “He has his pride, just like you do. You’re already
giving him the crib. You don’t want him to think you pity him or
you want to buy his affections.”

Mitch shook his head.
“And a craftsman deserves to be paid appropriately for his

labour.”

She was right of course, so the two of them agreed on a

price that both reflected the amount of time Mitch would need to
take to make the piece and his desire not to overcharge.

When Mitch mentioned the figure to John, the man

protested it wasn’t enough. Morwenna had anticipated this, so
had told Mitch to tell him that that was the price. If John wished
to give a tip, then the amount of the gratuity was entirely up to
him. John had nodded and they’d shaken on the deal.

Mitch paused his chiselling, his right hand tingling at the

remembered contact, brief though it had been.

He went back to work, his mind half focused on his task

and half on his growing feelings for John.

John’s seeming fascination with his bear caused Mitch

some amount of difficulty. While the idea that someone liked
both sides of him held enormous appeal, Mitch knew he had to
be careful. No way could John ever find out that Teddy and Mitch
were one and the same. The man would surely pack up and run
then. And goodness knew who he’d tell. Mitch couldn’t risk that.

In the end, Mitch decided he’d only shift during the couple

hours before dawn. He would make sure he ran in areas where
John wasn’t likely to go, should he venture out at such an hour.
Avoiding John wasn’t too difficult. The human was a creature of
habit and he left a scent trail the bear could easily detect.

The only problem with the plan was how it limited the

bear’s need to watch over John. Mitch didn’t know why his bear

insisted on maintaining such a vigil. Well, actually he had a pretty
good idea why, he just refused to examine it. The human could
not be Mitch’s mate. That was impossible on so many levels.

Mitch’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his front

door. Instantly he could sense John’s presence. How had the
human snuck up like that without him knowing?

Doing a quick calculation, he was astonished to realise

over two hours had passed since the guy had left. Where had
the time gone? Mitch set down his chisel and went to answer the
door, refusing to acknowledge that he had a spring in his step or
a smile on his face.

* * * *

John was proud of himself. He just emptied Mitch’s dirty

washing into a couple of the laundrette’s industrial-sized
machines, added the powder, selected the desired programme,
pushed in the coins, and pressed go. He hadn’t sniffed, stroked
or otherwise fondled Mitch’s clothes. There were other people in
the laundrette and they would have thought it peculiar if he had.
These urges only seemed to centre around Mitch and things
belonging to him. John had felt no desire to sniff Morwenna,
Nick, or the pimply youth at the counter in the laundrette. He
thought about going to see a doctor, but what the hell would he
say that wouldn’t land him in a straight jacket?

When he’d gone over to Mitch’s to collect his dirty laundry

the first thing that had hit him was Mitch’s smell. He was able to
detect it over the odour of varnish, stain, or whatever it was Mitch
had been using. The second thing John noticed was Mitch’s
frayed green and white checked work shirt. One of the buttons
was missing. Why had he noticed it, and why had he had the
urge to offer to sew it back on? John hated sewing, pricking his
finger as often as he did the fabric.

After assuring himself that both machines were doing their

thing, John emptied his own, much smaller, load into a third
machine and set that going.

Next door in the dry cleaners, John waited to be served.

He only had a couple of pairs of trousers that couldn’t be washed
in the conventional way, and of course there was Mitch’s silk
shirt. As he waited, his fingers itched to stroke Mitch’s shirt. He
remembered how stunning it had looked stretched across Mitch’s
oh-so-wide chest. Disgusted with himself, John had to hold the
clothes in front of him to hide the bulge he knew he was sporting.
Yet again he asked himself what was wrong with him. George
was hardly cold in the ground and here he was…

“Is that just the three items?” the female shop assistant

enquired, snapping John out of his fantasies.

“Uh, yeah.” John laid the garments on the counter. “When

can I collect them?”

“Tomorrow morning,” the woman said, writing out a ticket.
John paid and left the shop, his erection thankfully easing up.
Knowing he hadn’t spoken with Doris in a couple of days,

John got out his mobile phone, but quickly discovered the battery
was flat and he hadn’t brought the car charger. George had
always taken care of technical things like that. And now without
him…John blinked rapidly.

Stop it! John admonished himself. You’re doing really

well, you’ve gone on holiday by yourself, you’re enjoying it,
you’ve made new friends. He shook his head. What would
George think of him having feelings for another man?

Deep down, John knew the answer. He and George had

talked about what the other should do if one of them died.
George had told John it was okay to miss him, but he must still
get on with his life. John had made George promise the same if
John were to go first. But, as he was finding out, reality was a lot
harder to deal with than mere words spoken in the dark one night
just before sleep.

Seeing a red phone box outside the post office, John felt in

his pocket for change. He’d have enough if he kept the call short.

* * * *

The smile on Mitch’s face when he answered his door

caused something to tighten in John’s chest.

“Hi,” John said, needing to swallow before he could get

the word out.

“Hi yourself.”
This was nice, but awkward. Moving his weight from one

foot to the other, John said, “Your washing.” He held up the two
heavy bags.

“You should have let me carry them.”
John shook his head. “I’m only parked just over there.” He

turned around to look at his car that was about 20 metres away.
“I had to carry them a whole lot further in town.”

“Damn, I should have gone with you.” Mitch took the bags

from John and invited him in. “Sorry,” he said, looking over his
shoulder.

By this point they were in the front room on the way to the

kitchen. Mitch insisted John stay for lunch.

“Thanks. Maybe just a bite.” It had been on the tip of

John’s tongue to refuse—he’d had something in St Duncan’s—
but the prospect of spending time with this mountain of a man
was too tempting to pass up.

The man didn’t know how to cook, his sandwiches were

more like doorsteps, his portion control needed radical scaling
down, but the food, home-baked bread pressed around large
thick slices of ham and cheese, was delicious. Mitch said he
bought the ham from a butcher friend in St Duncan’s. John
determined to check out the place the next day because in his
part of London, pretty much all the meat that was to be found
came pre-packed at the supermarket.

Pushing away his half-finished meal, John patted his full

stomach.

“You don’t eat enough,” Mitch said gruffly, polishing off the

remains of his own sandwich, which had to have been twice the
size of the one he’d given John.

John shook his head. “If I eat any more than that, I’ll get

fat. Not all of us are built like brick shit houses. Do you use that
expression in the States?”

“Yes, I think so.”
John was confused.

“Like I said, it’s been a while since I was last over there.”
As Mitch had introduced the subject, John decided to run

with it. “When did you come over, and why did you stay?”

“There was nothing much left for me stateside when my

lover was shot.”

And didn’t that just make John feel bad for prying? “I’m

sorry. George died of natural causes, but to have a lover be
murdered—” John closed his eyes momentarily, unable to
comprehend what that must have been like.

Mitch sighed and hung his head.
John got out of his chair and pulled the still-seated Mitch

into a hug. To have a man like Mitch show weakness touched
something deep within John.

Mitch turned around in his chair and wrapped his arms

around John, took in a deep breath, slowly let it out, and gave
John a squeeze.

Releasing him, Mitch said, “Sorry.”
John touched Mitch’s cheek—the man’s beard was

surprisingly soft. “Not a problem. I understand. Or at least I think
I do.”

Mitch nodded. “Even though it’s been a long time,

sometimes it only seems like yesterday, you know?” He turned
pleading blue eyes up at John, who nodded his understanding.
“Damn, I invited you in here to have lunch, not give me grief
counselling.”

John smiled. Then he remembered he still had Mitch’s

change. “Almost forgot.” He pulled out a ten pound note plus a
small collection of coins and held them out to Mitch. “Your change.”

“Oh, thanks.” Mitch pocketed the money without counting it.
“There were too many clothes for one machine so I had to

use two. Oh, and your silk shirt, the one that got wet last week?”

Mitch nodded.
“It’s at the dry cleaners. I’ll collect it tomorrow.”
“There was no need. I’m sure I could have just rinsed it

out here in the sink and—”

“And it’d be a bitch to iron. No, best leave stuff like that to

the experts.”

Chapter 9

George had got John a Kindle e-reader the Christmas

before he died. It had taken John a while to work out how to load
books onto the device, but now he liked to think of himself as
something of an expert. His Kindle had been a Godsend during
the many lonely and sleepless nights just after George’s death.
Armed with his electronic library and the deck chair he found in
the lean-to at the side of the cottage, John walked down to the
beach to spend a little time reading. The warm but not overly hot
sun, the rhythmic sound of the waves, plus the less than gripping
plot of his book all combined to send him off to sleep.

He woke a few hours later, his face hot, itchy, and sore.
“Shit,” he said, rubbing at his nose. He never tanned, he just

went an unattractive shade of red. And what was worse, he hadn’t
applied suntan lotion beforehand. He trudged back up the steps,
feeling miserable. “And after such a promising morning, too,” he
lamented, remembering what a good time he’d had with Mitch.

“You’ve caught the sun,” Morwenna said from her garden

where she was kneeling by a flowerbed, pulling up weeds.

“Alas yes.” John rubbed his nose again. It was bound to

peel. “I’m hoping the chemist’s in town will still be open so I can
get some lotion or something.”

“Aloe. That’s what you need.”
“Thanks, I’ll mention it to the pharmacist.”
Morwenna let out a very unladylike snort, got to her feet

and told John she could give him something far better. “And a lot
more natural than anything you could buy in a bottle.”

John thanked her but pointed out she’d already done so

much for him.

Waving away his protest, she said, “While you’re here,

you’re part of the family, and we help each other.” She gestured
for him to follow her into her cottage where, after washing her
hands, she set about mixing and grinding various plants in an
old-fashioned pestle and mortar, the likes of which John had only
ever seen in a museum.

“There,” she said, handing him a jar half-filled with grey-

green goop that smelled of vinegar.

She then told him how and when to apply the stuff, John

remaining unsure how efficacious it would be. He determined
that if his face still hurt in the morning he’d go seek advice from
the professionals.

“Thank you, for earlier,” Morwenna said, putting a hand on

John’s shoulder.

“Earlier?”
“With Mitch. He doesn’t open up much, but when he does

he can get depressed and…” She shook her head. “I wish he
could move on, but Ben was so much a part of his life,
sometimes it’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other.”

“I didn’t do much, just listened.”
“Sometimes just holding space for someone’s grief can be

more healing than any amount of well-meaning advice.”

“Uh, right. I just know a little of what he’s going through.”
Morwenna smiled, patted his arm and let him go.
As John walked back to his cottage he wondered if he

should go check on Mitch. But looking like he did, and without an
excuse for dropping in, John doubted Mitch would welcome the
company.

* * * *

Staring at the things in his fridge and cupboard, nothing

much appealed to John for dinner. It was always the same way
when it was hot. Salads were okay but after two days in a row,
John couldn’t face another plate of lettuce.

He remembered the pub on the road to St Duncan’s.

Hadn’t Morwenna said something about how they served food
and that he should try it out sometime? Then he remembered his
face and the stuff smeared all over it. Obviously he couldn’t go
out looking like he did. But a few hours without the stuff should
be okay; hadn’t Morwenna said he didn’t have to have it on all
the time?

Feeling better about himself for making a decision, one

that would see him fed and potentially getting Mitch out of his

cottage for a while, John went upstairs to wash his face and
change his clothes.

* * * *

Switching off the radio in disgust, Mitch leaned back in his

chair. There hadn’t been anything worth listening to that had held
his interest. Mitch didn’t have a TV. The British imposed a tax on
owning sets, and the less the government knew about him the
happier Mitch felt. Morwenna had offered to pay for the TV
license herself and he could pay her back, but he’d refused,
saying he doubted he’d watch the set enough to justify its cost.

He’d spent the best part of the afternoon buried in work in

an effort to try to block out memories of Ben that the lunch with
John had awakened.

Thinking of the man seemed to conjure him up. There was

a knock on the door, but Mitch was already on his feet. Forcing
himself to pause for a couple of heartbeats, he slowly made his
way to the door and was careful to plaster on an expression of
surprise that didn’t indicate too much pleasure.

“Good evening,” Mitch said.
“Evening.”
The two stood looking at each other, a warmth beginning

to grow outward from Mitch’s centre. John looked…relaxed and
at ease in a short-sleeved Hawaiian print shirt and tan kakis,
although his face seemed unusually red. Had he caught the sun?

Mitch realised neither of them had said anything for a

couple of seconds.

“I was thinking,” John began.
“Like the shirt,” Mitch said at the same time.
“Sorry, you first,” each man said at the same time,

causing them both to smile.

“I was just thinking what to have for dinner,” John said.

“And nothing I have in appeals, so I thought about following
Morwenna’s suggestion and going to the pub for a meal.”

“Oh, right,” Mitch said, not really sure why John was

telling him this.

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“And I wondered if you’d like to come with me.”
“Oh, no,” Mitch said immediately, but realised he needed

to back this up with something.

“Okay.” John took a step back, his face falling.
Mitch could sense John’s sadness and embarrassment.

He needed to say something, anything. “My best shirt is at the
cleaners.”

John shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a very dressy

place. Just wear something clean.”

Mitch looked down and was surprised to see that his shirt

was varnish-spattered and one of its buttons was missing, too. If
that wasn’t enough, there was a hole in the right knee of his jeans.

Seeming to rally, John said, “My treat. You provided lunch.”
“That was just a sandwich. I couldn’t.”
“You could. If you let yourself.”
The guy had a point. Mitch needed to get out more.

Hadn’t he just admitted he was bored?

He felt himself weakening at John’s continued gaze.

“Come in.”

He stood aside and allowed John to brush past, Mitch

breathing in the man’s scent. Vinegar?

“I’m on holiday. So I told myself I shouldn’t have to cook

all the time. And, you know what it’s like cooking for one.”

Mitch did, not that he was much of a cook. “If you give me

a couple of minutes, I’ll wash up and change.”

The smile he got from John had the warm feeling

spreading.

* * * *

Mitch stared down at his menu, knowing it’d been a

mistake to come. He should have stayed with his first instincts.

“Have you eaten here much before?” John asked, causing

Mitch to look up.

“Uh, no, not often.” Morwenna had dragged him along a

couple of times, but Mitch had felt exposed and uncomfortable,
hating crowds as he did.

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“Oh, okay. I was just wondering if you knew what was good.”
“It all is,” Mitch said lamely, trying to remember what he’d

had the last time.

“Want a starter?”
Mitch looked blankly at him.
“Sorry.” John smiled. “Appetiser?”
Mitch nodded and watched John turn a page in the menu,

Mitch doing the same.

“Hmm,” John said thoughtfully. “Don’t know about you, but

garlic mushrooms have never really appealed to me. I know they’re
a classic, but—” He returned his attention to the menu. “Duck liver
pâté on toast. Possible. Ah, prawn cocktail.” He glanced up at
Mitch. “Though I guess you Americans would call it shrimp.”

Mitch nodded, although he knew what prawns were.
“Soup of the day. Wonder what that is?”
Mitch shrugged.
John flagged down a passing waitress and asked.
“Beef and tomato,” she told John, all the while giving

Mitch a look that had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat,
wishing again he’d stayed home.

“She was wishing you were on the menu,” John chuckled

quietly when the woman had gone.

Mitch shook his head.
“She was. And why not? You’re…very handsome.” John

hid his blush behind his menu. “I think I’ll have the soup.”

“Me, too.”
“Now for the main courses.” John turned another page.

“Fish. Locally caught salmon in dill sauce. Hmm. I know I should
have that, but…Fresh crab on a bed of salad greens. Possible,
but I don’t know. Ah ha!” John smiled. “Steak and kidney pie.
That would be what George would have chosen. But I guess you
wouldn’t like organ meat.”

Mitch looked up. “Actually, I quite like it.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Served with rich onion gravy,

chipped potatoes, and peas. A definite possibility.”

John continued to read aloud various other options, Mitch

beginning to relax.

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John went to the bar to order their food and get more

drinks, another micro brew beer for Mitch and a lemon soda for
himself. As Mitch had paid for the first round, John put his foot
down about paying for the second. Mitch thought it cute how the
guy insisted.

Mitch caught more glances from a number of the bar’s

patrons, some less guarded than others. But he decided to take
them in stride. He was out with John, who thought him
handsome. Very handsome, an inner voice reminded. Yes, the
evening was turning out a lot better than he’d feared it would.

* * * *

“Too full for a pudding?” John said, pushing away his

mostly empty dinner plate.

Mitch took the words as a challenge. “Nope.” He smiled

happily over at his dining companion, unable to remember the
last time he’d enjoyed a meal so much with someone.

The soup had been really tasty and the crust of the steak

and kidney pie light and crisp. John had said his deep fried
scampi tasted great, and had speared one with his fork and
reached over to Mitch, who had thought John was going to feed
him directly. The idea had resulted in his dick sitting up and
taking notice. But John had dropped the breaded packet on
Mitch’s plate instead.

“So, any requests?” John asked, picking up a different

menu, Mitch doing the same.

“I’m easy.”
John’s smile was wicked. “I do hope not. I like a

challenge.”

Mitch shook his head. “You know what I mean.”
John nodded and focused on the menu. “Apple pie and

custard. Had you ever had custard before coming to Britain?”

Mitch shook his head.
“What did you have with apple pie? Ice cream?”
Mitch nodded, even though he hadn’t eaten ice cream

until coming to Britain.

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“Now, what else have they got,” John said, turning back to

the menu. “Death by Chocolate! Oh, yes.”

John read out a few more choices, but Mitch had already

decided on the chocolate dessert.

* * * *

“I’m definitely full now,” John said, rubbing his stomach.
Mitch had to agree the portions had been generous.
“I’ll need a walk before going to bed to work off some of

this food.”

The idea of a walk alongside this kind, gentle man really

appealed to Mitch. He had something he needed to say, and it
would be best to do it in the dark. “Okay if I join you?”

John nodded his agreement.
Mitch put up a token protest about John paying the whole

check, but soon gave in. He was mollified by John’s suggestion
that he pay next time they ate out. Mitch was glad there would be
a next time.

Outside in the parking lot, John asked, “Are there any

good walks here, or should we head back and stroll along the
beach?”

“Here’s good,” Mitch said, knowing if they waited, he’d

chicken out. “There’s a footpath on the right a few yards ahead.”

John fell in step next to Mitch, their arms brushing against

each other occasionally as they walked.

“I’ve had a great time,” John said.
“Me, too.” Mitch said quietly.
“You okay?” John asked a few minutes later when Mitch

hadn’t said anything more.

Mitch stopped walking, John doing the same a step later.
Turning to face John in the near darkness—the moon

having gone behind a cloud—Mitch cleared his throat. “Thank
you, for what you did in there.”

“It’s okay.”
Mitch was glad John hadn’t played dumb by pretending he

hadn’t guessed that Mitch was unable to read the menu.

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Hanging his head, Mitch asked, “What gave me away?”

“You were on the wrong page when we were discussing

the starters. You were looking at the wine list.”

“Oh.”
“Want to walk a bit more?”
Mitch nodded and reached for John’s hand. John

interlaced their fingers and they resumed walking, neither man
speaking, Mitch relieved John wasn’t peppering him with
awkward questions.

“I never learned. To read or write I mean.” Mitch

eventually said, believing he needed to offer some kind of
explanation.

“Uh huh?” John said, Mitch knowing there was no

condemnation in the remark.

“Didn’t get much of a chance to go to school where I

lived.” There were no schools in his part of the Oregon territory
back in the 1820s and 1830s.

John squeezed Mitch’s hand in silent support.
“And as I got older…it got harder to ask for help and…”

How could he tell the man that in order to go to school he’d need
to show them some form of identification, and he didn’t have any.
He was born in an era before birth certificates and social security
numbers. Although his body aged, it did so much more slowly
than ordinary humans. So although he looked to be in his early
forties, he had no way of showing it. He grew frustrated with the
situation, with himself. Letting out a long breath, he said, “Guess
I’m too dumb to try to learn.”

John stopped walking and faced Mitch. “We’ve had this

conversation before. I said then that you’re not dumb and—”

“That was before you knew I couldn’t read.”
John reached up with his free hand and caressed Mitch’s

cheek. “Nothing has changed. You’re a talented craftsman. I
know that more now than I did the first time we had this
conversation.”

Mitch shook his head, dislodging John’s fingers.
John grasped Mitch by the shoulders and gave him a

shake. “Stop it. You have so much going for you. Don’t let one

105

small thing spoil the rest.”

“Easy for you to say; you can read and write.”
“But I can’t carve wood, make beautiful things out of it.

And I didn’t catch the eye of almost every woman and many of
the men in the pub.”

“They thought I was a freak.”
“Freakishly handsome. Strong. Powerful.” John

punctuated each statement with a shake to Mitch’s shoulders.

Mitch cupped John’s face, and before he could talk himself

out of it, he laid a gentle kiss on the man’s lips. “Thank you.”

John returned the kiss. “Everything I said was true.”
The kisses had Mitch’s mind reeling. They felt so

right…familiar. They shouldn’t. Part of him wanted to run away
and hide from these feelings, but his bear wouldn’t let him. The
bear urged Mitch to kiss John again. He wanted Mitch to claim,
dominate, and possess John. Mitch eventually won the battle,
but consoled his bear by giving John a third, gentle kiss.

Resting his forehead on the top of John’s head, Mitch let

out a breath. “Thank you.” And he didn’t just mean the kisses. “I
hear what you say, and a part—a small part—of me can
understand it. But I still feel like I’m a failure. Lazy for not trying
to better myself.”

“You’re intelligent. You could do anything you wanted to.”
That was the problem. He hadn’t wanted to. Since Ben’s

death, Mitch had merely existed. He hadn’t wanted to do much of
anything, hadn’t wanted to live, not without Ben. These were hard
truths to acknowledge, but ones he knew he needed to face up to.

By silent consent, they carried on walking, still holding

hands, each man with his own thoughts. Mitch’s were centred
around how comfortable he felt with John. The man just seemed
to get him. He didn’t judge or belittle. Could Mitch reveal his
deepest secret? John liked his bear, had called him beautiful.
That still gave Mitch a warm glow.

Sighing, Mitch knew his werekin nature would be a step

too far. Not being able to read or write was within a human’s
ability to comprehend, but knowing someone could change
shape? It would take someone very special to deal with that, and

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Chapter 10

Even though it was late June, the seawater felt freezing cold

when John stepped into it for his impromptu night-time paddle.

Whenever he’d had an afternoon nap he always seemed

to have to pay for it that night. He’d been able to get off to sleep
okay, memories of the quiet walk and the kisses he’d shared with
Mitch uppermost in his thoughts. He’d dreamed about the two of
them, strange, vivid, and passionate images and sounds running
through his mind. Oddly, though, the dream didn’t appear to be
set in Cornwall; the county just wasn’t that mountainous. And if
Cornwall had any log cabins, John had yet to see them.

One thing he did see was a larger than usual wave

heading toward him. Knowing he wouldn’t have time to run back
to the sand, he decided to jump to avoid most of its swell. He
laughed at his foolishness.

There had been another odd aspect to the dream, or

rather his waking thoughts surrounding it. He didn’t feel guilty for
dreaming about Mitch rather than George. Maybe it was because
the man in his dream who John thought of as Mitch had called
himself Jack, and John had been addressed as Ben. As he
splashed along the seashore, he tried to remember where he’d
heard that name before. But then he reasoned it was a common
name, one he’d probably heard many times.

After staring up at the bedroom ceiling for about an hour,

then spending a while longer trying to read, John had decided to
get up and go for a walk on the beach. Part of him hoped he’d
run into Teddy. He had a lot to tell the bear, not least his growing
feelings for Mitch. There was no one else he could confide in.
Doris would probably understand, but she was George’s mother,
and John wouldn’t feel right talking about his feelings for another
man with her. Morwenna was a possibility, but she was Mitch’s
friend, so that wouldn’t work either.

John thought back to the conversation he and Mitch had

had in the car park after dinner. It was fairly unusual in the early
twenty-first century for someone to be illiterate, but John
guessed it wasn’t unheard of. He couldn’t imagine not being able

108

to pick up a book, or more latterly his electronic book reader, and
lose himself in another world. What did Mitch do for fun, for
finding out what was going on in the world? Recalling the man’s
front room, John hadn’t seen a TV. It was possible Mitch had a
set in the bedroom, but somehow John thought that unlikely.

Yet again John’s heart went out to the big man, at how

isolated he must feel.

As he walked, John kept a look out for pieces of sea

glass. The chances of finding something the same size and
colour as the piece he already had were miniscule, he knew that,
but it didn’t stop him from looking.

Could he teach Mitch to read? Should he even offer? The

man was proud and private. John realised he hardly knew
anything about Mitch. Heck, he didn’t even know how old the man
was. How would Mitch react if John offered to help him? And even
if he said, ‘yes,’ John knew he was no teacher. That had been
George’s area of expertise. John had joked on more than one
occasion that half of George’s students at the university were in
love with him. George had always responded with, “Don’t care if
they are, I only love one man.” Then George would kiss him.

Seeing something ahead catch a slice of moonlight, and

thinking it could be more sea glass, John quickened his step to
get it before the tide washed it back out to see.

John’s right foot landed on something slimy and he began

to lose his balance. Wheeling his arms to try and stave off his fall,
John fell, as if in slow motion, arse first into the shallow water.

“Shit!”

* * * *

Sniffing the air, something in the back of the bear’s mind

unsettled him, though he didn’t know what. He performed an
extra couple of circuits of the outside of John’s cottage, just to
make doubly sure.

Finally satisfied that there was nothing nearby that could

threaten John, the bear turned for the cliff steps. He needed to
run off some of his frustrations at the human half of his nature’s

109

inability or unwillingness to have claimed John when he’d had
the chance.

Once the bear was more settled within himself, he would

return to the cottages and continue his vigil. His feeling that
something was wrong wasn’t about to quit, and the bear
determined he’d get to the bottom of whatever was causing it.

He fed on fish and crabs, although the meal his human

had shared with John meant he wasn’t as hungry as usual. A
good thing, because soon after deciding he’d eaten enough, the
bear detected John’s scent on the breeze. Looking up at the
position of the moon, the bear knew it wasn’t John’s usual time
to be out and about. Ambling over to the shadow of the cliffs, the
bear watched as John paddled in the shallow water, occasionally
jumping up and down and laughing. The bear was pleased to
see John so happy, though the reason for this eluded him.

The bear was careful to remain out of sight; the bear’s

human had been very specific about there being no more face-
to-face encounters. Yes, the bear could have disobeyed, but he
had to live alongside his human, and the two halves of their
nature were disagreeing enough as it was over John.

The bear froze in his tracks when he saw John slip and try

to rebalance himself. But he knew the man was going down.

“Shit!” John said once he’d hit the water.
The bear didn’t think, just leapt into action. John had hurt

himself. He knew ordinary humans were apt to break bones,
sprain ankles and the like, and their recovery time was
pathetically slow.

“Teddy?” John asked as the bear ran toward him.
Digging all four paws into the wet sand, the bear stopped

just before he bowled into the man. The bear gave the still
seated John a quick once over. Nothing appeared to be broken,
although the man smelled oddly of vinegar again.

Moving closer, the bear determined to get to the bottom of

the smell. Running his tongue over John’s face, he found the
root cause.

“Give over,” John said, chuckling. “I’m sure I taste awful.”
Although the bear wouldn’t have used that word exactly,

110

the taste wasn’t the most pleasant thing he’d sampled.

“I fell asleep in the sun this afternoon and hurt my face.

Morwenna—she’s the lady I think you’ve met—made me up
something to put on my face to help reduce the pain and the
redness.”

The bear remembered John saying something to that

effect to his human earlier. Back then, his human had wanted to
soothe John’s face, but chicken that he was, hadn’t. The bear
had no such inhibitions and resumed his licking.

“Stop it, you big oaf,” John pushed ineffectually at the

bear’s shoulders. “That tickles.” He laughed, prompting the bear
to continue.

The tide was coming in, and both the bear and John

realised they needed to move.

“I’d ask you to give me a hand up, but—” John looked

down at the bear’s paws. “Maybe if you just stand there I can use
you to lever myself up. That work for you?”

The bear didn’t move.
“I knew you could understand me,” John said, smiling and

getting to his feet. “Ouch.” He took his right foot off the sand.
“Might have sprained it. Don’t think it’s too serious, though.”

Slowly, both man and bear made their way up the beach,

the bear literally providing a shoulder to lean on. The bear had to
admit they worked well together.

“I’ll need to stop in a bit,” John said when they’d gone

about twenty-five yards.

The bear changed direction. Although they weren’t too far

from some steps that wound up the cliff, the bear knew John
wouldn’t be able to make it in his current condition, so headed to
the cave instead.

“Where are you taking me?” John asked, pausing his

steps. The bear instantly stopped too.

The bear turned his head and looked at John.
“Well, I guess you’re not leading me off somewhere

remote to eat me.”

The bear snorted.
“I know, I know. You could have done that the last couple

111

of times if you’d have wanted to. Okay, lead on, MacDuff.”

The bear tilted his head and regarded John curiously.
“It’s a common misquote from Macbeth. Or should I say,

‘The Scottish Play?’ You’re not a superstitious grizzly are you?”

The bear let out another snort, faced forward and started

walking again, more slowly this time.

“The real quote is ‘Lay on, MacDuff.’ But most people get

it wrong.”

The bear let John talk. He’d learned the first time they’d met

that the human tended to ramble when he was nervous. Although
the bear wasn’t sure what John could be nervous about now.

“Oh,” John said a few minutes later when they reached

the mouth of the cave. “I’ve been trying to find this place the past
few nights. George always said I have a terrible sense of
direction.”

The moon was at the right angle to shine directly into the

cave.

“Wow,” John said, no doubt seeing the inside of the cave

in decent light for the first time. “It goes back further than I
thought.”

The bear led John to his rubbing rock. Thankfully, the stuff

Morwenna had been feeding his human had reduced both his
and the bear’s urges, so the bear hadn’t needed to release the
tension recently, and therefore the rock was fairly clean.

“Thanks,” John said, settling onto the rock.
The bear immediately felt the loss of body contact.
“Nice place you got here,” John said, looking around.
The bear laid down at John’s feet, ensuring some part of

him was touching John.

“I’m so glad I got to see you again,” John said, rubbing his

leg against the bear’s side. “I’ve really missed you. First time,
heck, first couple of times I saw you, I thought maybe I’d
imagined you or you were a product of my having had something
to drink. But I’ve been sober as a judge the past few nights, and
when I didn’t see you…” He sighed. “Well. That sort of
perpetuated the idea that you weren’t real.” He reached down
and patted the bear. “But you are real, and I’m stone cold sober.”

112

The bear laid his head on his front paws and let John’s

chatter wash over him. By nature and circumstance the bear was
a loner, but there was just something about this vulnerable
human that got to him and brought out his protective instincts.

“I bet George would have liked you, too. Though he might

have had a harder time accepting that you were real, that you
wouldn’t hurt me.” John sighed. “Maybe he might not have liked
you because he’d have seen you as a threat, to my safety I
mean. Sometimes his over-protectiveness got a bit much, but…”
John let out a sob. “I’d give anything to have it and him back.”

The bear rose to a sitting position, which put his head just

above that of John’s. Nuzzling the man’s neck, the bear tried to
tell the man that he wasn’t alone. Even though George had
passed on, he, the bear, would watch over John, had in fact
been doing so for the past few days.

John wrapped his arms around the bear’s neck and buried

his face in the animal’s thick fur. “I knew you’d understand.
That’s why I wanted to see you again, ‘cause I knew I could talk
to you and you’d listen.” John pulled back and delivered a soft
kiss to the bear’s nose.

The bear stuck his own tongue out and licked John’s

nose, causing the man to smile.

“See, you know just what to do to cheer me up.”
They sat like this for a while, John running his fingers

through the bear’s neck fur. It seemed to calm the human, and
the bear had to admit he liked it, too.

John’s teeth started to chatter. “Is it me or is it getting cold

in here? I don’t suppose these wet clothes help much. Maybe we
should head back so I can change.”

John started to rise, but the bear put a paw on John’s

knee. He didn’t want the human to leave. The bear knew he
wouldn’t be able to go inside John’s cottage in his current form.
That, in a nutshell, was the dilemma. The bear side of him
wanted to be with John, snuggle with him, hold him, whereas the
human side of his nature was afraid of doing any of those things.

“I’d like to stay, too. But…” John held his arms out and

continued to shiver.

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The bear made a decision, one he could feel his human

side fighting against, but the bear was in control, so his human
half would just have to live with the consequences. Going deeper
into the cave, the bear grasped the handles of the carpet bag in
his mouth and brought it back to John. Setting the bag down at
John’s feet the bear sat and stared at the human, begging him to
open the bag and change into the dry clothes inside.

“Oh, I remember this. Clever of you to think about it.” John

began to unzip the bag. “Do you think whoever these belong to
would mind me borrowing them?”

The bear tried to keep a neutral expression as his human

side screamed that yes, he minded.

“A towel. Wow.” John exclaimed, pulling it out of the bag.

“That’s lucky.”

The bear was happy his human had brought one down to

the cave a couple of nights earlier. He could tell, however, that
his human was far from happy.

“You gonna watch me strip?” John asked as the bear

continued to regard him. “Oh well, guess it’s okay.”

John started to undo his shirt buttons. The man had a

smooth chest, almost totally devoid of hair. That was something
the bear wasn’t used to seeing. His mate, Ben, when in human
form, had been pretty hairy.

Showing reluctance, which soon melted under the bear’s

unwavering gaze, John stood and pulled down his pants and
under-garments, the bear’s eyes honing in on the man’s
equipment. It looked small.

As if reading the bear’s thoughts, John said, “You’d be all

shrivelled up, too, if you were wet and cold.” As an afterthought,
he added, “And if you were human.”

John rubbed himself dry with the towel then delved into

the bag and pulled out a pair of under-shorts.

“These are way too big for me,” John said, pulling the

shorts up his legs. “Oh, wow,” John laughed when he retrieved a
shirt from the bag. “You could fit two of me in this. But still, it’s
dry and warm.” John felt at the fabric.

There was a pause in which both the bear and his inner

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human held their breaths as the penny dropped for John.

“There’s only one man I know who would wear clothes

this size.” Looking at the bear, John asked, “Do they belong to
Mitch?”

The bear remained impassive, although his human was

urging him to run. The bear had argued with his human side the
last time he’d run away. It wasn’t going to happen again. John
still might need help getting up the cliff, and the bear took his
responsibilities seriously, even if his human side didn’t.

“Why would Mitch want to keep clothes down here?”
The bear tried not to smile, imagining how his human

would have to explain that one.

John then started to talk about Mitch. “I like him, more

than I should. He’s, well, tall, dark, and handsome. I thought he
was kinda invincible and therefore unapproachable.” John
sighed. “But then he told me earlier this evening that he couldn’t
read. Wow, that bit of vulnerability, I guess you’d call it, just
made me…” John swallowed and blinked away a tear. “Made me
want him all the more.” Looking up at the roof of the cave, he
added in a quieter voice, “Sorry, George.”

The bear could sense his human side was shocked and

embarrassed at John’s revelation.

“But I know I shouldn’t feel that way about Mitch. I mean,

come on, I’ve only known him a week. It’s not fair on George, and
it can only be one way because Mitch doesn’t feel the same way.”

The bear knew differently.
“It’s stupid and pathetic.” John shook his head. “Mitch is

the first man who’s shown me any attention and I’ve twisted it
into something he never intended. He was just offering
friendship, nothing more.” Staring right into the bear’s eyes, John
said, “You won’t tell him, will you?” John took a breath and
continued. “No, I know you won’t. It’s just a foolish infatuation.
Like a schoolgirl crushing on the captain of the First XV.” John
shook his head. “Stupid.”

The bear returned his paw to John’s knee to try and offer

some comfort.

John stroked the fur on the paw. “You’re a true friend,

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Teddy.” Something seemed to occur to John then. “I didn’t thank
you for rescuing me and for bringing me here.” He stretched up
and delivered another kiss, this one directly on the bear’s lips.
“Ick!” He pulled a face. “Your breath smells of raw fish. But then,
I suppose it would.” He yawned. “Sorry. It’s late, or early. Didn’t
know that bears were nocturnal, not that I know much about
bears. Though I didn’t think you grizzlies were native to these
shores. How did you get here?” he asked, rubbing the bear’s
ears. “So soft,” the man sighed, and yawned again.

The bear lay down, hoping John would join him, use him

as a pillow or a blanket. John didn’t seem to catch on, so to
encourage him to get on the floor with him, the bear rolled over
onto his back.

John laughed. “You want me to tickle your tummy? Okay.

Guess it’s the least I can do since you came running to my
rescue. My knight in shining fur.” He crawled closer. “Yeah, I
know, not one of my best lines.” He began to scratch the bear’s
tummy, the animal’s legs jerking with the stimulation. “You like
that? Just a bit longer, then I’ll have to head back to my cottage
and my bed.”

The bear yawned, feeling tired himself.
“It’s okay for you, you could probably sleep here, for all I

know you might sleep here all the time.” John rubbed at his eyes.

The bear turned his head, pleading with John to stay and

sleep here with him.

“Well.” John yawned again. “If you’re not going to walk me

home like a proper date should, I guess I’ll have to stay here with
you. That okay? My, sleeping with a man, uh, bear on our third
date. What would my mother say?”

The bear rolled onto his right side and lifted his left legs.
“You’d crush me,” John protested.
The bear would protect him, keep him warm, safe, and

show him that someone cared for him.

John blinked away more tears, then found a smile from

somewhere. “Well, so long as you promise to behave, then…”

John laid down on the floor, rolled toward the bear and,

after some rearranging of limbs, settled down with his head on

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the bear’s right foreleg and his arm over the bear’s side.

“Did I tell you tonight how beautiful you are? Well if I didn’t,”

John yawned, “I am now. Beautiful and strong and brave and…”

Careful not to disturb the sleeping human, the bear licked

the top of the man’s head and closed his eyes, although he knew
the tug of war involving the two sides of his nature would mean
there’d be no sleep for him.

* * * *

Mitch slowly came awake. Something warm was clinging

to him. Opening his eyes, he saw the top of John’s head. Then it
all came back.

Normally Mitch and his bear managed to co-exist quite

amicably, but his bear had totally overstepped the bounds the
previous night.

Disengaging himself from John’s limbs, not an easy task

without waking the sleeping man, Mitch sat up and rubbed at his
face. Unable to help himself, he looked down at John, who
looked totally at home inn Mitch’s clothes.

“I’m so screwed,” Mitch said under his breath.
The first thing to do, Mitch decided, tearing his gaze away,

was to put some clothes on and get the hell out of there before
John saw him.

Forgoing drawers, Mitch hurriedly put on the jeans he’d

worn the previous night and slipped into a clean shirt. He looked
around for his sneakers. The left one had been under his
clothes, but the right one seemed to have disappeared. It was
his own fault for being in such a hurry to shift the previous night.

Looking around, conscious that he needed to get away,

Mitch wondered if he’d be able to lie low for the next few days,
lock himself in at night so his bear couldn’t escape and do even
more damage.

Eventually he located the missing sneaker. It was clear

over on the other side of the cave.

He’d just tied the laces when he heard movement.

Standing and turning to face John, Mitch’s worst fears were

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realised. John was awake.

“Mitch?” the man said, rubbing at his eyes. And didn’t that

just look so adorable?

“Hi,” Mitch said awkwardly.
He resolutely kept his hands by his sides, even though

they itched to reach out and smooth John’s hair, which was
pointing every which way.

John looked around. “This might sound like a stupid

question, but did you see a big grizzly bear leave here?”

Mitch shook his head. He was telling the truth, he hadn’t

seen a bear leave.

“But you’ve seen him, previously I mean?”
Shit, Mitch thought, feeling trapped. “Uh, yeah. Once or

twice.”

John sighed. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I slept

with the bear last night. It was…” John shook his head. “Can’t
remember the last time I’d had such a peaceful night.”

“Uh huh?” Mitch made for the cave entrance, not wanting

to have this conversation. “Look, I need to go.” Go before John
starts asking awkward questions.

“Sorry that I’m wearing some of your clothes. I fell in the

sea last night, Teddy—that’s what I call the bear—kinda rescued
me and…Sounds stupid now.”

“No problem. About the clothes I mean.”
“Thanks. But why do you keep spare clothes in this cave?”
Mitch winced inwardly. Still, it was probably better to get

the questions out of the way sooner rather than later. “Uh, I fell in
the sea once myself. So I decided to keep some dry clothes here
just in case it happened again.”

“Oh.” John nodded.
Mitch was proud of himself for his quick thinking. He could

feel his bear give a dissatisfied growl. Knowing he needed to
offer his bear something, he asked, “You okay to make it up the
cliff with your ankle?”

John got to his feet and put some weight on his right foot.

“Feels fine.”

Only then did Mitch realise his mistake, but it was too late.

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John looked at him in confusion. “How did you know I’d

hurt my ankle?”

“You said you’d slipped. So I figured that maybe you’d hurt

your ankle.” It was lame, but the best he could come up with.

“Oh, I suppose.” John shrugged. “Pity I missed Teddy, I

wanted to thank him again for looking after me last night.”

Mitch didn’t say anything, still annoyed with his bear and

how he’d gone against what they’d agreed.

“Still,” John said, dusting down his—Mitch’s—shirt,

“Hopefully I’ll get to see him again sometime soon.”

Not if I can help it, Mitch thought. The bear growled at him.
They walked back up to the cottages, John telling Mitch all

about his night-time adventure. Despite himself, Mitch couldn’t
fail to feel a certain amount of joy at how taken John was with his
bear. No one else had shown him any affection. Morwenna, even
though she’d seen his bear on a number of occasions and knew
intellectually who he was, always seemed afraid of him and gave
him a wide berth. The Admiral had seen the bear a couple of
times, and Mitch was fairly certain the man knew what was going
on, but had never said anything, and Mitch hadn’t either.

Back at the cottages, John turned to Mitch. “I think I’ll

wash and change, then go and have breakfast in St Duncan’s
before picking up the dry cleaning. Still want to join me?” A
heartbeat later, he added, “For breakfast I mean.”

Mitch shook his head. “I want to get on with your chair.”

He’d drawn it out for as long as he could.

“Oh, okay.” John looked crestfallen. “Later then.”
Mitch watched John close the cottage door, wishing he had

the same courage as his bear. But then, Mitch concluded, his
bear didn’t have to deal with the same responsibilities that he did.

Letting himself into his own cottage, Mitch could tell his

bear was disgusted with him. “If it’s any comfort, Teddy,” he said
aloud, “I’m disgusted with myself, too.”

119

Chapter 11

John sat in a window seat in the cafeteria at the further

education college in Newquay. He tried not to stare too often
over at the classroom on the other side of the quadrangle, a
classroom where Mitch and six or seven other people were
having their first adult literacy lesson.

It had taken Mitch two weeks since his moonlit confession

in the pub car park to raise the subject of maybe learning to read.

John launched himself at Mitch, right there on the beach

as they took their now traditional afternoon walk. He kissed the
man several times before realising he was making a fool of
himself. But when Mitch started to kiss him back, their tongues
duelling for dominance, any rational thoughts John might have
had fled and gave way to pure emotion, and tears.

“I’m so proud of you,” John said, pulling away for breath

and to wipe his eyes. “Honestly, you won’t regret it.”

Mitch hadn’t seemed as certain, but had nodded anyway.
Someone at the next table scraped their chair on the tile

floor, bringing John back to the present. A good thing, given that
he’d sprouted wood at the remembered images of his and
Mitch’s antics that day on the beach.

Glancing out of the cafeteria window, John saw Mitch

looking back at him. Resisting the urge to run around the building
to rescue him, John raised a hand and smiled the most
reassuring smile he could manage. Mitch smiled back, though
John could see it was somewhat forced.

Mitch had hoped, once he’d told John of his desire to

learn how to read and write, that John would teach him. John
had patiently explained that he couldn’t.

“I’m not a teacher. I’m too soft; I’d probably want to do all

the work for you, and you wouldn’t learn.”

Mitch had sulked, and the subject hadn’t been mentioned

for a couple more days until John raised it, telling Mitch that he
had no objection to helping Mitch with any homework he might
receive if he took evening classes.

The idea of classes seemed to terrify Mitch and he

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refused point blank to go. It took a few days before John got to
the bottom of why.

One evening over dinner—another practice the two men

had fallen into—an emotional Mitch revealed that he’d entered
Britain illegally and didn’t have any papers that he could show to
a college to prove his identity.

John was surprised at the news, but told Mitch that he

understood, didn’t judge him, and most importantly wasn’t going
to report him.

Another passionate make out session ensued, this time on

the sofa in John’s living room. Afterward, John promised to make
discreet enquiries at the nearest college of further education to
find out what a person would need in order to register for classes.
It turned out to be very little, just a cheque for the class fees and a
copy of a utility bill. The former was dealt with easily by John
obtaining a postal order from the post office. The latter was a little
trickier, and involved some cutting and pasting of one of
Morwenna’s electricity bills. Yes, John felt a few qualms about the
deception, and him a crown servant, too. But this was for Mitch, a
man he was rapidly—John swallowed—falling for. John would do
everything he could to improve Mitch’s life.

John peeked at his wristwatch. Mitch’s class would be

ending in about ten minutes. He looked out of the window and
saw Mitch facing the front of the classroom, pen in hand.

Once Mitch had been given the necessary tools to start

classes, the next obstacle had arisen. The closest college was a
good half hour drive away, and because Mitch didn’t have a legal
identity, he hadn’t been able to apply for a driver’s license.
Morwenna said she’d take him and visit a friend who lived
nearby while Mitch was studying.

Then John had offered to take Mitch, saying he’d stay

while Mitch was in class. Mitch accepted John’s offer.

There had been yet another make-out session, this one in

Morwenna’s kitchen. John had been embarrassed, but
Morwenna hadn’t minded, and Mitch was too overjoyed to care.

Switching off his Kindle—John had brought it with him to

pass the time while Mitch was in class, but had ended up reading

121

no more than a page—he took his virtually untouched cup of tea
to the window. Yes, he was nervous, this being Mitch’s first time
in education, but no way was John going to let Mitch know about
that. Leaving the cafeteria, nerves soon gave way to pride. John
was proud at Mitch’s achievement in finally gaining the courage
to face his issues.

Walking the corridors, not wanting to run, but equally

needing to not be out of sight of Mitch for long, John made his
way to the classroom and peeked in through the clear glass
panel in the door. He saw Mitch anxiously looking through the
window toward the cafeteria. John was about to knock on the
door when Mitch seemed to sense his presence and turned his
head. The smile of relief on the man’s face brought tears to
John’s eyes. He gave Mitch a thumbs up, which the man
returned.

John stayed in place, not caring if his position looked odd

to anyone passing behind him in the corridor.

Mitch returned his attention to the tutor, who looked as

though he was beginning to wrap things up.

As John saw his man pack away his pen, notebook, and

textbook—the latter John had insisted on buying for Mitch the
previous week—his heart swelled with pride yet again. The man
did look somewhat out of place behind a desk, being the
quintessential outdoorsman, rugged and strong-featured, having
powerful muscles that didn’t know when to quit.

Students were starting to get to their feet, and John

reluctantly moved away to allow them to leave.

Part of him worried when Mitch wasn’t the first out of the

door, but this was soon replaced with joy that his man didn’t feel
the need to flee from a situation he’d found intolerable.

When the slow trickle of people exiting ceased, John

looked in through the open door and saw Mitch standing at the
front of the room, talking with the tutor.

Mitch seemed to sense John’s presence yet again

because he turned and gestured for John to enter.

“Brian, I want you to meet John.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Brian held out a thin, bony hand,

122

which John shook.

“If it hadn’t been for this man,” Mitch said, resting one of his

huge arms across John’s shoulders, “I wouldn’t be here tonight.”

Brian nodded and smiled, John guessing he’d heard

similar stories before.

Mitch drew John closer, turned him so they were face to

face, and laid a tender kiss on his lips.

When he’d collected his wits and turned to face Brian,

John saw a slightly shocked expression on the man’s face. John
smiled, betting the older man hadn’t expected the familiar story
to have such an unorthodox side plot.

Recovering quickly, Brian asked, “I’ll see you on Monday?”
“You bet, Teach. Now I’ve started this project, I aim to

give it everything.”

Brian nodded and gave them both a genuine smile.
“And even if I wanted to quit, this guy here,” Mitch pulled

John back to him, “wouldn’t let me.”

“It’s always good to have someone in your corner,” Brian

said, and to John’s ears it sounded wistful.

“I’ll do those exercises you said we should try,” Mitch said,

patting the attaché case Morwenna had given him over Mitch’s
protests.

“Excellent.” Brian nodded. “Well, gentlemen, if you’ll

excuse me, my dog will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“Goodnight,” John said.
“Goodnight, and thanks,” Mitch added.
Brian looked at the two of them, John pressed against

Mitch’s side. “You’re very welcome.”

Once Brian had left, John turned to face Mitch. “Judging

by the smile on that handsome face of yours, and the display you
just put on, I take it all went well?”

Mitch’s smile increased. “Yep. Went very well. I’ll tell you

all about it on the way home.”

“About that: I wondered if you might want to go out to

dinner to celebrate, or if you’d rather go straight home.”

Mitch’s smile grew lascivious. “The sort of celebration I

have in mind needs a bed.”

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“Oh.” John swallowed. “Okay.”
Although the two of them spent most evenings together,

they’d always gone back to their respective beds to sleep.
They’d discussed spending nights together, but each time the
subject had been raised, they’d concluded they weren’t ready.
John was still in love with George, and it seemed Mitch couldn’t
let go of his feelings for Ben.

Each night, once the two said their farewells—involving

plenty of kisses and caresses—John would usually take a walk on
the beach in search of Teddy. Usually he wasn’t there, but now and
again they found each other and would go back to the cave, where
they would sleep together. John started putting clothes alongside
Mitch’s, just in case he fell in the sea again. And recently he’d
added a battery lantern so he could see Teddy better.

“It’s okay if we…take the next step?” Mitch said, touching

John’s cheek.

It seemed Mitch had come to an understanding with his

past. John realised it was about time he did the same.

“Yes.” John nodded, kissing Mitch’s lips.

* * * *

“Why are you pulling in here?” Mitch asked when John

pulled into a parking lot.

“Food.”
“But, I thought...”
All Mitch wanted to do was get home and make love to

John in whatever ways the man would allow. Without John’s
help, Mitch knew he wouldn’t have ventured out from his safe,
cosy, but ultimately imprisoning world. He was pumped at finally
moving forward, and he needed to show John just how much the
man’s patience and kindness meant to him.

“Yes, I know,” John said, stroking Mitch’s cheek. The man

seemed to do that a lot lately, and Mitch loved the affection the
gesture conveyed. “I thought we should pick up some fast food.
I’m hungry, and if the small amount of food you ate today is
anything to go by—small by your standards—I imagine you’re

124

hungry, too.”

Mitch took John’s hand and kissed the fingers. He could

be affectionate, too. “I was nervous.”

John smiled. “But you’re not anymore?”
Mitch shook his head. Amazed, pleased, even proud were

all words that fit his mood now.

“So I thought we could get something that was already

cooked, eat it either here or back in Bishop’s Cove, then…” John
blushed.

Mitch smiled. “That’s why you’re the smart one and I’m—”
“Mitch!”
“Oops, you’re right. That was something Brian talked

about today, how we mustn’t put ourselves down because we
didn’t learn to read at the age most others did.”

“Sounds like a wise man.”
He was. Mitch had liked the guy instantly. He’d put Mitch

and the other five students at their ease, making sure they
understood that they weren’t stupid or to be pitied for not being
able to read and write.

As they walked across the parking lot, Mitch itched to hold

John’s hand, but they were in public. Screw it. He took John’s hand.

John looked over at Mitch and gave him a tender smile. Mitch

glowed inside at doing something to please this wonderful man.

“What are you in the mood for?” John asked when they

turned onto the street.

The sidewalks were fairly crowded, but now he had John’s

hand, Mitch wasn’t about to let go of it.

“And I mean food, you horny sod.”
Mitch grinned. The man knew him too well. Then his good

mood fled. Yes, although he’d told John a lot about himself, he
still hadn’t had the courage to talk about his bear side. Could he?
Dare he? John loved Teddy, he’d told Teddy often enough. But
could Mitch risk losing John if the man ran away screaming at
the news that Mitch and Teddy were one and the same? John
had become important to Mitch, and to Teddy, too. In fact,
despite the dumb name, Mitch often thought of his bear as
Teddy now.

125

To further add to his woes, Mitch knew that once fall

arrived, John would go back to London and Mitch would have to
stay in Cornwall. How would the two of them, Mitch and Teddy,
cope without John in their lives? Mitch felt Teddy whimper, but
Mitch couldn’t offer any comfort, because he felt exactly the
same way.

“Mitch?” John asked, stopping walking. “Everything okay?”
No. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” He remembered John had asked

him something but he couldn’t remember what. “What was your
question?”

“Food. What kind would you like? And are we eating it in

the car or waiting until we get back to Bishop’s Cove?”

“I don’t mind.” Mitch shrugged. In truth he had little

experience of fast food. It hadn’t been much in evidence when
he’d been growing up, and because he’d lived in a remote area
of Southwest England for the past ninety years or so without a
means of transport, the takeout food revolution had pretty much
passed him by.

“What about burgers and fries? There’s a McDonald’s just

up ahead. Can’t get any more American than that. Or there’s
KFC.” Before Mitch could ask what that was, John supplied an
explanation.

“I could eat some fried chicken,” Mitch admitted, unable to

remember the last time he’d had any.

“Okay, the Colonel’s secret recipe it is, then.”
Mitch had no idea who the Colonel was. He felt lost in

towns with their flashing lights, noisy streets, and crush of
people. He was glad he was holding John’s hand.

In the fast food restaurant, John ordered a “Family Feast”.
“How many pieces?” the counter clerk asked.
John turned and gave Mitch a quick up and down. Facing

the young lady at the counter again, he said, “Six, please.”

Mitch had to let go of John’s hand. “Let me get this,” he

insisted, reaching for his wallet.

“Next time. This is your special day, and I want to treat you.”
This earned them a muttered comment of, “Bloody

poofters.”

126

Mitch whirled around to confront a couple of college age

kids who were standing in line behind them. He also stepped to
the side to shield John from whatever trouble might occur.

“Did I just hear something?” Mitch growled, tensed his

arm muscles and clenched his fists.

“Mitch, no.” John put a hand on his arm.
Mitch somehow knew what John was trying to tell him. If

he decked either or both of these two, the police would probably
get involved and…

“Jimmy!” the smaller of the too dug his friend in the ribs.

Turning to Mitch, he continued, “Sorry, sir. He didn’t mean
nothing.”

Mitch knew the smaller guy was no threat, so

concentrated on the bigger one, Jimmy. John had told Mitch he
could look pretty intimidating when he put his mind to it, and from
the terrified look on the smaller guy’s face, he was having the
desired effect. Mitch could feel Teddy gearing up for action, no
doubt wanting to add his two cents worth.

“That true? You didn’t mean anything when you called me

and my boyfriend bloody poofters?” Mitch asked Jimmy, who
swallowed and lost what little colour he had. “Well?” Mitch asked,
hearing his voice go deeper. Christ, he hoped he wasn’t starting
to shift.

Jimmy shook his head.
“Can’t hear you.” Mitch said, cupping his ear with his hand

and taking a step closer to the kid, who looked like he was about
to shit himself.

“It’s okay,” John said, coming out from behind Mitch.
“No it isn’t,” Mitch insisted, sending another glare Jimmy’s

way.

“We don’t want no trouble,” Jimmy’s friend said. “Jimmy!

Open that bloody gob of yours and tell them that you didn’t mean
it and that you’re sorry.”

Jimmy swallowed again. “Sorry,” he squeaked.
“Thanks,” John said quietly.
Mitch could sense how uncomfortable this whole thing

was making John. He thought Jimmy’s apology was half-assed,

127

but knew pushing the pathetic creature further would only hurt
John. So he gave the two a curt nod and turned back to the
serving window where the clerk was waiting with their food.

John paid, Mitch took hold of the food container, and put

his free hand in the small of John’s back to guide him outside.

Jimmy took their place at the counter while his friend

followed Mitch and John. “Jimmy’s a bit of a prat sometimes, but
he’s all right really.”

Mitch grunted and carried on walking.
“If it means anything, I think you two are okay.”
John stopped walking, and thus so did Mitch.
Mitch took a good look at the kid. “Yeah, well, thanks. But

maybe you should find yourself a friend who’s all right more of
the time.”

The kid sighed. “Yeah.”
“Damien, get your arse over here and tell me what you

want!” Jimmy yelled, causing his friend to look his way.

Mitch applied gentle pressure to John’s back and steered

him out of the restaurant.

“Sorry. I know I went a bit…caveman in there,” Mitch said

when John hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes.

“You called me your boyfriend,” John said quietly.
The word had just slipped out. Yes, he’d meant it,

but…“You don’t mind?”

John took Mitch’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I like it.”
Mitch wanted to stop and kiss the guy right then and there

but didn’t want a repeat of what had happened in the restaurant.
Besides, he was hungry and wanted to get back to the car to eat,
and maybe do other things, too.

* * * *

The journey home seemed to take forever. Mitch couldn’t

sit still, he was so pumped. Finally, he’d plucked up the courage
to ask John to sleep with him. Okay, so his bear had slept with
John a number of times, but nothing had resulted, of course.
This time they’d be in a bed, he could kiss John, touch him,

128

nibble at his skin and…

“Stop it, you’ll have us off the road,” John said, batting

Mitch away.

Mitch had been so eager, he’d already started to act on

his desires. “Sorry.” He sat back in his seat.

“No you’re not,” John said, lifting and kissing Mitch’s hand

that had started to creep toward John’s crotch.

Mitch grinned.
“I don’t want to put a damper on this, but why now? I

mean, have you come to some kind of…” John shrugged.
“Agreement with yourself over Ben?”

Mitch let out a breath and closed his eyes. Could he tell

John how deep his feelings had become? He didn’t want to be
John’s vacation fling. And from what John had confided to
Teddy, Mitch knew that wasn’t what John wanted either, but
John had a life back in London, one he would have to return to.

An idea had started to grow inside Mitch’s head, or was it

his heart? He’d tried to push it away, but it kept coming back.

If Mitch were to show John how much he was growing to

love him, how right they were together, how he’d protect John,
use his strength to keep John safe. If he were to do all these
things, then maybe John would agree to give up his life and
move in with Mitch.

Mitch shook his head. He knew it couldn’t be. They were

too different. John was smart, well educated, born and raised in
a city. Whereas Mitch was a hairy lummox, socially awkward,
and illiterate. He couldn’t get a real job, couldn’t talk about most
of what had happened to him, couldn’t tell John who or what he
really was. What could he offer a man like John? No, there could
never be anything lasting between the two of them. Mitch had
been stupid to even think that there could be.

“You’ve gone quiet,” John said. “Anything wrong?”
Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. No. Oh, hell, I

don’t know.”

“Well, that’s clear.” John chuckled. “You’re bound to feel up

and down about today. You’ve made a great start, and you should
be rightfully proud of yourself, but it won’t be an easy road.”

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“Uh huh.” Mitch was glad John was on the wrong track.
He listened as John rambled on about the joys of reading,

both for pleasure and to gain information. Mitch half-listened as
he talked about some electronic device he had that showed
pages of books on it.

Try as he might, the darned idea about he and John living

together forever resurfaced. “Stay with me at my cottage.”

He hadn’t meant to reveal that he wanted John to move in

with him permanently, for them to live together, pick out china
patterns, the whole nine yards. Sometimes he wondered if Teddy
was able to take over his human side and speak aloud what he
wanted, rather than what Mitch wanted. He opened his mouth to
apologise, to explain or to beg, he wasn’t sure which.

“Yes,” John said, causing Mitch’s heart to soar. Undoing

both their seatbelts and moving closer, John added, “Your sofa’s
bigger and more comfortable than mine anyway. Or were you
thinking more of bedroom furniture?”

“Uh, yeah.” Through his confusion and roiling emotions,

Mitch realised they’d arrived back at the cottages.

They usually spent the evenings in John’s cottage,

especially on the nights when John cooked for them. However, if
they’d eaten out, then they’d usually wind up at Mitch’s. It was
this that John was referring to.

“You okay?” John asked, touching Mitch’s face.
Mitch swallowed. Nodding, he said, “Yes.”
“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind…about tonight.”
“Thanks.” Mitch closed his eyes. “Would you mind if we

stayed downstairs, at least for a while?” He could feel Teddy was
disappointed in him.

“No problem. We both need to take this slowly. If you

don’t want to go further than…downstairs, that’s okay.”

Mitch felt John’s fingers caress his cheek. The touch

helped centre him. Opening his eyes, he saw John looking at
him with concern.

“Thank you.”
They shared a quick—but to Mitch, meaningful—kiss

before getting out of the car, Mitch reaching for and almost

130

instantly finding John’s hand. John squeezed Mitch’s hand and
they walked over to Mitch’s cottage.

“How’d it go?” Morwenna called out from her cottage door.

She must have been looking out for them.

Mitch dropped John’s hand, then thought better of it and

reached for it again. “Sorry,” he told John, who nodded his
understanding and gave Mitch’s hand another of his reassuring
squeezes.

“Well?” Morwenna enquired, coming down her garden

path in her ancient carpet slippers.

“It went well.” Mitch couldn’t face a drawn-out discussion.

Not just then at least. But he knew he owed his long-time friend
something. Heck, he owed her a lot. “The tutor was great. Tried
putting us all at ease.” It had helped Mitch to know he wasn’t the
only adult who didn’t know how to read or write.

“See, I told you not to worry so much.”
She had, but it hadn’t prevented Mitch from worrying anyway.
Morwenna nodded. “I imagine you have some homework

or something, so I’ll let you get on with your studies.” She looked
down at their joined hands.

“I know Mitch is grateful for all your support,” John said.
Mitch nodded in agreement, grateful that he’d said it.

“Yes, thanks.”

She waved off their praise and turned for her cottage.

“Don’t stay up too late…studying. This is only the first night,
There’ll be plenty more.”

Mitch knew her statement was loaded with meaning and

chose not to comment. Instead he tugged at John’s hand and got
him moving.

* * * *

Despite its shaky beginning, Mitch was enthusiastically

getting into his and John’s make-out session. His hands wanted
to explore every part of John’s body. Mitch needed skin. He
undid a couple of shirt buttons and then looked up into John’s
face to gauge his reaction.

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John nodded his agreement, so Mitch opened a couple

more buttons.

Previously, the two of them had kissed, cuddled, and

there’d been a bit of light petting, but always above the waist and
on top of clothing.

Now that Mitch had taken the initiative, John seemed to

want to match him. He quickly unfastened a few of Mitch’s shirt
buttons and began to run fingers through the thick pelt of hair
that was revealed. Mitch was about to apologise for being so
hairy when John let out a moan and launched himself at Mitch’s
bared chest, licking, kissing and lightly biting.

“Hey, bud, no fair,” Mitch protested. “You bent down like

that means I can’t hold up my end of the deal.”

John pulled back slightly and looked down at Mitch’s

crotch. “Looks like you’re holding up quite nicely.”

Mitch groaned when John rubbed his aching dick through

his jeans. John had never touched him there before. It was
amazing. He wanted John to touch him again. Seeming to read
his mind, John did just that and went back to work with his mouth
on Mitch’s chest, too.

Though it felt wonderful, Mitch knew it hadn’t solved the

problem he’d previously voiced. From their current position, all
Mitch could do was pet John’s head, shoulders and back. This
was good, but hardly fair to John. They needed to be horizontal.
Mitch realised the idea of taking John to bed didn’t terrify him.
Ben had been dead a long time. He needed to move on.

Getting to his feet, Mitch lifted John with him. Knowing the

guy had his own issues, Mitch tried to slow his urges sufficiently
to enquire if John was ready to take the next step as well.

John seemed to give Mitch’s question serious thought.

Mitch bet John wasn’t aware however that as he was thinking, a
line of drool was extending from the corner of his lips.

“I didn’t come here to Cornwall to replace George, don’t

know if I ever could replace him. But I know I want you.”

That was good to hear, but Mitch needed more. “Will you

feel guilty tomorrow?” Teddy was growling at Mitch to just haul
the guy upstairs and claim him. Mitch beat the bear back. This

132

was important.

“Won’t know until tomorrow.” Aiming a steady gaze

Mitch’s way, John asked, “What about you?”

Mitch would be lying if he said he didn’t have misgivings,

but he couldn’t speak about most of them. “If I have any guilt
tomorrow, will you help me deal with it?”

John kissed him. “If you promise to help me with mine.”
That agreed, they kissed a little longer before Mitch

hoisted John off his feet and started to carry him upstairs.

“Put me down. You’ll hurt yourself,” John said, slapping

Mitch’s right shoulder.

“Nah, you’re light. You hardly weigh anything.” And

besides, John felt so good, right in his arms. It fed a deep need
within Mitch to protect John and keep him safe. He could feel
Teddy approved, too.

Despite the man’s protests, it was obvious from John’s

expression that he liked Mitch taking charge.

As he carried John toward the bedroom door, Mitch tried

to remember if he’d made the bed that morning. One look
confirmed that he had. Living alone for so long, Mitch tended to
slack off on domestic chores; there was only himself to please,
and a certain amount of untidiness didn’t bother him. But he
needed to impress John, show him what a good guy he was.

“Nice,” John said, looking around the room from Mitch’s

arms. “You can put me down now if you want.”

Mitch didn’t want, but realised it was stupid to just keep

holding the man. Setting John down on the comforter with as
much gentleness as he could, Mitch straightened and regarded
the human in his bed. John was the only person Mitch had ever
invited to lie there.

“You okay?” John asked, starting to sit up.
Mitch nodded and swallowed. “Just thinking how right you

look there.”

John blushed.
Mitch sank to his knees and approached the bed, unsure

about what to do next. John solved that problem, at least for a
short while, by asking Mitch to kiss him. This he readily did.

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When John began to move his kisses to Mitch’s neck,

Mitch stood up. “Oh, no, we’re not going there again. It’s my turn
to touch you.”

John pouted. “My body isn’t anything like as…” He paused,

and Mitch knew he was trying to come up with something kind.
“Amazing, awesome and, yes, beautiful as yours.”

Mitch remembered John saying that Teddy was beautiful,

too. Could it be that the man liked big and hairy?

Undoing the rest of John’s shirt buttons, Mitch pulled the

shirttails out of the pants and spread the fabric. John was mostly
smooth, with a flat belly that showed little muscle definition. His
skin was pale, but to Mitch, John was one of the most perfect
things he’d ever seen.

“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he whispered before

laying a chaste kiss in the middle of John’s stomach.

The flesh was warm, smooth, and smelled clean.
John chuckled and squirmed. “Your beard tickles.”
Mitch looked up. “You like it?” Despite all John had said,

Mitch still feared the man found him—or something about him—
unattractive.

“Do it again, and I’ll show you just how much I like it.”
Mitch did, again and again.
The pressure in Mitch’s jeans was becoming

uncomfortable, and if John’s frequent rubbing of his own crotch
was anything to go by, he, too, needed to be freed.

Mitch rose up from his kissing of John’s belly, the flat

white flesh now covered in moist patches, and reached for
John’s belt. “This okay?”

John nodded, biting his lip.
Slowly, knowing he was about to unwrap a prize, Mitch

released the buckle. Yes, he’d seen John naked before, or rather
Teddy had. But this was different. John was warmer, more
turned on.

Mitch wasn’t disappointed when first pants, then drawers

were pulled down. John was perfect. He would have taken
longer to admire the column of flesh, but was mindful that any
hesitation would be viewed negatively by John. Also, Mitch still

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had the uncomfortable tightness in his own groin. Mitch bent
down again and kissed the hooded crown of John’s dick, causing
John to moan and buck upward.

Even though it’d been more time than he currently wanted

to think about, Mitch hadn’t lost any of his cock-sucking skills.
He’d heard the term just like riding a bike, and guessed it applied
to taking a cock down one’s throat as well.

John, far from accepting Mitch’s ministrations passively,

squirmed on the bed, moaned, and used his hands to pet and
massage Mitch’s head, neck, and shoulders.

Mitch didn’t want John to cum like this. He wanted to be

inside John, massaging the man’s prostate with his dick.
Reluctantly pulling off, Mitch wet a finger and searched for
John’s ass opening.

“Wait. I want to suck you.”
Mitch stood up and reached for his belt.
“Oh, no you don’t.” John sat up and batted Mitch’s hands

away. “Mine.”

Mitch found himself turned on by John’s little show of

dominance. He’d assumed John would be submissive, but was
glad to see he had some fight in him.

Mitch’s jeans fell to the floor, leaving him in a rather

unattractive pair of white jockey shorts that were a world away
from the sexy briefs that John had been wearing.

John mouthed at Mitch’s still cotton-covered dick, teasing

it, playing with it. “Wow, you’re big!”

Mitch feared he’d be too big. John was only human. Ben,

and the few men before him, hadn’t been.

“But, like I think I told you a few days ago, I like a challenge.”
Mitch breathed again, glad he wouldn’t have to abandon

things at the eleventh hour.

John put his fingers behind the waistband of Mitch’s

shorts and slowly pulled them down.

“Oh God,” John gasped when Mitch’s dick, rigid and

oozing a steady stream of precum, was freed and bounced up
against Mitch’s belly, leaving a smear of fluid behind as it settled
on a position just higher than the horizontal. “You are big.” John

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seemed fascinated by what he was looking at.

Mitch cleared his throat, again worrying that John would

back out on him. “Uh, John?”

John tore his gaze upward. “You really are beautiful, all of

you.”

Mitch hadn’t expected that and couldn’t help the shy smile

he knew was on his lips. “Thank you. You’re not so bad your—”
The rest of his words were cut off when John dived down on
Mitch’s dick, taking just under half of it on the first attempt.

Feelings, sensations that had lain dormant for the best

part of a century re-awoke and flooded into Mitch’s brain, almost
causing him to lose his footing. John’s tongue was talented,
seeming to be everywhere at once, on the underside of his dick,
at the head, under the hood. The loud and almost constant
sucking noises would have been enough themselves to bring
him to the edge, but combined with everything else, Mitch knew
he was in trouble.

“Gotta stop. Too soon.” Mitch pulled out of John’s mouth,

the action accompanied by an audible pop. “Need you, need
your ass!”

John smirked and got to his feet. “What about your ass?”

He reached around and took hold of Mitch’s buns. “I’d like to get
in there.”

Mitch nodded; he’d like that, too, but he needed John. “I

asked first.”

John shook his head and ran his fingers across Mitch’s

broad chest, still partially covered by his open shirt. “You didn’t
ask.” Before Mitch could respond, John continued. “And that’s
good. I knew you’d take charge in the bedroom, and I wasn’t
disappointed.” He gave Mitch a kiss—complete with more of that
amazing tongue action—that had Mitch back on the edge again.

“Stop,” Mitch panted, pulling away. He had to blink a few

times to clear his vision, which had started to grey around the edges.

He and John had kissed a number of times before, but

these kisses…they were on a whole other level.

Back came John’s smirk. “Okay, big guy.” He looked down

at Mitch’s crotch. “Very big guy. Where’d you keep the stuff?”

136

“Stuff?” Mitch asked stupidly.
“Condoms and lube.”
He’d never used commercial lubricant—it probably hadn’t

been invented the last time he’d had sex. He and Ben had
always used whatever was handy. And as for condoms, he was
a werebear and couldn’t get sick. Nor again, Mitch doubted,
would condoms have been around in their current form when he
last had sex.

He felt stupid, old, and out of touch.
“Sorry, it’s more my fault than yours,” John said, touching

the frown lines Mitch assumed were on his face. “I should have
gotten the supplies after KFC. But I was so taken with your, what
did you call it? Your caveman act to think ahead.”

Mitch doubted John would accept his word that he was

clear of all diseases and couldn’t catch any if one should be
introduced. “I didn’t think, either.”

“It’s okay.” John kissed Mitch, this time it was soft and

tender, meant to reassure and calm. “There’s still plenty we can
do. Besides,” John looked down at Mitch’s dick, which was
starting to flag, “I’ll probably need to work my way up to taking
that bad boy.”

Mitch grinned, pleased at the compliment and relieved

that he’d still get to shoot a load.

And shoot he did. More than once.

137

Chapter 12

Even though his bladder was telling him it needed to be

emptied, John was much too comfortable pressed up against
Mitch’s warm, hairy chest to want to move. Mitch was like a huge
hot water bottle with muscles.

He’d already known from the evenings they’d spent

together that Mitch was a cuddler. Last night, after they’d had
sex—no, made love—Mitch had pulled John to him and had
wrapped himself around John so tight John had known there was
no escape. But then escape had been the last thing on his mind.

John wondered what time it was. It had to be late morning

given the position of the sun streaming through the window. He
tried to look around Mitch’s bedroom for a clock without
disturbing the still-sleeping giant, who had both arms and one leg
wrapped around him.

“Don’t leave,” Mitch mumbled, pulling John even tighter to

his chest.

From the man’s regular, deep breathing, John guessed

Mitch was still asleep. Odd how he could be so aware of John
even while unconscious. Though was that so unusual? Even
though John had had one of the best and most restful sleeps
since before George’s death, Mitch’s unique smell, warmth, and
indefinable presence had permeated his dreams. Although the
images were fading, John recalled having had another dream
about Teddy. He wasn’t sure, but John thought he’d somehow
been a bear in the dream, too. He wasn’t quite sure where Mitch
had fit in, he just knew that he had.

George. John still missed the man, but the pain seemed

less, more distant somehow. Thankfully, he didn’t feel any
gnawing pangs of guilt at sleeping with Mitch. It remained to be
seen if Mitch would be similarly guilt-free when he woke. And
speaking of, things were getting more desperate down below.

Twisting his head up, John looked at the sleeping man’s

bearded face. It maybe wasn’t handsome in the classical sense,
but John thought it fit the man perfectly. The face, even in sleep,
showed inner strength and determination. It also had a softer

138

side, one John knew Mitch tried to hide from those Mitch feared
might hurt him.

John’s heart overflowed with feelings for this gentle,

wonderful man. But if he didn’t move very soon, something else
would be overflowing.

“Mitch.”
The man snorted but didn’t wake.
“Mitch, let me loose. I need to go!” John shook the man’s

right shoulder.

“No!” Mitch’s grip tightened, almost becoming painful.
It took John a second or two to understand what was

going on. The man was still asleep, maybe he was dreaming of
John. That was touching, but John needed the loo, urgently.

Kissing the area over Mitch’s rapidly beating heart, the

only thing of Mitch he could reach given the man’s death grip,
John said, “Wake up. I need to go to the loo, the bathroom, uh,
the john.”

Mitch’s grip lessened. John moved up the huge body and

kissed Mitch’s strangely troubled eyes. John didn’t have time to
wonder about that, he needed to leave, now!

“Back in a minute.”
Before releasing his hold completely, Mitch gave John a

slow kiss that had John boning up.

“Gee, thanks,” John said, standing up and thumping his

dick. “No chance of peeing now.”

“Come back to bed then.” Mitch rose up as if to snatch

John, but the smaller man dodged out of the way.

“No way. Unless you want wet sheets. And no,” John

thought it wise to mention, “I’m not into golden showers and all
that stuff.”

Mitch smiled. “Good, ‘cause I’m not either.”
John went in search of the bathroom. It wasn’t hard to

find. The cottages were small and seemed to all be laid out in the
same way.

As he stood over the toilet, willing his erection to go down,

John thought about the evening before. Of how Mitch had carried
him up to bed, had taken his clothes off, had treated him with

139

respect, but had left no doubt as to who was in charge. John had
to admit he’d been a bit naughty in presenting a challenge to this
naturally-assumed dominance, but far from putting Mitch off, it
had spurred him on. Maybe it was for the best they hadn’t had
access to condoms. Was John ready to ride such a huge pole?
His arse tightened involuntarily at the thought of trying to
accommodate something so large.

“Shit!” John looked down at his dick; it was harder than ever.
He tried to think of something that would help it go down.

Waves crashing on the shore didn’t help. They reminded John of
Teddy. Although John wasn’t sexually attracted to the bear, he
still found the animal magnificent and powerful. There was a tiny
bit of regret that John hadn’t been able to see Teddy last night,
but there would be other nights, or would there? Would Mitch
want John in his bed every night? Did John want to be in Mitch’s
bed every night? He couldn’t afford to get too close. John would
be going back home to London in early September.

Thoughts of leaving Cornwall, Morwenna, Teddy, and

especially Mitch had John’s dick going as soft as month-old
celery. Why John had thought of that particular salad vegetable
he wasn’t sure.

After peeing, John flushed and washed his hands. He

would have liked to have brushed his teeth; his breath had to
smell of Mitch’s cum. Running his tongue around his mouth,
John could still taste the man’s essence. Heck, Mitch had
pumped out such prodigious loads, it was a wonder John hadn’t
drowned.

Spying a half-full bottle of mouthwash, John decided that

would have to do. As he gargled he marvelled at how he’d
thought of the bottle as half full. A few weeks ago he’d have
believed it to be half empty.

Padding back into the bedroom, John froze in the

doorway. Mitch had kicked off the sheet and was lying on his
back, stroking his impressive erection.

Turning his head to face John, Mitch winked. “Thought I’d

start without you.”

John’s dick led the way back to the bed where Mitch pulled

140

their bodies together, sealing the contact with a long, deep kiss.

“Missed me?” John eventually asked when Mitch had

released his mouth long enough to draw breath.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Mitch’s smile had John’s

insides going all warm and squishy.

But despite how good he was feeling, there was

something John needed to ask. It would probably kill the mood,
but it needed addressing. “You’re okay, about last night? No
feelings of guilt?”

Mitch’s face took on a look of concentration. “I know a part of

me will always belong to Ben, just as I know a bit of you will always
be George’s. But, no,” Mitch’s expression cleared, “I’m okay, more
than okay, with what we did last night. What about you?”

John kissed him. “What you said, I couldn’t have put it

better myself.”

They smiled at each other, touched, kissed some more

and, after a brief wrestling match, which of course Mitch won
easily, they each enjoyed another spectacular orgasm.

John sighed and snuggled closer to Mitch’s warm, hairy

bulk. He rested his head on Mitch’s left chest, closed his eyes,
and listened to the soothing sound of the big man’s steady
heartbeat. He felt more content, safe, and secure than he could
ever remember.

“Penny for them?” Mitch asked sometime later.
John began to idly run his fingers through Mitch’s damp

chest hair. What could he tell the man without coming across as
a clingy, pathetic, and overly-sentimental sap? Then he thought
of something that was on his mind, and was safe to disclose.
“Should I feel guilty for not feeling guilty?”

Mitch kissed the top of John’s head. “You’re thinking too

much. But then I’m a fine one to talk.”

“Morwenna thinks George is watching over me. I’m not

sure I agree with that. I don’t understand all that mystical and
magical claptrap. Not sure I want to.”

Mitch’s stomach muscles tensed.
“You okay?” John asked, pausing his chest hair play.
“Just a bit ticklish there is all.”

141

“Sorry.” John removed his hand, but Mitch put it back.
“I like it. What were you saying about Morwenna and

getting through to George?”

“I don’t know.” John shook his head. “I’ve always thought

that things like that should be left alone.”

“Did Morwenna getting through to George help you?”
John didn’t answer immediately because he wasn’t sure if

ultimately it had helped or not. He was still without George
physically in his life.

“What about the missing tie slide? Didn’t you say not

knowing where it had gone had been bothering you?” He rubbed
circles on John’s back.

“True,” John conceded. “And if I did believe what

Morwenna was saying…about George watching over me, then
maybe I can believe that he approves—of you, I mean.”

John was lifted until they were face to face, John

surprised at Mitch’s serious expression.

“John, I…” Mitch swallowed, then his stomach let out a

loud rumble. “Think we need to have breakfast.”

“Okay.” John knew that wasn’t what Mitch had been about

to say, but let it go. Mitch was a very private man, and he’d tell
John what he wanted to say when he was ready.

“It’s half past ten. Normally I would’ve eaten hours ago.

But then, normally I wouldn’t have a handsome man in my bed.”

“Not handsome,” John protested, wondering again how

Mitch always seemed to know what time it was.

“Are, too.” Mitch kissed John on the lips. This was

accompanied by another stomach rumble. “As my guest, I insist
you stay for breakfast.”

John had no problem agreeing to that. Privately, he

worried that he’d broken his semi-regular breakfast date with
Morwenna. But given the late hour, he was sure the woman had
already eaten.

Mitch leapt out of bed and, before John knew what was

happening, he’d been snatched up, thrown over Mitch’s shoulder
and carried downstairs.

“We’re both naked!” John protested.

142

John received a smack to his bottom prior to it being set

down on a cold, wooden, kitchen chair.

“Naked looks good on you,” Mitch said, kissing John’s

lips. “Now, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

John looked at Mitch’s own naked body, his eyes soon

gravitating to the man’s impressive dick. “I prefer sausage.”

* * * *

“None of this makes any sense.” Mitch rubbed at his eyes

to wipe away the confusion of letters swimming around his head.
He couldn’t understand why bear looked similar to ear, but didn’t
sound the same. Whereas beer, which didn’t look like ear, did.

Mitch had made lunch for John and himself. As the sun

was out they’d decided to eat and study in Mitch’s back yard.

John put a comforting hand on Mitch’s arm. “English is

originally a Germanic language but has many different influences
laid over the top of it. Latin, Greek, French. Each of these has
different spelling and grammar rules.”

Mitch shook his head, doubting he’d ever get the hang of

it all.

“Mitch.” John sighed.
From the man’s sigh, Mitch figured John was growing

tired of his endless bellyaching.

“How long have you been learning to read?”
Mitch knew John already knew the answer, as he’d taken

Mitch to the college for each of the three classes.

“A week.”
“Exactly. How long did it take you to become proficient at

making wooden furniture?”

Mitch knew where John was going. “That’s not the same

thing.” Carpentry was logical, a dovetail was a dovetail. It didn’t
become something different if it was put somewhere else on a
piece of furniture.

“It’s similar, yes. Could you make a chair or a table after

your first week of training?”

Mitch recalled the mess he’d made of his first piece, his

143

first few pieces. But his dad had been patient with him, just as
John was being now. There was one big difference in their
teaching methods however. When Mitch had cut a piece of wood
to the correct length his dad had smiled or patted him on the
back. When Mitch wrote a word correctly or read a sentence
without a mistake, John would give him a kiss.

“You can’t expect to be able to read Shakespearian verse

after just a week.”

“You mean like, ‘to be or not to be?’” He’d heard that on

the radio once and thought how it didn’t make much sense.

“I was actually thinking of ‘shall I compare thee to a

summer’s day?’” John took Mitch’s hand and brought it to his
lips. “‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’” He kissed
each of Mitch’s knuckles. “‘Rough winds do shake the darling
buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date.’”

Mitch swallowed. He didn’t understand all of what John

had quoted, but he did get that summer didn’t last forever. And
when it was over, so would the…whatever it was that he and
John shared.

John was still talking. Mitch knew he’d missed hearing

some of the poem. “‘…But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor
lose possession of that fair thou ow’st.’”

What did that mean? Could summer last forever? Mitch

wished with everything he had that it could. Then John wouldn’t
have to leave, he could stay here where Mitch and Teddy would
take care of him, love him…

“‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long

lives this and this gives life to thee.’” John bowed his head over
Mitch’s hand and kissed it once again.

“Thank you,” Mitch said quietly. Not wanting to show his

ignorance, he didn’t say more.

“You know, it’s widely accepted that Shakespeare wrote

that for a man.”

“Really?”
“What Shakespeare is saying is that the subject of the

sonnet is more beautiful than the summer and will last longer
than the summer. In fact, people will remember the man’s beauty

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for as long as the poem survives.”

Was John telling him that what they had would last longer

than the summer? Mitch couldn’t ask. He was too scared of the
answer. John, even if he didn’t know it, held Mitch’s heart.

“Mitch? Where’d you go?”
Mitch looked up from their joined hands to John’s face.

“Did you study that poem in school?”

John nodded. “And at university, too.”
It stood to reason that John had been to college. The man

was so smart, way smarter than him.

“Don’t even go there, Mitchell Benjamin,” John warned,

squeezing his hand.

It was scary how the man could read his mind sometimes.

“I need you. Need you to teach me, to help me, to…” Mitch
swallowed.

“I’m here. I know you don’t think so, but you’re doing really

well. Remember what Brian said at the end of the last session.
It’s okay to move a page or two ahead of the group if you feel
comfortable with it. And you’re two pages ahead.”

“Because I have you helping me.” He needed to grasp

what knowledge he could while John was still here. When the
man left…Mitch didn’t know if he’d have the heart or the
motivation to continue on his own. Needing to change the subject,
Mitch asked, “Can we go out somewhere tonight after class?”

John nodded. “Where did you want to go?”
“Are there any gay bars in Newquay?”
“One or two, I think. Why? You tired of me and want to

check out some fresh meat?”

Mitch launched himself at John, knocking him off his chair.

They both landed on the grass, Mitch trying to contain both his
and Teddy’s roiling emotions. “Hell no!” He said before kissing
the man with as much passion and sincerity as he could muster.

“I was joking,” John said breathlessly when Mitch released

their lip-lock.

“Don’t joke about that. Please.”
Mitch rolled off John, feeling foolish for his outburst. A few

drops of rain began to fall. Looking up, he saw dark clouds

145

moving in. Shit, that was all he needed to totally kill the mood,
even though he’d done a pretty good job of it himself.

“Hey.” John sat up and did the now familiar touch to

Mitch’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I over-reacted. It’s just…” Mitch swallowed and

tried to form the words that would let John know how he felt
without him coming across as too needful and desperate.

“We’d better take this inside.” John got to his feet and held

a hand out to Mitch, who took it. “Telling Brian you can’t hand in
your homework because it got wet probably wouldn’t work.”

“No.” Mitch gathered up his books and his pen.
“But to give a serious answer to your earlier question, I

would be honoured to go to a gay pub with you. Being on the
arm of the best, butchest, biggest, and most built stud there, I’ll
be the envy of every twink in the place.”

Mitch didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought, but if it

made John proud to be seen on his arm, then he’d go all out to
make everyone jealous.

They ran for Mitch’s cottage. Once inside, Mitch told John

he wanted to work on the man’s chair. John decided he’d go
back to his own cottage, saying he’d catch up on some sleep.
“You kept me awake half the night.”

They kissed in Mitch’s kitchen, the urge to beg John to

stay and sleep the afternoon away with him almost impossible
for Mitch to resist. But he had a mission, one that didn’t involve
sleeping or chairs.

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Chapter 13

As he got out of his damp clothes, Mitch reflected on the

events of the past week and at how close he and John had become.

They would eat lunch, then most of the afternoon would be

given over to studying. Their evenings were spent either at the
college with supper out afterward or in one or the other’s cottages
just talking, cuddling and kissing. The nights were the best,
however. For the past week John had slept in Mitch’s bed every
night. They’d gotten up to many things between the sheets, but
John hadn’t brought up the subject again of going all the way.

Looking down at his naked body, Mitch felt Teddy grow

restless. The only problem with spending so much time with
John was that Mitch didn’t have many opportunities to shift. He
could go days without assuming the shape of the bear, had had
to do so on a number of occasions, most notably during the
passage over to England. But Teddy was a big part of Mitch and
he knew it was unfair to keep the bear hidden away. He also
knew he hadn’t been fair to Teddy about John. Teddy loved
John, just as much as Mitch did.

Usually Mitch shifted at night, as there were fewer chances

of being seen. But Mitch’s nights now belonged to John. Looking
out of the window at the rain-darkened afternoon sky, Mitch
decided to risk it. Morwenna had gone to visit her niece in Truro,
and the Admiral had said something about replacing a tea kettle.
The guy was so obsessive, he kept at least one spare of everything
he owned so when it broke he would haul out the reserve appliance
and go out and buy a replacement the same day.

Walking naked downstairs, Mitch opened his back door

and stepped out into the steadily falling rain. Closing his eyes, he
filled his head with a vision of Teddy. Within seconds he felt his
skin prickle as fur started to replace body hair. Next came his
ears, changing shape and moving up his head. His mouth
elongated and grew larger.

Dropping to all fours, the bones in his shoulders snapped

and reformed. His fingers shrank and formed claws. Once started,
Mitch’s transformation speeded up as it swept along his body.

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The bear opened his eyes and quickly took in his

surroundings. Sniffing the clean, damp air, he ambled around the
side of the cottage to glance over at John’s cottage. All seemed
well, so the bear negotiated the steps down onto the beach and
ran, seemingly for miles, his head filled with nothing more than
the wind and the rain. It was just what he needed after being
caged inside his human for days on end.

Eventually believing he’d gone far enough—there was

always the danger of being seen if he strayed onto a public
beach—the bear turned back for home, deciding on a more
loping pace to get there.

As he moved past John’s cottage, the bear could sense

something was wrong, that John was sad. This troubled the
bear. He approached the cottage, his human warning him
against getting too close. It was daylight after all.

Peeking through the window, the bear spied John sitting

on his sofa, the flat, thin reading device in one hand while the
other wiped tears from his eyes.

The bear could understand that it was something John

was reading that was making him sad. This wasn’t as bad as
being sad over some real event. But even so, the bear felt a
deep need to offer comfort. Each time he and John had been
together, the bear had managed to cheer John up, make him feel
better. Make them both feel better.

His human fighting inside of him not to do it, the bear

walked around to the cottage’s front door and pressed the door
bell button with his nose.

“Teddy!”
The bear knew that the look of pleased surprise on John’s

face alone was worth all the hassle his human would give him
later. It served his human right for keeping him away from John.

“Oh, wow. I’ve never seen you in daylight before.” John

looked up at the dark sky. “If you can call this daylight. Hell, it’s
supposed to be August, and look at it.”

The bear relaxed and assumed a sitting position, John’s

chatter flowing over his fur. It felt so right being with the man.

“Your eyes. They really are blue. I know I’ve seen them

148

with the battery lantern in the cave, but you can never trust
artificial light.”

Inside, the bear could feel his human was panicking,

urging the bear to run. But the bear remained seated; he
wouldn’t be denied his time with John.

Physically, the only thing the bear and his human shared

were their eyes. It would serve his human right if John made the
connection. It would certainly speed things up. The bear had
grown tired of his human’s inability to claim John, show him what
he was, show him what he could do for John.

“Oh, wow, it’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed you

so much these past few days.”

The bear had missed John, too.
“Oh dear, listen to me prattling on and you sitting there

wet and getting wetter by the second.” John stood back and held
the door wide. “You must think I’m a terrible host. Please, Teddy,
come in. You should fit through, just, I think.”

The bear hadn’t expected to be invited inside. He didn’t

really care for confined spaces, preferring the open air. But the
look of hope on John’s face had the bear moving forward.

“That’s it,” John smiled. “Just come in gently, I don’t want

you hurting yourself, or any of Morwenna’s furniture. Gosh, I
wonder what she’d say if she knew I’d invited you inside.”

The bear had managed to squeeze through the door and

was standing awkwardly in John’s kitchen. Taking a look around,
everything seemed smaller than when he viewed it in his human
shape.

“Come through into the living room. I think that door is a

bit wider so you shouldn’t have any trouble. I’ll just move the sofa
out of the way to make it easier.”

The bear followed John.
“I’d light a fire, but that might scare you.” Turning to the

bear, John asked, “Have you ever seen fire?”

The bear had, and he didn’t like it. His human, on the

other hand, thought snuggling up with someone special in front
of a fire was the best thing ever.

“I need to get you dry. Oh dear. Don’t suppose you’d like

149

a hair dryer, either, and it’d probably take too long anyway.”

The bear felt perfectly comfortable as he was, although he

realised it probably wasn’t considered polite to come into
someone’s den and drip water on their floor.

“I’ll just go upstairs and get a few towels. That okay?”
It sounded okay to the bear.
“You won’t leave will you?” John reached out and petted

the bear’s face, something he often did to the bear’s human. The
bear realised he liked it as much as his human did.

“No, of course you won’t.” John withdrew his hand and

smiled down at the bear. “Oh, Teddy, it’s so good to see you
again.” The man blinked away a few tears, but the bear knew it was
because he was happy. “Back in a minute. Make yourself at home.”

The bear watched John run up the stairs, hoping the man

didn’t fall and hurt himself. The bear sat; he wasn’t going
anywhere, despite his human’s insistence he leave.

The bear looked back at the door to the outside, knowing

that even if he did want to go, he wouldn’t be able to work the
latch. This sent his human into resigned silence, the bear glad
he’d be able to enjoy John’s company without being constantly
nagged.

“Here we are,” John said, coming into view, his arms full

of towels.

When John jumped the last three steps the bear stood,

ready to come to the rescue. John had already proved he wasn’t
very stable on his two legs.

But the man landed safely and the bear relaxed.
“Okay, how do we do this?” John said, setting down the

mound of towels. “Let’s start with your head.” He picked up one
of the towels and unfolded it. “Don’t be scared, Teddy, I’m going
to lay this over your head and then start rubbing you dry, okay?”

The bear didn’t move. The feel of the towel against his fur

was quite pleasant, in fact; he tilted his head so John could more
easily rub at his left ear.

“You like that, boy?” John chuckled, giving him an extra rub.
The bear knew doing something to help someone made

John happy. That was probably one of the reasons why he’d

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agreed to help the bear’s human to read. Also, the bear knew—
because he’d heard John say so—that he helped because he
loved his human. And the human side of the bear’s nature loved
John back, too. Not that the man side of him would ever admit it.

The bear growled at his human’s pathetic attempts to

mate with John.

“You okay?” John pulled the towel off. “I suppose it’s time to

dry the rest of you. But first.” John leaned in and kissed the bear on
the lips. “There. I wouldn’t kiss just any old bear, you know.”

The bear made a chuffing sound. This man was so sweet

and special. The bear’s human was stupid not to have claimed
him already.

“Okay, neck next,” John said, discarding one towel in

favour of another. “Wow, your fur here is so thick. Bet it takes
ages to dry normally.”

It did, not that it bothered the bear overmuch.
Slowly, and taking infinite care, John dried all of the bear’s

upper body and legs, even reaching underneath now and again,
although that part of his fur had stayed relatively dry.

“I think you’ll do,” John eventually said, sitting back on his

haunches and looking over the bear, a smile playing on his lips.
“You really are beautiful.”

The bear grunted.
“Oh, yes you are. Don’t you argue with me,” John said,

wagging his finger. He got to his feet. “I’ll just take these upstairs,
then I’ll get something for you to eat.”

The bear wasn’t sure about John feeding him, but as it

gave the man so much pleasure, he decided he’d eat whatever
was served to him.

“I know I have a few tins of tuna in the cupboard,” John

said, coming back downstairs—thankfully more slowly than the
first time. “There was a special offer on them at the supermarket.
They’re in brine, I hope that’s okay.”

That didn’t bother the bear. He ate food directly from the

sea all the time.

John moved toward the kitchen. “But then, you eat fresh

fish and stuff from the sea, so you’ll be used to the salt.”

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The bear wondered if John could understand his thoughts.

He hoped so. That was one disadvantage of being in his bear
form; he couldn’t talk. It had never been a problem before, but if
his human finally did get a clue with claiming John, then it might
start to become one. Grunts and especially growls would most
likely be misunderstood, and the bear didn’t want John to think
he was angry or upset when he was trying to communicate
something positive.

John emptied six cans of tuna fish into a large bowl.

“Don’t suppose you’d want mayonnaise with this.”

The bear didn’t think he’d like that.
“No, maybe not. You probably shouldn’t eat human food.

This fish is cooked; I hope that’s okay. I know you’d normally eat
it raw.”

John set the bowl on the floor and stepped back. The bear

approached the bowl and gave the contents a sniff. It smelled
okay, if different. John was right, he was used to eating his food
uncooked.

“There,” John said when the bear had licked the bowl

clean. “Like that? Sorry I don’t have any more. Maybe I could
find something else though, if you’re still hungry.”

The bear didn’t need anything else, but didn’t want to

appear ungrateful. He turned his head and looked in the direction
of the living room.

“You want to go back in there and maybe talk a little?”
The bear turned around and walked into the other room,

behind him he heard John picking up the bowl, rinsing it and
filling it with fresh water.

“Just in case you get thirsty later,” John said, coming into

the room and sitting on the sofa. “You probably wondered where
I’ve been. Is that why you came looking for me?”

The bear sat in front of John and gently rested a paw in

his lap.

“Well, see, I’ve been with Mitch. He’s the man who keeps

some clothes in your cave.” John began to stroke the fur on the
leg. “The more time I spend with him…” The man sighed. “the
more time I want to spend with him. Does that make any sense?”

152

The bear tilted his head. He agreed with the words, and

knew his human did, too, although he would never admit it.

“I’ve only known him what, five weeks? But I think I love him.

Silly, because he could do a lot better than a weakling like me.”

The bear let out a soft growl.
John looked momentarily startled, but soon settled down.

“He could, trust me. But I know, from things he’s said, that he at
least likes me. I think it’s more than that, but…” He sighed again
and looked directly into the bear’s eyes. “He hasn’t asked me
again if he can, uh, mate me. I know if he’d ask I’d say yes. Even
though he’s kinda big. What do I mean, ‘kind of?’ He’s bloody
huge. But, despite his size—I mean his body size—I bet he could
be gentle. Just like you. You’re massive, you could have hurt me,
maybe even killed me, but you didn’t. You’re a gentle giant.”

The bear leaned forward to lick John’s face. At least he no

longer tasted of the vinegar stuff he’d put on for his sunburn.

“Thanks, Teddy. I knew you’d understand.”
John then went on to talk about how he was helping the

bear’s human to learn to read and write, and how proud John
was of his human’s achievements. The bear hoped his human
was listening; he’d been quiet for some time.

“I hope he’ll stick at it once I go back to London. Part of

me wants to stay here to make sure he keeps on studying.”

The bear pricked up his ears.
“But another part of me is scared that he wouldn’t be

interested in anything permanent.”

The bear growled again, trying to make it even softer than

the previous time.

“I can’t ask him if he wants something more long-term,

Teddy. I just can’t.” John’s head sank to his chest.

The bear withdrew his paw and opened his mouth to try a

whimper. It ended up sounding more like a cough. Giving up on
vocalisations, the bear leaned forward and licked John’s face
once again.

“Did anyone ever tell you that your tongue is really

rough?” John said with a smile. “And you’ve still got a breath
problem.”

153

The bear was glad he’d at least lifted the man’s mood.
“I thought about inviting Mitch to come back with me to

London, but…” John shook his head and sighed. “Mitch is
definitely a country mouse, uh, man, and I’m more of a town
mouse.”

The bear tilted his head; he didn’t understand.
“Sorry.” John leaned forward and rubbed the fur on the

bear’s chest. “The country mouse and the town mouse are
characters in one of Aesop’s fables. They’re children’s stories. I
read them to my nieces sometimes when they come to see me. I
like reading to people. George always said I was a natural
performer.” He smiled. “I don’t know about that. I’d like to read to
Mitch, but I don’t want him to think I’m rubbing it in that I can
read and he can’t yet.”

The bear wanted John to read to him. He found the man’s

voice soothing, even if he didn’t always understand everything
he said. But how to convince him to do it? The bear stared at
John, wanting him to understand.

“I recorded a few stories onto tape for my nieces. Well, I say

tape, it’s all digital these days. My sister says they play the
recordings all the time. I’m sure that’ll fade once they’re able to read
for themselves. But until then, it’s nice to be needed, you know?”

The bear continued to stare.
“Want me to read something to you?”
The bear perked up his ears and made a chuffing noise.
John smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Silly idea.”
The bear sighed, frustrated he couldn’t get his message

across.

“Besides,” John continued, “the story I’m reading at the

moment is a bit naughty. Heck, it’s a lot naughty. It’s quite sad in
parts, too. I was at a sad bit when you rang the bell. That was
really clever, by the way.” He paused and frowned. “Why are you
looking at me like that? It was clever. Are you one of those bears
that can’t accept a compliment?”

The bear sighed again. John was drifting off topic.
“What? Do you want to leave? I’m probably boring you.

Sorry. I know I can talk too much.” John got up, walked into the

154

kitchen, and opened the door.

The bear stayed where he was.
“Okay, sorry I misunderstood,” John said coming back into

the living room. “I really enjoy your company, but I know you’re
sort of out of your depth, so whenever you want to leave, just go
up to the door and I’ll let you out, okay?”

The bear thought the direct approach was the only

avenue left open to him. He stood and walked to the far end of
the sofa where John’s book machine was. He knew the thing
would be too delicate for him to pick up in his mouth so he began
to nudge it with his nose across the cushion toward John.

“You do want me to read something to you?”
The bear sat and nodded his head.
“Oh, okay, but I don’t know what you’d like. You’re not a

child, and I wouldn’t insult you by treating you as one. You’re a
bear.” The man smiled then. “You know, in the gay community
we call big hairy men, like Mitch, bears. I’ve got some stories on
here,” he tapped the device, “that are written about men like me
falling in love with men like Mitch. They’re naughty. Would me
reading a naughty book be too embarrassing for you?

The bear snorted.
“These sorts of books have an age rating for over

eighteens.” He studied the bear. “I think you’re over eighteen.”

The bear leaned forward and licked John’s nose. The

‘naughty book’ sounded great to him, and who knew, his human
might enjoy it, too.

“Silly bear,” John said, wiping his nose. “Okay, here

goes.” He tapped the front of the device, the bear watching as it
filled with words. Looking up, John said, “Are you sitting
comfortably?”

The bear decided to lie down facing John.
“Okay, guess you’re comfortable now.” He slid his

stockinged feet under the bear’s chest. “Now I’m comfortable, too.”

* * * *

“Jimmy’s hips crashed into Carl’s buns one last time

155

before he emptied his grade A USM bear spunk into the warm,
milking channel that was Carl’s ass.

“Carl reached for his leaking dick and, after only a couple

of strokes, painted his smooth chest with rivers of steaming hot
twink juice.”

Teddy stood and stretched. If John wasn’t very much

mistaken, the bear had an erection. John knew he did.

Teddy walked to the kitchen door, sat, then looked over a

massive shoulder at John. Remembering his promise to let
Teddy go whenever he wanted to leave, John set aside his
Kindle, got to his feet, and glanced at his wristwatch.

“Heavens, is it that late? I need to get ready to take Mitch

to the college.”

Then he remembered they were going out afterward. That

would mean he’d need to bathe and change.

Just before letting Teddy go, John knelt in front of him and

gave him a hug around his thick neck. “Love you, Teddy. Please
come visit me again soon. I’ll talk Mitch into maybe going back to
your cave one night, and…I want him to meet you. That okay?”

The bear continued to sit there.
John kissed Teddy on the lips. The bear returned the

favour by licking the bottom half of John’s face.

“You’re sweet.” John shook his head. “And I’m getting

used to that rough tongue of yours,” he said, wiping his mouth
with his hand.

Reluctantly, John got to his feet and opened the door.

Just before crossing the threshold, Teddy looked back over his
shoulder.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Please know you’re always

welcome here.”

The bear continued to regard him. Maybe he was

reluctant to go.

“I’ll see if I can get some food that’s more bear-appropriate.”
The bear grunted then ambled out, John watching him

until he descended the cliff steps and went out of sight. Even
then, John continued to watch, marvelling at what a truly magical
afternoon he’d had.

156

Realising he was wasting time he didn’t have, John

glanced over at Mitch’s cottage before closing his door.

* * * *

After taking a quick bath—having to dry himself on one of

the towels he’d used on Teddy—John looked through the few
items of clothing he’d brought with him. There wasn’t anything
particularly suited to going out on the town. He hadn’t expected
to be doing that sort of thing when he’d packed. Choosing a pale
green, long-sleeved shirt and some tan slacks that George had
always said showed off his arse, John sat on the bed and began
to dress, all the while thinking about Teddy and what he might be
doing that evening. He really needed to talk to Mitch about
meeting and getting to know the bear. He was sure the two of
them would get on really well.

“Shit! Look at the time.” John finished getting dressed,

snatched up his wallet, mobile phone, and car keys.

Racing down the stairs, he ran out the kitchen door, not

bothering to lock it after him.

A quick jog down his garden path, across the road, and up

Mitch’s path had John at Mitch’s door only a couple of minutes
later than they’d agreed. John hated being late for anything; it
always unsettled him.

No sooner had he knocked on the door than it began to

open. “Sorry I’m a bit late, Teddy came to see…” The rest of his
words died in his throat.

Mitch, who looked good in practically anything he wore,

was stunning in his current outfit of a black leather biker’s jacket,
the front of which was unzipped to reveal the dark blue silk shirt
he’d refused to wear since that rainy night. A studded, black
leather belt was wrapped around the waistband of a pair of black
jeans that seemed so tight across Mitch’s hips and thighs they
didn’t look as though they needed any help from a belt to keep
them in place. John wondered if Mitch had had to oil his legs to
slide into the jeans. Mitch’s bad-boy-biker look was completed by
a pair of tall boots made of the shiniest of black leather.

157

“John?” Mitch asked, snapping John out of his fantasies of

licking Mitch from head to foot, both before and after undressing him.

John swallowed. “If you were planning on seducing Brian

into giving you a good grade with that outfit, then you’re
guaranteed an A”

Mitch smiled. “It isn’t Brian I plan on seducing tonight.”

Mitch’s right arm reached out, snaked behind John’s back and
pulled him against Mitch’s solid chest.

John forgot to breathe, forgot his own name as Mitch’s

lips claimed his in one of the hungriest kisses the two of them
had shared.

His ears still ringing with the sound of his blood pumping

through them, John felt himself being lifted off his feet and
carried down the garden path.

“I can walk, you know,” John panted, still dazed at

everything that was happening.

“I know,” was Mitch’s simple reply.
Setting him down next to the driver’s door, Mitch patted

John’s arse before nonchalantly sauntering over to the
passenger’s side, waggling his arse with every step.

“And just how do you expect me to drive with a dick that’s

so hard it’ll catch in the steering wheel?”

Mitch leaned over the roof of the car and licked his lips.

“Want me to take care of it before we leave?”

The offer was tempting, very tempting, but John didn’t

want Mitch to be late.

158

Chapter 14

As he was being driven to the college, Mitch only half

listened while John talked about his afternoon with Teddy.

“It was wonderful! I was amazed he agreed to come inside

my cottage.”

Mitch knew he’d have to sound suitably shocked. “That

probably wasn’t wise. This bear…”

“Teddy,” John insisted.
Mitch sighed. “Teddy is a wild animal and you could have

been seriously hurt.”

“Rubbish. Teddy’s really gentle with me. I’ve slept with him

a few times—you know all this.” John sent Mitch a confused look.

Mitch realised he was giving John mixed messages. He,

too, had been surprised that Teddy would go inside John’s
cottage. Mitch guessed it was because he’d been kept away
from John for too long and Teddy’s need to be with the human
had overridden his usual caution. Heck, Mitch couldn’t ever
remember his bear approaching a human before, much less kiss
one or be towel dried by one. Right from the very start, Teddy
had recognised something in John that Mitch was scared to
acknowledge: that Mitch, Teddy, and John belonged together.

The encounter that afternoon still weighed heavily on

Mitch’s mind. Through Teddy, he’d learned more about what
John thought of him. What could he, should he do with that
information? Mitch could ask John to come live with him in
Cornwall and was pretty certain now the man would agree. The
big question still remained, however: would John be willing to be
with Mitch when he learned Teddy was part of the package? And
if by some miracle John could accept Mitch for who he was,
would it be fair to ask him to leave the life and career he had in
London to come live in a remote area of the country? It would be
unlikely the man could get a job paying as much as Mitch
imagined John currently earned.

“So I put on a CD and Teddy and I danced a tango on the

ceiling.”

“That’s nice,” Mitch said.

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What he and John shared now was wonderful, perfect

even. Could it last? Would John soon get bored with country
ways? What had he told Teddy about that children’s story?

“Mitch! You’re not listening.”
“Huh?” Mitch looked around. They were just passing the

last of the houses in St Duncan’s. “Sorry. I was thinking about
my class.”

“You shouldn’t be worried. You’re doing really well. Brian’s

pleased with your progress.”

“Uh huh.” Mitch knew it had been a lame save; they’d

already had this conversation.

“And in that sexy as sin outfit, you’ll be pleasing him even

more.”

“Who?”
“Brian. Your tutor. You wearing that bad-ass biker gear

will be guaranteed to get his engine revved up.”

“Already told you I didn’t wear it for him.” Hadn’t they gone

through all this back at the cottage? Was he so out of it that he’d
imagined the conversation?

John’s hand wandered across the console to stroke

Mitch’s leg. “You know who’s really going to be turned on seeing
you wearing these sexy clothes?” He continued before Mitch
could reply. “That woman who always sits behind you in class.
I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

Mitch snorted.
John’s hand moved higher. Mitch spread his legs to allow

the man greater access.

“Shouldn’t you have both hands on the wheel?” Mitch

groaned and pushed up into John’s grasp.

“Probably, but you’re so hot, I can’t help myself.”
And wasn’t that why he’d squeezed into the jeans that he

normally saved for the winter when his body was a bit smaller?
After hearing John’s confessions to Teddy, part of Mitch had
wanted to run away, while a bigger part had wanted to drag John
up to his bedroom and take the man, condoms or no condoms.
But sense had finally won out. Mitch needed to learn how to read
if he was ever to be worthy of belonging to John. So he’d dug

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into his wardrobe and picked out an outfit he knew would drive
his man crazy. However, he’d miscalculated. He was the one
who was going out of his mind with sexual frustration.

For the rest of the journey, John’s roving hand had Mitch

on the edge. At least it stopped him from dwelling on what Teddy
and John had gotten up to earlier.

* * * *

Class was a waste of time. Mitch couldn’t concentrate; he

kept running over what John had said to Teddy. What he and
John had said and done in the car, and what lay ahead for them
in this gay bar they were going to. He’d never been to such a
place. Was it wall-to-wall fucking bodies? If so, he’d have his
work cut out keeping John safe. No one else was getting their
hands—or anything else—on John.

John. Mitch dared not look out of the window at the

cafeteria because he knew he’d see John blowing kisses or
pulling silly faces at him.

John had been right, the woman who sat behind Mitch

showed a great deal of interest in his biker outfit. At one point
she leaned forward and quietly asked Mitch if he’d ridden in on
his Harley. And if so, was there room for her on the back?

The only person who seemed unaffected was Brian, who

doggedly stuck to the textbook. Mitch was only able to follow
along because he and John had gone over the same exercises
earlier in the day. Mitch still didn’t get the whole bear, beer, and
ear thing, though.

At last Brian closed his book and wished the class a

happy weekend and he’d see them all again Monday night.

Mitch shot out of his chair and beat everyone to the door,

where John—his date for the evening—was waiting.

* * * *

Mitch couldn’t say if he was relieved or disappointed that

the inside of the gay bar wasn’t anything like what he’d expected.

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At first glance it seemed like any regular bar.

“What do you want to drink?” John asked.
“My treat,” Mitch insisted, trying to pull his wallet out of his

front jeans pocket—no easy task given how tight the darn things
were.

“Need a hand there, big guy?” A young man asked,

seemingly popping up out of nowhere.

Mitch studied the newcomer. He was thin, painfully so. His

hair was black, but looked dyed. He had a side-swooping bang
that covered his right eye. And if Mitch thought his own clothes
were tight, they seemed positively roomy compared with the
ones this guy was wearing. Mitch was amused by the guy’s
obvious interest in him, but this soon changed when he sensed
how uncomfortable John had become.

“I got it,” Mitch said, finally freeing his wallet. And just to

make doubly sure the guy got the message, Mitch put an arm
around John’s waist and pulled him in close.

“Well, if you change your mind,” the man said, pouting.
“He won’t,” John said, giving the man the evil eye. His

look softened when he aimed it at Mitch. “I knew you’d get
noticed in those clothes.”

The clothes had served their intended purpose. John had

hardly been able to keep his hands off Mitch in the car both
before and after class, in the parking lot outside, and now here in
the bar.

“Just for you, sweet man,” Mitch growled.
“Not wanting to rush you two or anything, but I have other

customers waiting,” a male voice broke into their kiss.

Mitch disengaged and saw the barkeeper waiting, none

too patiently. Mitch disliked the guy instantly. He was showing
way too much skin, tattooed skin. And his short-sleeved shirt
was obviously chosen to show off his biceps, which, Mitch was
glad to see, were smaller than his. And to prove his point, Mitch
pumped his guns. Privately, he had to concede the effect was
somewhat lost because of his biker jacket.

“Mitch? What do you want?” John asked, snapping Mitch

out of his staring contest.

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“A pint of your best bitter, and my boyfriend will have a

Coke,” Mitch growled.

“Diet or regular?” the guy asked John. Was his tone softer?
Mitch growled again. He wasn’t sure he could keep Teddy

back…wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Diet, please.” John said. Turning to Mitch, he added,

“Stop it.”

Mitch tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy.
“Do you have any menus?” John asked the barkeep when

he’d set the drinks on the bar in front of them.

“Sure thing, handsome.” The man ducked down behind

the bar, presumably to retrieve the promised menus. If Teddy
and Mitch had any say, he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon
as he’d be laid out on the floor, unconscious.

“Mitch, stop it!” John hissed from the corner of his mouth.
Mitch tried, yet again, to relax. He shouldn’t be this

jealous. John was his—at least for the rest of the summer.

Mitch was proud of himself for giving the man behind the

bar a thank you, two in fact, when he produced the menus and
later Mitch’s change. The words had earned him a smile and a
pat on the back from John, so it was all good.

They moved over to a booth, Mitch waiting for John to get

in first. Then he took off his jacket and sat next to John, who was
reading the menu. Mitch couldn’t help compare this evening with
the first time they’d eaten out together. Although the menu was
mostly beyond his comprehension, Mitch was able to pick out the
odd short word. It gave him an enormous amount of pleasure
that at last he was starting to join the modern world. And it was
all thanks to the man next to him.

“Soap?” Mitch asked, confused.
“Where?” John asked, looking from his menu to Mitch’s.
Mitch pointed.
“Soup,” John said, smiling.
Mitch felt stupid. Yes, of course.
“Hey.” John sat up and kissed Mitch’s cheek. “Easy

mistake to make. Everyone makes ones like that.”

Mitch knew John was just trying to make him feel better.

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“They do. But when you learn more words it’ll get easier.

See,” John pointed back to the page. “It says tomato soup. And just
below it is oxtail soup.” Looking up at Mitch, John continued, “Your
brain would almost instantly figure out that tomato soap or oxtail
soap isn’t right, so it would correct it to tomato or oxtail soup.”

Mitch smiled and nodded. That made sense. He

remembered that one of the women in his class had told her
fellow students about how she’d read a word out wrong and her
husband had mocked her. Yet again, Mitch was grateful for
John’s patience and understanding.

They continued to discuss the items on the menu, Mitch

feeling a lot more a part of the process than he had during their
first meal out. John would point to certain words, explaining what
they were, and breaking the longer ones up, just like Brian had
told them to do.

“So, you going to go up to the bar and order?” John

asked, once they’d decided on what they were having.

“Okay.”
“And, Mitch?” John touched Mitch’s arm before he could

exit the booth. “Leave the barman’s head on. Yes, he’s a bit of a
poseur, but he does what he’s being paid to do.”

Mitch looked at John curiously.
“The management will have picked good-looking musclemen

to work here as eye-candy for the patrons. You see similar things in
some straight pubs. They hire barmaids who are blonde, have big
chests, and…” John shrugged. “Well, you get the idea.”

Mitch nodded.
“I’m no psychologist, but I think some of the rationale

behind employing physically attractive bar staff is because the
management believe that if the customer is made to feel
welcome, flattered, and maybe even flirted with, then he’ll be
likely to come back rather than drink elsewhere.”

“He didn’t flirt with me,” Mitch said, shooting a glare to the

man who was currently talking with a couple at the head of the
short line.

John chuckled. “That’s because, big guy, you intimidated

him.”

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Mitch thought about it. Certainly made sense.
“And there’s a lot here that would intimidate him.” John

ran a hand down Mitch’s front. “This impossibly ripped chest for
starters.” John’s hand then moved to squeeze Mitch’s left bicep.
“Huge strong arms.” John then sat up and kissed Mitch quickly
on the lips. “And last, but by no means least, a beautiful face.”

Mitch shook his head and felt his cheeks heat.
“Trust me. The barman would have taken one look at this

bad boy biker stud who’d strolled into his pub as if he owned the
place and he’d have felt inferior. And that won’t be something
he’ll be used to.”

“You’re good for my ego,” Mitch said, kissing John back.
“All true,” John told him. “I said back at the cottages that

I’d be the envy of every twink here. What I didn’t say was that
you’d also catch the attention of those who think of themselves
as top dogs. One look at you and they’d feel their tails tucking
between their legs.”

Mitch snorted at John’s choice of words.
But those words gave Mitch a lot to think about as he

stood in line at the bar. When he reached the head of the line,
Mitch smiled, told the barkeep, politely, what he and John
wanted to eat. Thinking he should play nice, Mitch then
complimented the man on his muscle definition.

“Thanks, man.” The guy, who asked Mitch to call him

Gary, smiled. “Means a lot coming from a stud as built as you.”

Mitch did a quick flex for the guy.
“Damn. You must spend half your life in the gym to get a

body like that. What’s your secret?”

Mitch smiled to himself, knowing Gary wouldn’t believe

him if he revealed it. “Just good genes.”

Back at their table, Mitch continued to feel good about

himself. Without John’s influence, Mitch knew he’d have
probably picked a fight with Gary as a show of dominance, but
instead he’d found himself quite liking the guy.

But that will change in an instant if he so much as looks at

John inappropriately.

Their food soon arrived, served by Gary, which Mitch

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thought odd, as most other tables had been serviced by the
painfully thin guy they’d encountered on first entering.

“Enjoy, gentlemen,” Gary said, smiling at John and

nodding at Mitch.

Mitch cut into his steak, which had been cooked rare, as

he’d insisted. John seemed to be enjoying his pasta dish, the
name of which Mitch had had to practice saying before going up
to the bar to order it.

“Want to try some?” John asked.
Mitch realised he must have been staring at John’s plate.

“Okay.” He cleared a small area on his own plate, but unlike the
first time they’d eaten out, John held out the forkful of food for
Mitch to eat directly from the silverware.

“Good?” John asked, once Mitch had chewed and

swallowed.

“Yeah, not bad.”
But what had been even better was that John had fed it to

him. Mitch’s right hand went under the table to adjust himself.
There was little room in his jeans, even less when he threw wood.

The glint in John’s eye let Mitch know the man was aware

of the effect he’d had.

Two can play this game, buster, Mitch thought, cutting a

small piece of steak and holding his fork out to John, who
opened his mouth to allow Mitch to feed him. The way the man
sucked on the fork, chewed his food and then swallowed had
Mitch in even greater discomfort.

“Everything okay?” Gary chose that moment to visit their

table.

“Couldn’t be better,” John said, smirking.
Mitch glowered at John, who smiled innocently back at him.
As they ate, Mitch became increasingly convinced John

had a direct line of communication to his groin. No sooner would
Mitch’s dick start to soften, John’s fork would be loaded and
offered to him, and it would spring back to life.

“You in a hurry or something?” John asked, that wicked

gleam still in his eye. “I’ve only eaten half mine, and you’ve
almost finished yours.”

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“We’ll ask for a doggy bag,” Mitch growled.
“What, don’t you want dessert?”
John’s teasing was too much. “You’ll be getting dessert

when we get home,” Mitch said, grabbing John’s hand, pulling it
under the table, and pressing it against his straining erection.

“Oh, but I’ll be too full from the main course to want a

pudding.”

John didn’t withdraw his hand, in fact he began to

massage Mitch’s dick.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Tenant!” Mitch

declared.

They continued to eat, and John continued to fondle

Mitch’s dick.

Mitch silently started counting to ten, but John didn’t quit

his rubbing.

Eight, nine, ten. “We’re done here!” Mitch said, slamming

down his silverware.

“But I haven’t finished,” John smirked, Mitch not knowing,

or caring, if he was referring to his meal or Mitch’s dick.

Mitch slid out of the booth, stood, and shrugged into his

jacket. No doubt he was giving the other patrons a good view of
the pipe running down the left leg of his jeans. “John, now!” he
growled, and for once he meant it.

John got a shocked look on his face, but this almost

instantly turned to lust. “Bathroom?” He nodded to the rear.

Virtually dragging John around the tables and chairs—no

doubt attracting even more attention—Mitch made for the door at
the rear of the room. Thankfully no one got between him and his
destination. They’d have been mowed down if they had.

Mitch pulled John into the bathroom, slammed the door

closed, and threw John up against the wood. John’s face again
showed the same mixture of fear and excitement.

“You teasing bastard,” Mitch growled, pawing at John’s

clothes; he needed skin. He also needed John’s mouth. Lips
crashed together and Mitch hungrily sucked on John’s tongue.

John, after a moment’s hesitation, returned Mitch’s kisses

with equal fervour. His hands worked at unbuckling Mitch’s belt,

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no easy task as Mitch was grinding his crotch into John’s
stomach.

Finally Mitch felt the waistband loosen, and he pulled back

enough to give John better access. John made short work of
unzipping him.

“No underwear?” John gasped between kisses.
“Wasn’t room,” Mitch said, revelling in the absence of

pressure on his crotch.

But his relief didn’t last long. Within short order Mitch

needed to get his dick inside some part of John. He didn’t have
to communicate this, the link between John’s brain and Mitch’s
cock still seemed to be operating.

John slid down Mitch’s body until he was kneeling on the

tiled floor. “Hello there, big guy,” he said, kissing the weeping
cock head.

“Quit fucking about,” Mitch growled.
“Seems the man you’re attached to is in a hurry. Are you?”
Mitch ground his teeth and tried to silence Teddy, who

was demanding Mitch just ram his dick past John’s luscious lips
and down his gulping throat.

Mitch was about to give into Teddy’s urgings when John

lunged forward, mouth open, and took virtually all of Mitch’s
length in one swallow. Mitch had to press his fist against his
open mouth to muffle his scream.

John’s blowjob lacked finesse. He was obviously just

trying to get Mitch off as quickly as possible. Mitch had no
problem with that. John had had him on the edge all through the
meal, heck, ever since he’d read that story aloud to Teddy. It
was a good thing it had been time to leave; otherwise Teddy
would have disgraced himself on John’s hearth rug. The sexual
teasing hadn’t ended there. They’d no sooner gotten in the car
when John had started petting, patting, and…

“Oh, God, that’s it!” Mitch groaned.
The moans of appreciation John was making around

Mitch’s pole encouraged Mitch to start face-fucking the man.
Even though he was being driven half-crazy with lust, Mitch still
had the presence of mind to brace John’s head with his hands to

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stop it from being bashed into the door.

“Oh, Jesus, close!” Mitch panted.
He closed his eyes and tried to prolong the amazing

feelings, but John was working him too good.

A few seconds later, Mitch had to take one of his hands

away from the back of John’s head in order to stifle his cries at
unloading his werebear spunk down John’s milking throat.

Through his closed eyelids Mitch saw a vision of Ben. He

was smiling and clapping his hands. Far from upsetting Mitch, he
saw it as a sign that his dead lover approved of his choice of
John. There, in that bathroom, Mitch made up his mind that he
would claim John, tell him of his shape-shifting nature, and insist
they stay a couple, even after the summer.

John slowly pulled off and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Oh, God. What a dessert.”

Mitch laughed and helped the man to his feet, where he

claimed John’s mouth in a kiss that, he hoped, conveyed all the
love and gratitude he didn’t have the words for. Or at least he
didn’t have them yet. He hadn’t forgotten his pledge, but a
bathroom, no matter how clean, was not the place to tell
someone that you loved him.

There was a more immediate concern however. John, too,

deserved to get off. But when Mitch’s fingers slid down to the
man’s groin he found that John’s cock was already out and the
tip was slick.

“Wanked myself off while I was blowing you,” John

admitted before plunging his tongue past Mitch’s parted lips.

Just then someone tried to gain entry to the bathroom.

Mitch pushed the door closed. “Fuck off! We’re busy in here!”

John started to chuckle.
“What?” Mitch asked, confused.
“You. You’re so dominant when you put your mind to it. I

bet that guy is pissing himself with fear at you shouting at him
like that.”

“Don’t care.” Then Mitch sobered. “Earlier, when I pulled

you in here. I’m sorry that I was too—”

John silenced Mitch with another kiss. “It was amazing. I

169

was so turned on by what you did. Yes, I was a bit scared at first,
but I knew you’d never hurt me.”

Mitch shook his head. “No, never. I couldn’t. You’re mine,

John Tennant.” He shut his mouth, unwilling to say more.

“I know, and you’re mine, Mitchell Benjamin.”
Mitch pulled John into a crushing embrace. John, in an

obvious need to get even closer, put his arms around Mitch’s
neck, pulled himself up, and wrapped his legs around Mitch’s
waist. They stared at each other for the longest time, neither
man saying a word, the only sounds in the room their steady
breathing and a dripping faucet.

The moment was interrupted by a timid knock at the door.

“Sorry, fellas, but I really need the loo.”

John stroked Mitch’s cheek. “Let him in. We’ve hogged

the place for long enough.”

Mitch nodded and moved them away from the door. He

was surprised but pleased that John had made no move to climb
off him.

“Thanks,” the newcomer said, sparing them a brief glance

before hustling over to a stall, closing and locking the door
behind him.

Only then did Mitch realise the both of them still had their

dicks out. It was awkward putting them away in their position, but
no way was he letting John go until the man wanted to be let go.

The guy in the stall began to fart. This was soon followed

by groans and sighs.

John got another fit of the giggles.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mitch said when his sensitive nose

picked up the smell of the guy’s bowel movements.

“One last thing before we leave,” John said, kissing Mitch

on the lips.

Mitch raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Walk me over to that machine there.” John pointed, and

Mitch obeyed. He tried to read the words on the front, but didn’t
know any of them.

John fished a couple of coins out of his pocket and

dropped them into the slot. “Magnums, definitely.” He pressed a

170

button, retrieved a box from the bottom of the machine, and held
it up so Mitch could see. “Condoms.” He pointed back to the wall.
“Next machine, please.”

Mitch moved them as requested.
Within a minute, John had purchased a handful of flat

packets. He held them up and simply said, “Lube.”

Mitch’s eyes filled. He knew what this all meant. “You sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.” John ended

his answer with kisses to Mitch’s eyes.

“Home,” Mitch said.
“Home,” John echoed.
Before John could climb off him, Mitch had the bathroom

door open and was carrying his lover through the crowded bar
and out to the parking lot, the wolf-whistles and bawdy
comments of the bar’s patrons ringing in his ears.

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Chapter 15

“I can walk,” John said, laughing.
Mitch had plucked John from the driver’s seat and was

carrying him to the cottage.

“Know you can.” Mitch wanted to carry his man; it was just

one of the many ways he intended to show John what life would
be like when they were a couple.

“We didn’t lock the car door.”
Mitch shook his head. John was such a city boy. “It’ll be fine.”
And he didn’t just mean the car. Mitch was determined to

do anything to make the night, the weekend—heck, the rest of
their lives—special. John deserved nothing less.

“It’s dark in here,” John said as Mitch carried him into the

bedroom and laid him on the bed.

Mitch had remembered to change the sheets before

they’d left. After Teddy’d left John’s cottage, Mitch had had to
hustle as there hadn’t been much time to shift, shower, change
clothes, and make up the bed.

“Soon have some light.” Mitch went around the bedroom

lighting candles. He’d asked Morwenna for some extra. He
hadn’t intended to tell her what he needed them for, but as usual
she’d wormed it out of him. He hadn’t known at the time that
John would agree to them going all the way; now he guessed it
was just happy coincidence.

Morwenna must have been able to sense something,

however, because she’d said, “Please be careful. Yes, you’re
strong physically, but your heart,” she’d laid a hand over it, “can
easily be hurt.”

Mitch finished lighting the candles and turned to John, all

thoughts of Morwenna’s cryptic warnings leaving him. John had
stripped out of his clothes—a task Mitch had wanted to do—and
lay on the bed, his pale skin glowing in the flickering light.

“Hello,” John said quietly.
“Hello,” Mitch replied, just as quietly.
Mitch broke John’s intense gaze by looking down at his

boots. He needed to get undressed.

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“Slowly,” John whispered.
“Huh?” Mitch looked back up at John.
“Strip for me. Slowly.”
Mitch grinned and ran a calloused hand across his broad

chest, caressing the smooth leather.

First to come off was the heavy biker jacket, Mitch making

sure to pull the zipper tab slowly enough that it made the
maximum amount of sound. After slipping the thing off his
shoulders he allowed the jacket’s weight to pull it the rest of the
way off his arms. The garment hit the wooden floor with a thud.
Mitch stretched his arms wide, giving John a good look at just
how massive his chest was.

His silk shirt was next. Mitch ran his fingers through the

chest hair that was newly exposed with every button that was
undone. Once the shirt was fully open, Mitch slowly peeled it
back and allowed it to slide from his shoulders, the smooth silk
whispering against his solid flesh.

“So damned sexy,” John moaned.
Knowing John got off on his muscles, Mitch flexed his arm

until his biceps were a pronounced bulge. Locking his eyes with
John’s, Mitch lifted his flexed arm and licked the domed muscle.
He watched as a shiver ran through John.

“Oh, God.”
Mitch stepped forward and planted a foot between John’s

open legs. He used the toe of his boot to nudge John’s balls. A
pearl of precum pulsed out of John’s dick and landed on the
shiny black leather.

Lowering his voice, Mitch growled, “Lick it off.”
And to Mitch’s surprise, John took hold of the boot and

brought his face down to it. The sight of John’s pink tongue
lapping at the black leather aroused Mitch to a fever pitch.

“Now take it off.”
Again, John obeyed, looking up at Mitch, silently asking if

he should also take off the sock.

Mitch gave a single nod.
“Sniff it. Get that toe funk into your lungs.”
John whimpered. He lifted the sock to his nose and took

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in several deep sniffs.

Mitch swapped feet and presented John with the other

boot. “Take it off.”

John deposited the first boot and sock on the floor at the

far side of the bed and got to work on the other boot.

Standing in just his pants, Mitch decided to flex some

more for his appreciative audience. Mitch had never realised
before how hot it was to have someone worship his body like
this. Even better, it was John who was the one doing the
worshiping.

Mitch made his pecs bounce before striking a most

muscular pose. Next was a double biceps pose. Finally he
turned his back to John, placed his fists on his hips, and flexed
his shoulder muscles.

Mitch spun back around, his hands smoothing down his

chest to rest on his belt buckle. He looked over at John to see if
he had the man’s attention. John’s eyes were riveted on Mitch’s
crotch.

Undoing the buckle, Mitch took hold of it and tugged the

belt free. Moving back to the bed, he leaned down and looped
the belt around John’s neck.

John gasped.
Mitch pulled John’s head toward his straining crotch.
“God, yes!” John groaned.
Mitch put a strong hand on the back of John’s neck and

pressed the man’s face into the tight denim. “This what my man
wants?”

“God, yes!” John groaned again, licking and biting the

black cloth. “This is so hot,” he whispered, reaching down and
taking hold of his own dick.

“No!” Mitch growled, temporarily tightening the belt. More

quietly, he added, “Not yet.”

John removed his hand and continued to mouth at Mitch’s

covered crotch.

Mitch was becoming impatient with their game. He let go

of the belt, stepped back, and reached for the button on his
waistband. Carefully unzipping the fly, Mitch bared more and

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more naked flesh.

Finally, when the zipper was fully open, he reached for the

waistband.

“No!” John barked. “Let me.”
With trembling hands, John reached out and inched the

jeans down Mitch’s hips and thighs. When Mitch’s cock was
freed it popped up and smacked John in the face, smearing it
with precum.

John caught Mitch’s hard dick and brought it to his eager

and open mouth.

Mitch let John suck for a while, but again, he needed to

keep things moving forward so he stepped back, his dick slipping
out of John’s mouth with a pop.

John groaned.
“Don’t worry, you’ll soon get it back,” Mitch said, climbing

onto the bed and arranging himself on his left side facing John.

John’s hand reached out and ran along Mitch’s right

shoulder and down his arm. “So strong, powerful.” His hand
reached Mitch’s hand and their fingers wound together.

John leaned in and kissed Mitch’s lips.
Mitch could feel the pace slowing. He was fine with that.

He wanted this to last.

John’s kisses trailed down Mitch’s body until they reached

his groin. Wanting to get in on the action, he turned around so
they were both face to crotch.

John was hard, harder than Mitch had ever seen him.

Mitch was pretty boned, too.

Mitch’s tongue traced the route of the vein that ran along

the underside of John’s dick. Even up close, the dick was
straight as an arrow until it flared out at the head. The skin was
smooth and slightly darker than the rest of John’s body. John
moaned around Mitch’s dick when Mitch retracted John’s
foreskin and lapped at the exposed head. Moans turned to
whimpers when Mitch blew cold air on the moistened flesh. Mitch
could taste the remains of John’s last orgasm.

Although sucking his man off was great, Mitch didn’t want

John to cum that way. He had other ideas about how to achieve

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that. He pulled off, the action causing muffled protests from John.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Mitch ran his tongue

down the underside of John’s dick, between his balls, along the
ass trench to his final destination—John’s pucker.

Finally the ass ring gave way and Mitch surged forward, taste

exploding on his tongue. John moaned and paused his sucking of
Mitch’s dick, which had just leaked a small amount of precum.

Having breeched John’s defences, Mitch took no

prisoners in claiming as much of John’s sweet ass as he could
reach. And his tongue was longer than most.

John let Mitch’s dick fall from his mouth. “Oh, God!”
John reached for his own dick and got in a couple of

strokes before Mitch slapped the man’s hand away. “No!” Mitch
growled against John’s ass lips.

“Do that again,” John whimpered. “Talk to me.”
Mitch thought the request odd, but anything John

wanted…“Your ass tastes great. Could eat it all day.” That wasn’t
strictly true. Mitch’s dick—which John seemed to have
momentarily forgotten about—was insisting it be slid into the hole
Mitch was currently eating. Teddy, too, was demanding Mitch get
the hell on with the main event.

“Oh, Mitch, fuck me. Need you.”
Mitch didn’t need to be asked twice.
“The lube and rubbers,” John said, making to crawl off the

bed.

“Stay!” Mitch ordered, freezing John in place. “Where are

they? I’ll get them.”

“My trousers.” John pointed to the other side of the bed.
Mitch climbed atop John and saw the man’s pants laying

in a crumpled heap on the floor. Snatching them up, he fumbled
through two pockets filled with car keys, wallet, and tissues. He
hit pay-dirt in the third pocket.

Ripping open one of the flat packets, Mitch squeezed the

slippery goo onto his fingers.

“You don’t need to warm it up, just get it in me. I need you

so bad.”

Mitch chuckled. “Seeing as how you asked so nicely.”

176

Mitch’s fingers found John’s opening and his middle digit

slipped inside with little effort.

“You can put another one in now,” John whimpered a few

minutes later as he rode Mitch’s finger.

Mitch liked seeing John squirming on his hand so he

stayed with the one finger for a while longer. He slid in and out,
searching for then rubbing John’s prostate.

“Mitch, please!” John pleaded, grabbing hold of Mitch’s

dick, a look that seemed to swing between frustration and
pleasure written large on his face.

“You want another finger?” Mitch teased.
“Yes!” John let go of Mitch’s dick to take hold of his own.
“What have I said about that?” Mitch asked, slipping his

pointer finger in alongside his middle.

John’s whimper of frustration sent another pearl of

precum oozing from Mitch’s dick. It joined the pool that was
already gathered on the comforter.

Two fingers were a lot better than one. Mitch was able to

separate the digits, curl and twist them. Each motion elicited a
moan or a gasp from John. The man was such a responsive
lover.

Deciding the stretching would be easier if John were

straddling one of Mitch’s thighs, Mitch rearranged the two of
them. The increased whimpers and moans of pleasure coming
from John’s gaping mouth told Mitch John approved of the new
arrangement.

“Can you cope with a third one?” Mitch asked, kissing the

eyebrows above John’s wide, unfocussed eyes.

John didn’t answer.
“John!” Mitch said loudly. “Going to put a third one up

there, okay?”

John nodded. “Need you.”
“And you’ll get me. Just going to stretch you some more

first.” Mitch thought more lube was in order—John had certainly
bought plenty.

“So sexy,” John said, seeing Mitch bite open a second

packet and spit out the end.

177

Mitch hadn’t considered his actions anything except

practical. He only had one hand free.

If John liked three fingers, he went wild when a fourth was

finally introduced. Mitch would have stopped at three, but John
was enjoying himself, and Mitch knew he wasn’t exactly small.
Plus, Mitch remembered what John had told Teddy about how
he was afraid of Mitch’s size.

The squelching noises his fingers made in John’s ass

were little short of pornographic. John’s ring was still quite tight.
Mitch knew the muscle would give pleasure to his cock but
shouldn’t be so tight as to cause John pain.

“Think we’re ready now,” Mitch said a few moments later,

kissing John on the lips.

That had been another advantage to their current position.

They’d been able to kiss comfortably whenever the urge had
come upon them. And it had done so frequently.

John nodded. “Condoms are in the same pocket as the lube.”
Mitch was grateful for the reminder; he’d completely

forgotten about having to wear such a device. He wasn’t sure
how to put one on, or even if he’d like it once it was on.

“Let me,” John said once Mitch had retrieved the box.

“Your hands are all slicked up.”

Judging by the amount of Mitch’s precum that coated

John’s hands, John didn’t seem to be in much better shape.

“You like my big dick?” Mitch asked. John had stroked,

rubbed, and caressed the thing all during his stretching.

“It’s magnificent, just like its owner,” John said, opening

the condom box. “Hope these fit. They’re the biggest they had.”

Mitch hoped so, too. He wasn’t sure Teddy would ever

forgive him if they had to call the whole thing off due to a lack of
suitable protection.

But he needn’t have worried. John’s expert fingers rolled

the thing into place. It felt tight and strange, but not unpleasant. It
felt even nicer when John added more lube and gave him a bit of
a hand job.

“Wanna sit on me at first?” Mitch asked, thinking it might

be easier for John to control the entry.

178

John nodded, so Mitch withdrew his fingers and lifted the

man until he was centred over Mitch’s straining rubber-coated dick.

Eyes half closed with lust and voice gravely, John said,

“Got this huge itch that only your huge cock can scratch.”

Mitch tilted his head back and laughed. John always did

have the right words.

Mitch had been right. Despite all his careful preparation,

John’s ass felt tight when it swallowed his cock head.

“You okay?” Mitch asked when John paused.
“Just give me a minute. You’re big.”
Sweat had broken out on John’s face. Mitch wished he

had a towel or something at hand.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mitch could feel Teddy disagreeing.
You never hurt John when you were in control, you did all

you could to protect him. So stop asking me to hurt him…cause
it’s not gonna happen.

Mitch could tell Teddy was contrite.
All through Mitch’s internal debate, John had been slowly

lowering himself on Mitch’s dick. “How much more?” he panted.
“Jesus, you’re hung like a horse.”

Or a bear, Mitch thought. “You’re about halfway there.”
“Hell, I’m not going to be able to walk for a week after this.”
“I’ll carry you.” Mitch said before kissing John’s lips.
Despite the discomfort Mitch knew John must be in, the

man managed to find a smile from somewhere.

Mitch first rubbed the man’s calves then held him up while

he rested. Eventually though, John had taken in all that Mitch
had to give.

Letting out a deep breath that Mitch imagined was part

relief and part self-congratulation, John said, “Wow, I’ve done it.”

“How do you feel?” Mitch wanted to know. From his side,

it felt wonderful. John’s channel was gripping his dick with a
perfect amount of warm pressure.

“Stuffed,” John said, chuckling. “Feels like I want to take a

huge crap.”

Mitch nodded in understanding. “We’ll wait just as long as

179

you need before we continue.”

Mitch couldn’t detect any argument with that statement

from Teddy.

John did a few careful test bounces.
“You okay?” Mitch asked.
John nodded. “But I don’t know how long I can keep this

up. My legs are getting tired.”

Mitch stood, still inside John, walked to the end of the bed

and laid the man’s back on the comforter.

“Better?” Mitch asked.
“Could I have a pillow or two under my back?”
This meant another trip up the bed. Mitch had enjoyed

carrying John to and from the car; carrying the man around the
bedroom, his dick up John’s ass, was even better.

“Okay now?” Mitch asked, picking up one of John’s feet

and kissing the sole.

“Thank you.” The smile John gave him had Mitch bending

over his lover to lay a kiss on his lips.

Even though it had been so long since he’d last done it,

the fucking rhythm came back to Mitch almost instantly. He
began slowly, knowing it had been some time for John, too.

“Mitch!” John said on one particular in-stroke.
Mitch guessed he’d really pegged the guy.
“Again!”
Mitch stepped up the pace.
“More!” John yelled, reaching for his dick, which once

again Mitch objected to.

“Want you to cum on my cock.”
Remembering John’s request, Mitch let him have more. In

fact it soon became obvious that whatever Mitch gave, John
demanded even more. The bed, which Mitch had slept in for the
best part of a century, creaked and groaned with the
unaccustomed strain.

“Gonna wreck the bed,” Mitch panted.
“Buy you a new one!”
Mitch laughed.
John begged for even more. Mitch, knowing he shouldn’t,

180

obliged.

Within seconds, John screamed as several arcs of

creamy-white cum shot into the air. The first load painted the
man’s face, the rest fell in ever-decreasing distances along his
sweaty body.

Letting out an enormous roar that rattled the windows in

their frames, Mitch pushed in one last time and froze. He could
feel his cum firing into the rubber. He neither knew nor cared if it
broke. He was on top of the world. Finally, he and his mate had
been joined.

Spent, Mitch slumped on top of John and they shared a

few lazy kisses. Although he didn’t want to move, Mitch had to.

“No!” John said, pulling Mitch back on top of him.
“Need to take care of the rubber.” Plus Mitch knew their

current position was putting a lot of strain on John’s lower back.

“‘Kay.” John yawned.
“You all right?” Mitch was concerned he’d hurt John.

They’d gotten pretty wild, especially at the end. He also needed
to know if John had regretted what they’d done.

“Tired,” John admitted, yawning again. “But a good tired,

you know?”

Mitch nodded. He couldn’t help his smile, part relief and

part satisfaction. He dealt with the rubber, which had stood up
well to the battering they’d given it.

“You’re a real tiger in bed,” John said, finding and kissing

Mitch’s lips.

Mitch could feel Teddy growl at that. It must have been

audible, because John chuckled.

“You were awesome yourself,” Mitch said, stroking John’s

damp hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“Takes two to tango.” John yawned again. “Sorry. You

wore me out.”

“So sleep.” Mitch touched John’s cheek, mirroring one of

John’s favourite actions.

“Maybe for a bit.”
Mitch watched as John closed his eyes and within

minutes was sound asleep, the smile on his lips never fading.

181

Mitch knew the battle was finally lost. He’d fought his

attraction to this sweet, gentle human. But from day one he’d
known John Tennant was his mate. As he looked around the
bedroom, seeing that some of the candles had burned out while
a few others continued to flicker, Mitch realised he’d been
viewing things the wrong way round. He hadn’t lost anything
except his crushing loneliness and isolation. What he’d won was
John and another chance at happiness. Now he had to deal with
the victory.

Mitch sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, God. Help

me.”

182

Chapter 16

John felt amazing, alive, free. It was like he could fly

across the seas, his love for Mitch Benjamin keeping him aloft.

Mitch. John could sense something was wrong. Instantly

coming awake, John snapped his eyes open and sat up to
regard his lover.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, seeing Mitch’s troubled

eyes. “Do you regret…what we did?”

Mitch shook his head but otherwise stayed silent.
“Talk to me.” John reached for and took the big guy’s hand.
“Can we go for a walk on the beach?”
“Uh, yeah, I suppose.”
A moonlit walk next to the crashing waves would be pretty

romantic. “We might even run into Teddy. I’ve got a lot to tell him.”
John kissed Mitch on the lips, but Mitch didn’t return the kiss.

“Yeah, let’s go find Teddy.” Mitch’s voice seemed flat.
John watched his lover carefully, but Mitch remained tight

lipped as they dressed.

John winced at the ache in his arse, but it was a good

kind of ache, reminding him of what he and Mitch had just
shared. Despite what Mitch had said about not having any
regrets, John couldn’t think of any other explanation for the
man’s serious mood. John knew without a shadow of a doubt
he’d done the right thing in making love with Mitch. He just
hoped Mitch felt the same way.

As they exited Mitch’s cottage, John tried not to let it

bother him that Mitch hadn’t offered to carry him. Not that John
would have accepted. It was nice, romantic, but impractical. Plus
John knew he was no lightweight.

As they passed Morwenna’s cottage, John could see her

silhouetted against her kitchen window. He wanted to run in and
tell her his good news, but the sombre presence of Mitch next to
him kept him walking. John needed to get to the bottom of
whatever was wrong and, if possible, fix it.

A crescent moon was shining in an almost cloudless sky.

The tide was out, so there was plenty of beach for the two of

183

them to walk on. John took Mitch’s hand and gave it a slight
squeeze, but otherwise stayed silent. Mitch was troubled, and
John knew he had to give the man space and time.

They’d gone maybe a mile; John wasn’t sure, as his

sense of distance was poor at the best of times. Up ahead was
Teddy’s cave. John wanted to see his friend, introduce him to
Mitch—maybe the bear would help cheer Mitch up.

Instead of going into the cave, Mitch led them to the

knobbly rock a few meters in front.

Resting his back against the rock, Mitch regarded John

steadily. Lifting John’s hand to his lips, Mitch kissed each
knuckle. “I have a lot to tell you, and some of it, heck, most of it
you won’t understand.”

“Okay.” John was confused and a little scared at Mitch’s

serious tone.

Mitch raised his head to look directly into John’s eyes.

“But there’s one thing I need you to know and understand above
anything else.”

John nodded.
“I’m in love with you, John.”
John opened his mouth to respond. He’d been waiting for

an opportunity to tell Mitch that he loved him.

“No.” Mitch dropped John’s hand and held up his palm.

“Please, don’t say it, not until you know the truth about me.”

“Truth?” John didn’t understand. Was Mitch…John didn’t

know…an escaped murderer or something? No, not his kind,
gentle Mitch.

“You’ve probably realised that a few things about me and

my past haven’t made sense.”

John frowned. Yes, there had been a few things, but

nothing serious. Mitch’s unwillingness to talk about his age,
comments he’d made about using Britain’s old coinage. How
he’d arrived in the country and…

“Because of who I am, I’ve had to keep a lot of things from

you.”

John’s mind continued to race. Was Mitch a spy or

something? That couldn’t be right; the man was unable to read.

184

Or was that just an act?

“I don’t understand.”
Mitch let out a breath. “There’s no easy way of saying this,

but here goes. I’m not just Mitch Benjamin. In fact in a way I
never was.”

“Huh?”
“I can change shape. Into a bear. The bear you call Teddy.”
John laughed. This was a joke. But why would Mitch be

making it?

“Think about it, John. Why would a grizzly bear be in

England? They’re not native, there haven’t been any bears living
in the wild here for hundreds of years.”

“Maybe Teddy’s escaped from a zoo or a circus or…”

John tried to come up with a rational argument.

“No.” Mitch shook his head. “He didn’t. I’m him, and he’s

me. I came over to England in 1920 to get away from America
and the murderous hunting bastards who killed Ben.”

1920? The date didn’t make sense. This was all some

elaborate joke, but John didn’t find it funny.

“I’m just under two hundred years old. I don’t know my

exact age, there are no records.”

“Stop it. Why are you talking like this?”
Mitch reached for John’s hand, but John snatched it away.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I’m telling the truth. Heck,
why would I make up something so…unbelievable?”

John didn’t know. But what Mitch was telling him didn’t

make any sense.

“My eyes. They’re blue. Teddy’s eyes are the same

colour. Bears don’t have blue eyes.”

John couldn’t process this. He shook his head. “There are

no such things as…” He searched for the word. “Werewolves.
Are you telling me you’re a werewolf?”

“Werebear,” Mitch said softly.
“Mitch, you’re scaring me with this rubbish.” John started

to cry. He’d had such a perfect evening with Mitch; why was his
lover spoiling it by talking about changing shape? “I’m going
back to my cottage. Come and see me when you’ve…come to

185

your senses.” He turned away.

“No. Stop. I’ll prove it.”
John turned around to see Mitch getting undressed.
“Stop it. Someone might come along and see.”
But Mitch didn’t stop. His face was a mask of

determination.

Once naked, Mitch regarded him. “Please don’t be

scared. Remember that Teddy won’t hurt you. He loves you just
as much as I do.”

John shook his head and prepared to leave once again.
“Just give me one minute. That’s all. But please don’t run

away. Please, John, promise me.” Mitch seemed close to tears
himself.

“Mitch.”
“Promise!”
John sighed. “Okay, but only a minute, then I’m going home.”
John’s tears fell even harder. Mitch, the beautiful, strong

man he’d fallen in love with was mentally ill. Was he a danger to
himself or to others? No, Mitch would never hurt him. John
wondered if Morwenna knew about Mitch’s illness. Maybe he had
some pills but had stopped taking them? Hopefully she’d know.

Through his tears, John could see things were changing

on Mitch’s body. The man was sprouting a lot more body hair.
Looking up at Mitch’s face, John gasped. Mitch’s mouth was
longer, bigger. His ears were moving and changing shape.

“No!” John had to get away. This was a dream, a

nightmare. He’d had several of them while he’d been in
Cornwall. He knew he’d wake up in a minute and find himself
safely wrapped in Mitch’s arms. But he was rooted to the spot,
unable to look away as Mitch fell onto his hands and knees, his
fingers morphing into claws. As John continued to watch in
stunned fascination, Mitch changed into…Teddy.

The bear took a couple of steps forward and sniffed the

air. John was terrified. Teddy seemed to sense this and stopped.
He let out a whimper and shook his head.

John needed to go…wake up. This wasn’t happening.
Teddy laid down on the sand, his big eyes pleading with

186

John to understand.

John sank to his knees, his legs unable to hold him up

any more.

Teddy inched forward, John unable to stop him. When close

enough, Teddy extended his tongue and wiped at John’s tears.

John felt comforted by the action and launched himself at

Teddy’s neck, clinging to the bear’s fur for all he was worth.

Teddy smelled the same as Mitch. Mitch and Teddy were

one and the same being. That didn’t make sense, but John
finally knew Mitch had been telling the truth.

Rage began to build inside John. “You lied to me.” He

grabbed handfuls of the bear’s fur and shook it. “I told you private
things…things I didn’t want you to tell Mitch. And you did!” John
buried his head in the bear’s coat and cried. Anger was soon
replaced with shame and embarrassment. No, Teddy hadn’t told
Mitch anything. He didn’t have to. Mitch was also Teddy.

John pulled away from Teddy. “You betrayed me. Hurt

me. Both of you!”

The bear got to his feet.
“Leave me alone! Both of you! Just…leave me alone!”
John stood on shaky legs and ran up the beach.

* * * *

John groaned internally when he saw Morwenna coming

down her garden path as he drew level with her cottage.

“Sorry, Morwenna, I need to get home and…” And what?

Pack and run away like he’d done a couple of times already this
holiday?

“You need to come with me.”
The calm determination in the woman’s voice silenced all

his objections.

“You’ve had a shock.”
How did she know? But then she seemed to know quite a

lot that she shouldn’t. John wondered if she, too, could change
shape. As he followed her into her cottage he wondered what
animal she would assume. A cat, maybe. And Nick, what could

187

he turn into? Was the whole world mad and John was the only
sane one left in it?

To John’s surprise, Morwenna led him through the kitchen

into her living room, a room he’d never seen before.

“Take a seat and I’ll just go put the kettle on.”
John needed something a hell of a lot stronger than tea.

“Morwenna, I—”

“It’s all right. Just give me a minute.”
As she left the room, Boris entered. John wondered if

Boris were Morwenna.

“Hell, maybe you’re the one going mad,” he said, rubbing

his face.

Boris couldn’t be Morwenna in disguise; he’d seen the two

of them together a number of times.

Boris jumped up onto John’s lap and insisted John stroke

him.

“You’re a sweet cat.” John wondered if Boris’s dislike for

Mitch was because he could tell Mitch wasn’t human. Did cats
not like bears? “Oh, God, I need a drink.”

“Here we are,” Morwenna said, coming back into the room

carrying a tea tray. “I’ve made it nice and strong.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure tea will be enough.”
“Maybe not on its own.” Morwenna set the tray down on

the coffee table. “But combined with a sympathetic ear, it can
work wonders.”

John wasn’t sure about that.
“We all have secrets we’re scared to reveal, even to those

we love.” Morwenna began to pour the tea. “Boris, be a love and
get off John so he can enjoy his tea in peace.”

To John’s surprise, Boris got to his feet, jumped down to

the carpet, and sauntered off into the kitchen.

Morwenna reached over and handed John a cup and saucer.
“Thanks.” John took a sip. It was indeed strong, but not

unpleasant.

“I, for example,” Morwenna said, beginning to pour her

own tea, “don’t tell many people of my gifts. I know they wouldn’t
understand.”

188

John could agree with that. He didn’t understand her gifts,

himself.

“And you, how long did you know you were gay before

you told your family or those you loved?”

It had taken him some time to pluck up the courage. His

dad had dealt with the news relatively well, but his mother had
taken her time to accept it. And acceptance was about as far as
she’d managed. “I see what you’re saying.”

“Imagine what it’s like for Mitch. He’s not only gay but he

has this other, bigger secret, too.”

Did Morwenna know what the secret was?
“It’s okay,” she smiled at him. “I know he can shift into a

bear.”

John let out a breath. “Why didn’t you tell—”
“Who was the first person you told you were gay?”
“My Aunt Phyllis.”
“Why her?” Morwenna stirred her tea after adding a

spoonful of honey.

“Because I always felt closest to her. She was a maiden

aunt, never had a boyfriend as far as I knew. Didn’t mean she
was a lesbian, but…I just felt a closeness to her that I didn’t feel
with any other member of my family.”

“You want honey in your tea?” She held up the jar.
John shook his head.
“I take it you also trusted your aunt not to tell other

members of your family until you were ready to do it yourself?”

John nodded, seeing where Morwenna was going.
“Mitch’s double identity, if you will, wasn’t my secret to tell.”
They sat drinking their tea, John feeling a little more

relaxed. Maybe Morwenna had put something in the tea.

They discussed what Morwenna knew about Mitch, which

wasn’t that much. He’d come over to England and Morwenna’s
grandmother had taken him in. First Morag, then Morwenna had
looked after him, kept his secret.

“I don’t think he’s ever told anyone other than Gran and

me about his dual-life.”

John didn’t know what he thought about that.

189

“And you’re the only one he’s let persuade him to learn to

read. I tried to help him, so did Gran, but Mitch always refused. I
think he saw it as his punishment.”

“Punishment?”
“For being alive when Ben wasn’t.”
John felt something stir inside of him and wasn’t sure

what it was. Then he heard Boris scampering around in the
kitchen, sounding agitated. “Mitch is coming.” He didn’t know
why he knew that, he just did.

“Yes.” Morwenna got to her feet.
“I don’t want to see him.” John also rose, but Morwenna

motioned him to sit down again.

“I’ll send him away.”
John felt guilty about that. Morwenna was Mitch’s only

friend. He wouldn’t have anyone else to turn to other than her.

“No, I’ll leave. Mitch will probably need you more than I do.”
Mitch’s entry into the kitchen and Boris’s far from

welcoming greeting stopped Morwenna from saying more than a
quick, “Please stay,” before she left the room.

John couldn’t hear what Morwenna was saying, she was

talking too softly. But John heard what Mitch said. He sounded
agitated, hurt. Part of John wanted to go to Mitch, then he
remembered how Mitch had lied to him, or at least been less
than truthful, so he stayed where he was.

“I need to see him,” Mitch was saying. “I need to explain.”
Morwenna said something John couldn’t catch.
“I love him, damn it! He’s my mate, I need to explain.”

Mitch’s voice rose. “John, please. I love you, I’m so sorry for not
telling you sooner. But…”

Morwenna said something else, Mitch replied too softly for

John to hear.

Then the back door closed and seconds later Morwenna

came back into the room, brushing her hands down her long skirt.

“I’m sorry,” John said, making to rise once again.
“It’s okay.” Morwenna signalled for him to retake his seat.

“Now, where were we?”

“Mitch is upset. You should be with him. I’ll be okay.”

190

Morwenna shook her head. “I told him to come back in an

hour, but in the meantime to go for a swim. That should help
calm him down.”

“A swim? But it’s late at night and…” Then John

remembered, Mitch would probably be swimming as Teddy. It
was all so weird.

“Let me ask you something,” Morwenna said, offering

John a biscuit, which he accepted. “Try and put aside the shape-
shifting thing for a minute.”

John snorted.
“I know. But try. Think of Mitch as the man you knew

before you took that walk on the beach.”

John closed his eyes and pictured Mitch holding out the

crib he’d made, pride, joy, and a hint of apprehension shining in
his beautiful blue eyes.

“Do you love that man?”
John snapped his eyes open and regarded Morwenna, an

immediate response forming that his private feelings were none
of her business. but he knew she only had his—and presumably
Mitch’s—best interests at heart.

John swallowed then nodded. “Yes, very much. But I fell

in love with that Mitch, not the real Mitch”

“Are they so different?”
“Of course they are.”
Morwenna didn’t say anything, just continued to drink her tea.
Were the Mitch he thought he knew and the Mitch he now

knew that different? Was he different after he’d come out to Aunt
Phyllis?

“You also love Teddy. Though in a different way, of course.”
John nodded. That was an easy question to answer. Teddy,

despite his huge size, was gentle, sweet, funny, kind, special.

Just like Mitch, an internal voice prompted.
“You need time to process all of this.” Morwenna said,

refilling his teacup. “I’m only going to ask you to promise me one
thing. Don’t run back to London until you’ve had a chance to
think this all through and talk with Mitch.”

John agreed. He knew running away wasn’t the answer.

191

After a few minutes of contemplative silence, John asked,

“Can you get in contact with George again?”

Morwenna stayed quiet. John didn’t think she was going

to answer.

Then she asked, “Why? What is it you need?”
“Does George approve…understand about my feelings for

Mitch?”

Morwenna smiled. “You already know the answer to that.”
Did he? “I know you thought he was watching over me,

but that’s a lot different to him giving his blessing for Mitch and
me.” Was there a Mitch and him?

“Don’t you think that if George hadn’t approved of Mitch

he wouldn’t have made it possible for you two to meet?”

“Huh?” Had George had a hand in John meeting Mitch?
John remembered the strange incident in the park with the

brochure for the cottages. He’d passed it off at the time as the
result of a freak gust of wind. But…the leaflet had kept showing
up. Could that have been George’s doing? John shook his head,
unable to process any more weird goings on that day.

“When I first got in contact with George, you seemed to

find comfort in some words you quoted. Remember?”

John did. “‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth,

Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

Morwenna nodded. “Now that you know what you know

about Mitch, aren’t they even more appropriate?”

John shrugged. “Maybe to paraphrase something else

from Shakespeare would be more appropriate here. ‘Who is
Mitch, what is he?’”

“‘Is he kind as he is fair? For beauty lives with kindness.’”
John was surprised Morwenna knew the reference to Who

is Silvia? and had paraphrased a different portion of the poem
back at him. Then he realised he was being elitist. Morwenna
was an educated and wise woman. He knew the two weren’t
necessarily the same.

“My advice is to go back to your cottage and try and get

some sleep. I’ll give you something to help with that.”

“Yes.” John was conscious of the passing time, and he

193

Chapter 17

John was flying, again. Though hovering seemed to fit

better. Teddy stood looking up at him, his mouth opened wide,
letting out a noise mid-way between a growl and a wail. John’s
attention was drawn to another bear lying at Teddy’s feet. Teddy
dropped his head and licked at a huge bullet wound in the
second bear’s flank. A deep sadness washed over John as he
helplessly watched Teddy mourn his dead mate.

Teddy’s pitiful vocalisations continued, but John was

unable to get back to Teddy to reassure him that everything was
okay, that he wasn’t dead.

John jerked awake, tears rolling down his face. This had

to be the weirdest dream yet. Then he heard the moaning growl
again. It was real and seemed to be coming from outside,
probably some distance away. John looked over toward the
window. In his drugged state a few hours earlier, he’d forgotten
to close the curtains. There didn’t appear to be much light
outside. Maybe the moon had set. Glancing toward the clock, the
glowing hands told him it was a little past three thirty.

The wailing roars continued. He put a pillow over his head

to block them out, but he could still hear them.

“Please, Teddy, don’t.”
John’s mind kept turning over the events of the previous

evening, going off on wild tangents that were worse than any
nightmare. Had having sex with Mitch given him a werebear
virus? Would he shift into a bear at the next full moon?

“Stop it!” John shouted, flinging his pillow across the room.
Was Teddy the innocent party in all of this? Despite what

John had yelled at the bear earlier, he couldn’t blame Teddy for
what Mitch had or hadn’t done. John felt that over the weeks
Teddy had sought him out, made friends with him when Mitch
couldn’t or wouldn’t.

John shook his head. Teddy was still Mitch. They

shouldn’t have different personalities. He tried to harden his
heart. One or both of them had betrayed him. And even if that
betrayal could be explained, John couldn’t love a man who grew

194

fur, a snout, and walked on four legs.

‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.’
“Fuck!” John pulled at his hair.
He wished he hadn’t taken that university course on the

Shakespearian sonnets. He’d done it mostly because he’d had a
crush on the lecturer. But all he’d been left with at the end of the
year was an unrequited infatuation and an ability to quote most
of the well-known sonnets at will.

And sometimes not at will.
Teddy let out another low, rumbling roar. John put his

hands over his ears. The noise tore at his heart.

Several minutes later, and with no sign of Teddy’s moans

stopping, John switched on his bedside lamp. He threw his legs
over the side of the bed and sat up. Still feeling woozy from
whatever Morwenna had given him, he got to his feet.

Not wanting to wear the same clothes he’d worn the

previous fateful evening, John found clean ones in the dressing
table drawers.

Going downstairs, turning on lights as he went, John

paused to look out through his living room window. It was still
totally dark. He wished he had the battery lantern, but that was
still in the cave. Of course, it all made sense now, why Mitch
would keep a change of clothes in there.

“More lies,” John said, slipping into his shoes and making

for the back door.

Picking his way down his garden path, John realised

Teddy’s moans had stopped. He stood for a while waiting, but
the sounds didn’t start up again. He thought about going back to
his cottage—he could definitely use the sleep—but given how his
mind had been working, he doubted his sleep would be
untroubled.

No, I’d better see if Teddy’s okay, he told himself,

resuming his walk.

He was about halfway down the cliff steps—thinking it

was a bad idea to be venturing out in the middle of a dark night
after drinking a herbal sleeping draught—when he saw a light on
the beach below. He focused on the light. It was moving slowly

195

toward him. John grabbed the handrail and continued to watch.
Eventually he heard voices, low and indistinct. They were male
and there were two of them. Yet again John realised the
foolishness of his mission. He turned around to try and get back
to the cliff top before they caught up with him. He froze in place
when he heard, “I know I’ve lost him.”

It was Mitch’s voice. But who was he talking to? John

couldn’t make out the other person. The pain in Mitch’s voice
brought a lump to his throat.

The conversation continued, each person speaking too

softly for John to hear above the sounds of the waves. Then the
two figures reached the bottom of the cliff stairs and the wind
shifted, bringing their words to John.

“Sorry, Nick, for causing you all this trouble.”
Nick?
“No problem. I don’t sleep all that well at my age anyway.”
The two started to ascend the steps. John thought about

retreating again, but, despite himself, he needed to see that
Mitch was all right.

Mitch’s head came up then and looked directly at John.

“John?”

The note of hope in the man’s voice had that lump

returning to John’s throat. Swallowing, he croaked, “Yes, it’s me.”

“What are you doing out at this hour?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I heard a noise.”
“Sorry,” Mitch said, walking ahead of Nick to get to John.

Mitch stopped a couple of steps below John and started to lift his
arms, but seemed to think better of the idea and dropped them
back to his sides. “You okay?”

“Yes. Well, you know.” Speaking more softly, so Nick

wouldn’t hear, John asked, “Is Teddy okay?” Then he realised
the stupidity of the question.

Mitch sighed. “He’s not doing all that well. Nor am I.”
“Sorry.” And John was. He hadn’t intended to hurt this

man…bear-man.

“You okay?” Nick said, finally catching up to them.
“Not bad,” John said automatically.

196

They walked back up to the cliff top, John feeling Mitch’s

presence as if it were a solid entity.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Nick was saying. “And the noise

the bear was making was upsetting Bandit. Can’t bear to hear
creatures in pain.”

“Sorry,” Mitch said again.
John wondered if Nick knew about Mitch’s double identity.
“It’s understandable you’d be upset. But I don’t imagine it

was easy for John to hear the news that you weren’t who he
thought you were.”

“No,” Mitch said softly.
They got to the top of the steps and just stood there. No

one seemed to know what to do or say.

“You should see if you can get some sleep,” Nick

eventually told Mitch.

“Yeah.” Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “Doubt it’ll

happen though.”

“I’ve still got some stuff Morwenna gave me,” John found

himself volunteering.

Mitch shook his head. “I had some earlier. It didn’t work.

Think it disagreed with Teddy.”

John looked at Nick to see his reaction, but there wasn’t

one. “I’ve got some prescription sleeping pills. You could try
those if you want?”

Mitch shrugged. John needed to do something to take

away the man’s pain, but the one thing he knew Mitch needed
was the one thing he couldn’t provide.

“I’ll, uh, go get the tablets,” John said in the awkward

silence that fell between them.

“I’ll come with you,” Nick said, surprising John.
Mitch stayed where he was. The fact he hadn’t raised an

objection to Nick being alone with John spoke volumes.

Inside John’s cottage, Nick cleared his throat. “Mitch, he’s

a good man.”

John nodded, not sure where the older man was going.
“He’s kind, protective, honest.”
John didn’t say anything, unsure as to how much Mitch

197

had told him.

“I imagine it can’t be easy for him.”
“Aren’t you…” John fumbled for the right words. He was

tired, it was the middle of the night, and he hadn’t had much
sleep. “…shocked at discovering what Mitch is?” John still
couldn’t get his head around it.

Nick shrugged. “I’d already had my suspicions. I’ve spent

a long time at sea and seen things that would make your hair
curl. So, no, I’m not shocked.”

“Oh.” John rubbed at his face. “I better get those pills for

Mitch; he’ll be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

John went upstairs, found the pills, and came back down

again.

“I take it you’re having a hard time coming to terms with

what Mitch is.”

John yawned. “Well, it isn’t every day you find that the

man you’re in love with is a werewolf.”

“Werebear,” Nick corrected.
John looked at the man. “You don’t change shape or

anything do you?”

Nick smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Completely human.”
John started for the back door and Mitch.
Nick put a hand out to stop him. “Many years ago I met

and fell in love with a young woman.”

John wondered why Nick was telling him this, and why

now. He wanted to get back to bed.

“At the time I’m talking about, I was a junior naval officer.

Sally—that was her name—worked as a waitress in the junior
officer’s mess.”

“Uh huh?” John looked at the door.
“Sometimes you just know when a person is right for you.

Sally was right for me. Except she wasn’t from the right class. My
family, my fellow officers, all told me that Sally wouldn’t be a
suitable wife for someone who had a promising career in front of
him.” Nick shook his head. “And I listened to them rather than my
heart.” He sighed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the
decision I made.”

198

“I’m sorry.”
“I tried looking for her the next time my ship was in port,

but she’d moved. I tried looking but…” Nick lowered his head.
“I’d missed the boat, so to speak.” Looking John directly in the
eye, he continued, “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Nick patted John’s shoulder and left the cottage, John

following him a moment later. As Nick, back ramrod straight,
made his way back to his cottage, John looked around for Mitch.
He was still at the top of the cliff steps.

“You okay?” John asked, knowing Mitch wasn’t.
Mitch shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” John took Mitch’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you

to your cottage.”

Mitch turned to John. “Would you…”
“Yes?”
“Sorry, never mind.” Mitch started for his cottage, their

hands still joined.

“Would I what?”
“Stay with me, at least until I fall asleep?”
John wasn’t sure.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
John squeezed Mitch’s hand. “Yes, of course I will.”
Mitch stopped walking and pulled John into a hug. He

soon began to shake. Was he crying?

“It’s okay,” John said, rubbing Mitch’s back.
Mitch let out a long breath and disengaged from the hug.

“Is it?” His wet eyes regarded John.

“I need time, to process all I’ve learned. Can you give me

that?”

Mitch nodded.
They walked the rest of the way to Mitch’s cottage in

silence.

* * * *

Mitch’s bedroom looked different, less welcoming without

the flickering candles that had leant it an air of romance.

199

John helped Mitch undress; the man was uncoordinated

and generally out of it. John would be lying if he claimed not to
be turned on by the sight of, and close proximity to, Mitch’s
muscular physique.

“I don’t know why it never struck me before,” John said,

trying not to stare at Mitch’s broad chest. “You have this totally
awesome body but you never work out as far as I know, and you
definitely don’t go to a gym.”

Mitch shrugged. “My werebear genes.”
Tearing himself away from the site of so much naked

flesh, John pulled the bottle of sleeping pills from his pocket
and—even though he knew what it said—studied the label.

“The normal dose is one to two pills. Should I give you

three?”

“Probably, as I’m not normal,” Mitch yawned.
“Mitch.” John put a hand on Mitch’s bare arm, the contact

sending a zing of arousal straight to John’s dick.

“Sorry.” Mitch looked down at John’s hand.
Feeling awkward, John dropped his hand.
“Thank you for being here. It means more than you know.”
John nodded and waited until Mitch got into bed before

risking another glance at him. “I’ll go get you a glass of water so
you can take these.”

* * * *

John situated himself in a chair near Mitch, who lay

somewhat restlessly in the bed.

They talked about this and that. John was curious about

Mitch’s incredibly long life, but determined not to ask anything
that might upset the guy. After all, the aim was to relax him
enough so he could fall asleep.

“It’s amazing that you lived through times before

television, the cinema, cars, heck, even steam trains would have
still been in their infancy when you were growing up.”

“Didn’t seem odd to us at the time.”
As Mitch talked, John forgot most of his animosity about

200

Mitch’s secrecy. How could the man have casually dropped into
conversation the fact that he’d been a teenager when Abraham
Lincoln first came to national prominence or Queen Victoria
ascended the throne?

“Not that I, or anyone around me, knew anything about

national or international politics. We farmed, logged, hunted, and
fished. That was our lives.”

“I guess it’s still like that for your family. Are many of them

still alive?”

“Some,” Mitch yawned. “Some were killed like Ben was,

others died from injuries they’d received.”

This led to a discussion about how a werebear could heal

quickly after receiving minor breaks and sprains, but couldn’t
recover from a mortal wound.

“Your family, were they okay about you being gay?

Although I don’t suppose you called it that back then.”

“They didn’t care. It was never an issue. You loved

whoever you were destined to love.”

John marvelled at how liberating and forward-thinking that

attitude was. “Even a couple of centuries later, society isn’t that
close to such ideals.”

Mitch shrugged. John imagined Mitch regarded what he

grew up with as normal, and what went on in the outside world
was abnormal.

“I’m sorry, these pills, though they’re making me tired,

aren’t helping me fall asleep. It’s okay if you want to go back to
your cottage and get what sleep you can. The sun will be coming
up soon, and you must be exhausted.”

“I’m okay.” John yawned. Yes, he was tired, but he’d had

such an eventful day. It was without doubt the most eventful day
of his life. And yet, strangely, he was loathe to see it end. He
recognised that part of his reluctance to leave was because he
needed to be near Mitch, make sure he was okay, or at least as
okay as John could reasonably make him.

“Thanks. You being here like this really does help. I feel a

lot calmer than I did.”

“That’s probably Morwenna’s sleeping draught and all the

201

pills you’ve taken.”

From the pillow, Mitch regarded him steadily. “No, it’s

definitely you.”

Knowing he probably shouldn’t, but unable to stop

himself, John asked, “Would it help if I held you?”

Mitch swallowed and blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t ask you to

do that.”

“You haven’t.” John kicked off his shoes, stood, and

walked around the bed to the other side.

He’d intended to lie on top of the sheet, but when Mitch

raised it for him to climb under, he saw no real objection. After
all, he still had his clothes on.

At first the contact felt awkward, both men not knowing

how far they could go. Mitch wasn’t hugging John with anything
like the usual amount of…heart he usually did. Maybe it was
John’s turn to be the one giving more than receiving. It was a
role he was unused to performing. But despite his unresolved
feelings regarding Mitch’s deliberate if understandable
omissions, John cared very deeply for this man. John pulled
Mitch’s larger body toward him and did his best to give him the
comfort and security he so obviously needed.

“Thank you,” Mitch said quietly.
“Better?”
Mitch yawned. “Much.”
John kissed the top of Mitch’s head. “Try and get some

sleep.”

As he continued to hold the man, John felt himself drifting

off to sleep. Snatches of images of his previous dream started to
return before floating away just out of his reach. A faint voice—
sounding a little like John’s, but deeper and with an accent he
couldn’t place—kept repeating, “I love you, Jack Humbolt. Will
always love you.”

In the darkness of Mitch’s bedroom, John asked, “Who’s

Jack Humbolt?”

“Was my name,” Mitch said, on the edge of sleep.
“Oh.” This raised more questions, most of which John

wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere near.

202

Within moments, Mitch was snoring lightly, but John’s

mind was working overtime. He remembered past dreams of
Jack and Ben. The Jack in his dreams had certainly looked like
Mitch, sounded like Mitch, albeit a younger version. John
guessed he could understand why he’d dream of Mitch—Mitch
occupied most of his waking thoughts, it was reasonable the
man would figure in his dreams as well. But why would he know
him as Jack? Mitch had never referred to himself by that name.

Ben. Mitch had talked about his late partner a few times,

but the details of John’s dreams had been so…detailed. And
John had always been Ben in the dreams. What was all that
about? John was too tired to want to think about it, but his mind
wouldn’t quit.

Ben had obviously been close to Mitch-Jack, they’d

known each other for ninety years or so. That was longer than
the average human life. John had seemed to know things about
Mitch without being told. No, not the big things like how he could
change into Teddy, but small, seemingly insignificant things such
as how he liked his coffee, and which side of the bed he
preferred to sleep on. When Mitch had described some of the
places he and Ben had been, a few of the things the two of them
had done together—John had felt he’d been to these places,
recognised some of the situations. At the time John had put it
down to his tiredness and Mitch’s excellent skills of description.

It made absolutely no sense, but the idea that John was—

or used to be—Ben popped into his head and wouldn’t go away.
How could he be Ben? Ben was dead, had been for almost a
hundred years. Ben had lived all his life in the States. John,
although he’d been across the Atlantic a few times, had been
born in Britain and had lived most of his life there.

He’d heard of reincarnation, but never thought it was real.

But then, he’d thought the same about werewolves—or
werebears. What else could be real? Vampires, zombies, truthful
politicians?

John shook his head, unable to think about it just then. It

could wait till morning.

203

Chapter 18

It took Mitch a few seconds to work out why John was

fully clothed while lying next to him under the sheet. Then it all
came slamming back at him. John knew. He knew everything
important about Mitch’s past. Although the guy had had a hard
time accepting it—was probably still having a hard time
accepting it—he was here, in Mitch’s bed. He hadn’t run away
when Mitch had needed him the most.

Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, Mitch

moved in and stole a gentle kiss from John’s soft and slightly
parted lips.

“Please, John, try and understand who I am. I never set

out to hurt you or keep stuff from you. I was afraid you’d run
away or tell everyone about me. I couldn’t risk that. But I should
have known you were special and wouldn’t tell.”

“Has anyone told you that you talk too much first thing in

the morning?” John’s raspy voice asked.

Mitch wasn’t sure how much the man had heard.
“And no, I wouldn’t have told anyone about you. I can

imagine what the authorities would do with you if they found out.”

Mitch shuddered. Rumours had gone around among his

fellow werebears that one or two of his kind had been discovered
and experimented upon.

“Thank you.” Mitch swallowed. “And I don’t just mean for

saying you wouldn’t have told anyone about me. Thank you for
being here, for last night, for…”

“You’re still talking too much.” John licked his lips. “I can

think of something much better you could be doing with that
gorgeous mouth of yours.”

Mitch swooped in for another kiss. Several in fact. But he kept

them light, sensing that John wasn’t ready for anything too intense.

“What time is it?”
“A quarter after ten,” Mitch said immediately.
John’s eyebrows knitted together. “How do you do that?

Tell the time I mean.”

Mitch shrugged. “I’ve always been able to.”

204

“Is it a werebear thing?”
“No, don’t think so. We’ve never needed to know the time,

not in any accurate sense.”

“Just another of life’s little mysteries.” John stretched and

looked seriously at Mitch, who braced himself for a question he
was sure he wouldn’t like. “Last night I asked you who Jack
Humbolt was. And you told me he is…was you.”

Mitch felt the colour drain from his face. He had no

recollection of that conversation. “How did you know about Jack?
Morwenna?” He tried to remember if he’d told her that name.

John’s hand came from under the sheet and caressed

Mitch’s cheek. “No, love. She would never betray any secrets
about you. Remember, she didn’t tell me that you and Teddy
were one and the same.”

Mitch felt himself beginning to calm, both from John’s

touches and his soothing voice. “When Ben died and I came to
England I dropped the name Jack and used Ben’s, reversing the
name. He was Benjamin Mitchell. I needed to have a part of him
with me.”

John nodded in apparent understanding. “These dreams

I’ve been having, had them since the first night I met you, I don’t
understand them. They’re…vivid, very detailed.”

Mitch’s stomach growled.
John smiled. “Come on, let’s get dressed and go see

Morwenna. Hopefully she’ll feed us, and I have some questions
to ask her.”

Mitch nodded.
John cupped Mitch’s face. “I’m going to ask her things that

might scare you. Heck, they scared me when I was thinking
about them last night. But if I can accept that you’re also Teddy,
then I hope you can accept that…Well, let’s see what Morwenna
has to say.”

Mitch was puzzled. Surely John wasn’t saying that he,

too, was a shifter. No, Mitch would have known. John was
definitely all human.

John’s clothes were rumpled, but he didn’t seem to mind,

and Mitch certainly didn’t.

205

Mitch thought about carrying John downstairs and over to

Morwenna’s, but decided against it. John would need time to
build back up to where they’d been before the previous evening’s
revelations. So long as the man stayed with him, Mitch would
wait. He had no choice. John was his mate.

* * * *

“Was wondering when you two would show up,”

Morwenna said, rising from her seat at the kitchen table and
setting down her jewellery making kit. “Have you two worked
everything out?”

Mitch wasn’t sure how to answer that, but John saved him

the trouble.

“We’re getting there. All I know is that there’s something

special connecting Mitch and me. I don’t understand all of it, far
from it.”

Morwenna nodded.
“And I was hoping you could help me…us work it out.”
“Yes, of course. But first we need to feed the hungry bear.”
“Both of them,” John said, patting Mitch’s growling

stomach. “With the amount of food I’ve seen this guy put away, I
suspected he was eating for two.” Turning to Mitch he stood on
tiptoe and kissed the man’s cheek. “And now I know I was right.”

Mitch glowed inside. John really seemed to be making

progress in accepting him as a werebear. It further cemented his
already firm belief that John was the man for him.

“I’ve been boiling up some seaweed. It should be about

ready—”

“No way!” Mitch and John said at the same time, causing

all three of them to smile.

“No, knowing this would be a special meal, I drove to the

butcher’s in St Duncan’s this morning and got some of Mitch’s
favourite sausages.”

“You, cook sausages, made from meat?” Mitch couldn’t

believe it.

“Like I said,” Morwenna announced, walking over to her

206

stove and lighting the flame under her rarely-used skillet, “I knew
this would be a special meal. It isn’t every day two of my
favourite people discover that they’re pre-destined life mates.”

Mitch sneaked a quick glance over at John, but he didn’t

seem to be reacting badly to her comment. In fact he gave
Mitch’s hand a squeeze and led him to the table, pulling out a
chair for him. Mitch was usually the one doing the chair pulling,
but he liked that John was doing it for him. As he was
discovering, John was no passive wimp.

* * * *

“These’re really good,” John said, his mouth still full.

Swallowing and taking a sip from his coffee, he said, “Where are
my manners? I apologise.”

“No problem. Don’t forget, I’ve lived all my life around this

man.”

Mitch felt Morwenna’s gaze settle on him. He looked up

from his plate. “I’m not that bad.”

Morwenna shook her head and smiled.
“Wow, of course,” John said after wiping his mouth. “That

makes sense now. Something you’d said some time ago
describing Mitch as an old fool.”

“Hey,” Mitch protested.
“It’s okay,” John’s hand reached for and squeezed

Mitch’s, “she didn’t mean it in a mean way.”

“Yes, sorry.” Morwenna said, offering Mitch another cup of

coffee, which he accepted. “It was difficult sometimes to
remember that John didn’t know that you are a lot older than me,
even though you don’t look it, damn it.”

Mitch smiled. “Like I keep telling you, it’s my genes,

nothing I can do anything about.”

They continued eating, Mitch glad to see that John had a

healthy appetite; his man didn’t eat nearly enough.

“There’s more coffee if either of you want it,” Morwenna

said, clearing away the breakfast plates.

“Not for me, thanks,” John said. “I’m more of a tea drinker.”

207

“I’ll have more,” Mitch said, sliding his mug over to

Morwenna.

That was one of the worst aspects of coming to

England—it was almost impossible to get good coffee. How they
could drink that instant crap, Mitch couldn’t understand. When
he’d mentioned this to John once, a couple of days later a packet
of coffee beans arrived in the mail from a store in London. It was
just one of many examples of how John looked out for Mitch.

“Now,” Morwenna said, settling herself back in her chair.

“You said you had some questions.”

John nodded, swallowed nervously and reached for

Mitch’s hand. Mitch started to worry.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
Morwenna nodded, her face serious. “It’s quite well

established. I think I know where you’re going, but please tell us.”

John told her about the dreams he’d been having. “They

involved Mitch, only he was called Jack.”

Morwenna looked confused. This confirmed that he hadn’t

told her about his old name.

“And this is where it gets really weird and a bit scary.”

John squeezed Mitch’s hand again. “In my dreams I was Mitch’s
lover, Ben Mitchell.”

Mitch was glad John had a tight hold of him, because he

probably would have fled the room.

“Go on,” Morwenna said quietly.
“I’ve had dreams all my life, like anyone else. But almost

always they fade just as soon as I wake up. But these dreams—
which I’ve only had since I’ve been here—haven’t faded. They’ve
been very detailed. They weren’t just pictures and sounds, there
were smells and touch, too.”

Morwenna nodded for John to continue. He did so after

taking a gulp from Mitch’s mug of coffee.

“I didn’t know what any of this meant, if anything. Still

don’t, really, but I think there has to be some significance. Why
now, why would they involve Mitch, why would I know him as
Jack Humbolt? I’ve never heard him call himself by that name.”

“Tell us some details of your dreams. What did you see,

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what was said?”

John let out a breath and closed his eyes. “The first one

was in a wood or a forest. I was walking up to a log cabin. The
porch at the front had three steps to it, and the bottom one kind
of sloped awkwardly to the right.”

Mitch’s vision clouded and he felt a cold chill wash over

him. John was describing his and Ben’s cabin. How could John
know about it?

“Mitch, Mitch!” John’s voice broke into his panic. “You’re

hurting my hand.”

Mitch let go and stood.
Morwenna was there to stop him from running. “It’s okay,

don’t be afraid. It’s all okay.” Her words weren’t getting through.
Mitch started to shiver. No, this couldn’t be happening.

“Mitch, it’s okay.” It was John’s voice. Arms wrapped

themselves around Mitch’s waist. They were John’s arms.
“Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

Mitch did, then another. His shaking lessened.
“Let’s continue this in the front room.” It was Morwenna

who suggested that.

Mitch felt himself being led through a door and guided to a

sofa. As if he were a child, he reached out for John, who was
there instantly.

“It’s okay, love. I said it’d be a shock. It was for me, too,

when I worked it out last night.” John’s fingers stroked Mitch’s
cheeks. “It’s okay. I know what you’re going through. I went
through it yesterday when you changed into Teddy.”

Mitch swallowed and nodded, already feeling calmer.
“Tell us more about the dream,” Morwenna prompted,

pushing a glass of something into Mitch’s hand. “Drink it.”

He did. It was more of that horrible tasting stuff she’d

given him before.

“All of it,” she insisted.
Then John went on to describe the inside of Jack and

Ben’s cabin. Although Mitch couldn’t remember the actual words
he and Ben had spoken, he recalled the situation perfectly. Ben
had been away on one of his occasional hunting trips, Mitch—or

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Jack as he’d been then—had missed his guy like crazy. They’d
made love for hours upon Ben’s return.

“So, what does all this mean?” Mitch asked when John

wound down from telling them of another dream where the two of
them had been running in the forest together.

Mitch let out a breath. There had been stories from the

wise ones about things like this, and in fact after Ben’s death,
Grandfather had told Mitch that Ben wasn’t gone completely from
his life. “True love never dies. It changes and returns, often when
you least expect it.”

Mitch hadn’t understood at the time; he’d been too torn up

with grief. He had to relive that grief when John told them about
the dream he’d had the previous night. John described
accurately where Ben’s bullet-wound had been, and how Mitch
had poured out his anger and pain.

Mitch wanted John to stop—it hurt too much to

remember—but Morwenna insisted he go on.

“I heard this faint voice. It kept repeating, ‘I love you, Jack

Humbolt. I’ll always love you.’”

Mitch had heard enough. “No more, please.” He put his

hands over his ears.

“It’s okay, Mitch.” John was rubbing his shoulders.

“There’s no more to tell. You now know everything I know.”

Mitch slumped against John, the man’s arms working their

way around his chest.

“Amazing,” Morwenna eventually said. “Compelling.

Fascinating, truly fascinating.”

Mitch started to shiver.
“Have you got a blanket?” John asked Morwenna.
“Of course.” She got up and left the room.
“Ben?” Mitch turned watery eyes to John, who shook his

head.

“No, love, I’m not Ben.”
“Well, actually, you are,” Morwenna said, coming back

with a large afghan which she spread over the two of them.

“How’d you mean?” John asked.
Morwenna retook her seat opposite them. “It’s difficult to

210

explain. But essentially, your soul is the same as Ben’s. He had
it, then maybe someone else, and now you have it.”

“Huh?” Mitch said, not understanding.
“Think of it like an actor who plays different roles throughout

his life. The actor is the common theme, he’s the soul.”

“And the parts he plays are the people, Ben and me,”

John said.

“You got it. I knew you would. The first time I spoke with

you on the telephone I could tell you were special.”

“He is, very,” Mitch said, still shivering.
John cuddled him closer and kissed his cheek. Instantly

Mitch’s shivers lessened.

Morwenna smiled at them. “I’m surprised that once you’d

begun to figure it all out you didn’t freak, like…”

“Like I did when I found out about Mitch being a werebear?”
She chuckled and nodded.
“I surprised myself as well. Maybe it came at the right

time. My mind was already blown away by Mitch’s secret, so I
suppose my brain couldn’t raise any objections to me having
been Ben.”

“That makes sense.”
“But one thing, or rather the biggest thing that troubles

me, is George. If I was predestined to find Mitch again, then what
was my time with George all about? I loved him. Still do.”

Mitch felt uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking.
Morwenna nodded. “I’m sure your soul and his soul have

had other lives together, and you’ll probably have more in the
future. Your time with George in this lifetime was still of value.”

“Are you saying George will have another life?”
Mitch felt jealous, but another kiss from John helped calm

him.

“His soul will find other lives to touch.” Morwenna got to

her feet and laid a hand on the tops of John and Mitch’s heads.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. You both have a lot to think
about. If you need to sleep, then sleep. But Mitch, try not to shift
into Teddy while you’re sleeping. The sofa wouldn’t be able to
cope, and it’d give poor Boris a heart attack.”

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Chapter 19

Mitch let out a long breath. The couple of weeks since he’d

discovered the connection between John and Ben had been
alternately frustrating and wonderful. It was due to the former that
Mitch was planning to get things to where he needed them to be.

The summer was almost over and John hadn’t said

anything about leaving. Though he hadn’t said anything about
staying, either. Mitch had been too afraid to ask what the man’s
long-term plans were. Yes, he knew he’d been burying his head
in the sand. Today, he determined, was the day his head would
come out and he’d ask, and if necessary, plead, for John to stay.
Mitch needed to take charge of his life, and today would be the
day he began.

The weather was warm and sunny, possibly one of the

last few good days they’d have. Mitch wanted to prepare a
special meal for John but knew he was no cook. He could have
asked Morwenna for help, but wanted to do it himself. Given his
limited options, Mitch decided to make up a picnic basket.

There was a meadow about a half-mile walk from the

cottages. Mitch sometimes went there when the beach was too
crowded. It was well-screened so he could shift and Teddy could
run around, dig for grubs, and generally be himself without much
danger of being seen.

That had been one of the frustrations Mitch had faced.

John seemed to prefer Teddy’s company to Mitch’s. When Mitch
had asked John about it, he’d claimed he wasn’t aware of it,
although on being pressed, he did admit he found it easier to talk
to Teddy because he couldn’t answer back. John had then given
Mitch a kiss to show him he didn’t mean anything bad by his
comment.

John liked Mitch’s sandwiches, so he made sure to make

ones with different fillings. Although as the guy ate so little, Mitch
knew he himself would end up eating most of them.

John had been with either Teddy or Mitch every night. The

times he’d asked to be with Teddy, they’d walked down to the
cave where Mitch had shifted. On the occasions John had

213

wanted to sleep with Mitch, they’d spent the night in Mitch’s bed.
They’d kissed, caressed, even jerked each other off, but John
hadn’t gone down on Mitch, and hadn’t seemed that enthusiastic
about Mitch sucking him off. That was another big frustration.

Yet another was where John disappeared to most

mornings. He claimed he was going into St. Duncan’s to attend
to his personal banking, his insurance policies, and goodness
knew what else. While Mitch had no reason to doubt the man,
he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel excluded, as John had
never asked him to come along.

Mitch focused back on his picnic. John liked soda, or pop,

as the man called it. Mitch thought it was okay but preferred fruit
juice. Mitch added both to the basket.

The wonderful parts of the past couple of weeks had been

how John and Mitch’s, and to a lesser extent John and Teddy’s,
relationships had deepened. Mitch developed a much better
understanding of what John liked and didn’t like. Oddly, these
didn’t always match with what Ben had liked and disliked. Mitch
still couldn’t get his head completely around the idea that John
used to be Ben, sort of. Often Mitch would look at the man to try
and see something of Ben in him. Sometimes he couldn’t see
anything, then other times he told himself he was certain there
was something. The way John’s brow wrinkled when he was
concentrating was pure Ben. But John’s love of sweet foods was
definitely different from Ben, who had rarely eaten such things,
not that it had been easy to get hold of cakes and the like in the
small and remote mountain communities where they’d lived.

Mitch added a packet of store-bought cookies to his

basket. Then, seeing how small the packet was, added a
second.

Things had also been going well with Mitch’s adult literacy

classes. A couple of students had dropped out. Mitch had tried to
talk them into rejoining, but Brian had told him that, sadly, this
happened all the time. Mitch knew the main reason—heck, the only
reason why he himself had started the classes and continued with
them—was because of John’s and Brian’s tireless help.

“But this dependency has to stop, right now!” Mitch said,

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remembering the promise he’d made to himself. He’d wasted two
weeks, only a blink of an eye in his two centuries of life, but he
wasn’t going to waste another day.

Mitch looked down at the kitchen counter and took a deep

breath. “Back to the picnic.”

He’d developed quite a taste for potato crisps, or chips as

John told him they were called stateside. They hadn’t been
around when Mitch was there, or at least he hadn’t seen them.
So a couple of packets went into the basket, which was looking
pretty full.

Mitch had thought about adding live crab or maybe a few

fresh salmon, for Teddy, but decided against it. He could have
used a second basket for bear food, but Teddy wouldn’t be able
to carry two baskets. That had been another aspect to his plan.
He’d make up the food, put it in the basket, and take it outside.
He’d then strip, shift, and Teddy would carry the basket over to
John’s cottage and ring the bell. John had gotten a real kick out
of Teddy visiting him that way once. For Mitch’s plan to convince
John to stay, he knew he’d need all the help he could get. And
Teddy liked the idea of being part of the plan. He was part of
Mitch, after all.

There would be one final surprise for John at the

makeshift picnic ground which Mitch had already set up. He
hoped the area was as secluded as he remembered, otherwise
several weeks of work might be lost.

Mitch looked over the basket one last time. Everything

was there. Then he thought of one final touch which would
please John.

Getting out his pad and a pen, he carefully printed out,
Please come and eat with us. Love, Mitch and Teddy
He attached the note to the handle with a piece of sticky

tape. He knew his handwriting was nowhere near as neat as
John’s, but the man had assured him it would improve with
practice, using the example of his carpentry and how that had
gotten better given time.

Taking one last deep breath, knowing he couldn’t turn

back now—even if he wanted to—Mitch carried the basket

215

outside and stripped off his clothes.

* * * *

The bear set the basket on the mat outside John’s cottage

and pressed the button with his nose. He’d only just picked the
basket back up when John opened the door.

“Teddy? You managed to persuade Mitch to let you come

see me?” The man was smiling, obviously pleased to see him.
“What have you got there?”

John saw the piece of paper and pulled it away. He read the

note, once, twice and then started to blink rapidly. The bear could
tell John was upset. Damn his human half for making John sad.

“Oh, Mitch. You, too, Teddy. What a wonderful surprise.”
The bear relaxed. Evidently John was upset in a good

way. For as long as he lived, the bear knew he’d never fully
understand humans, but they had their uses. The bear knew
he’d never have been able to make up a food basket.

“Do you have anywhere in particular you want to eat this?”
The bear turned his head in the direction of the meadow

his human had already organised.

“Okay, let me put my shoes on, then we can go.”
John ducked inside for a moment and returned with the

usual human foot coverings. That was another thing the bear
couldn’t understand. Taking those things on and off just took way
too long. Same went for clothes. Much easier to have your own
fur with you all the time.

“Shall I carry the basket? I don’t want it to hurt your

muzzle,” John said, reaching for the basket.

The bear growled and took a step back.
“Okay, okay.” John held up his hands. “Sometimes you’re

so like your human.”

John had become a lot better at understanding the bear’s

vocalisations. He’d known that the bear wasn’t angry or upset,
just determined that he would carry the basket. It hardly weighed
anything. Though the bear was touched that John had
considered his welfare. That was just one of the reasons both

216

the bear and his human loved the man.

As they walked, John chatted away, talking to the bear

both as a bear and a human. The bear knew his human side
really appreciated that John didn’t forget him when the bear was
around.

“Goodness, I don’t think I’ve been to this area before. Are

you sure you’ve not made a wrong turn? It looks quite overgrown
and…Oh.”

They’d just emerged into a clearing. There, in front of

them, was a blanket spread on the ground and the chair the
bear’s human had been working on for John.

“Oh, Mitch, it’s beautiful.” John ran to the chair and knelt

in front of it. At first he seemed afraid to touch it. The bear
snorted and placed the basket on the edge of the blanket.

“It’s…it’s…perfect! The lines, the shape, the symmetry.

Just perfect.”

More tears began to fall. The bear was sure this time they

were the happy kind. He waited patiently as John crawled
around the chair, finally touching it, petting it, and checking out
all the places where the pieces of wood joined.

“The sea glass looks amazing. That’s so clever of you,

Mitch.” John’s hand came up and stroked along the part where
wood met glass. “So smooth.”

The bear knew his human was particularly proud of that

part, it’d taken him the longest time to get it right.

“I’m going to sit in it, okay?” John said, looking over at the

bear, who thought that was the whole point of chairs.

“It’s so comfortable,” John said, tilting the chair backward

and forward. “I had no idea you were going to make it a rocking
chair. It’s a wonderful surprise. Thank you, both of you.”

The bear looked down at the basket of food. He was

hungry and hoped John would soon lose interest in the chair
long enough to get the meal started.

“Sorry, Teddy. I know you’re always hungry. Shall we see

what Mitch made?“

The bear let out a breath. John was definitely getting

better at understanding him.

217

Looking through the selection, John said, “This is all

human food. Mitch, you should have included something that
Teddy would like.”

The bear grinned to himself. He’d had similar thoughts.
“Do you want a cheese and tomato sandwich, Teddy?” John

held out an unwrapped packet, but the bear wasn’t interested. “No,
didn’t think you would.” He grinned. “How about a packet of crisps?
You should eat them because they’re Mitch’s favourite. Then when
they’re gone, he won’t be able to have them.”

John tossed an unopened bag at the bear’s feet, and the

bear made short work of the packet and eating its contents. It
didn’t take long.

“Here, have another.” John threw him another packet.

“These sandwiches are good, but there’s way too many for me. Are
you going to stay Teddy all afternoon, or am I going to see Mitch?”

The bear had made an agreement with his human that

once they were at the picnic ground he’d shift, so his human
could have the serious talk with John. As the bear also wanted
John to stay with them all the time, he started to change so his
human half could convey their joint desire more easily.

“I thought he’d never let me out,” Mitch said a minute

later, stretching out on the blanket. He was, of course, naked.
There hadn’t been room in the basket for clothes.

Mitch had also thought that if John got to see his muscles

in full daylight, it might be another reason for him to stick around
once the summer was over.

“Sandwich?” John said, offering him one.
“Thanks.”
“Odd that Teddy didn’t want one.”
“Why did you feed him my crisps?” Mitch asked through a

mouthful of bread and ham.

“Morwenna was right about you,” John said, grinning at him.
Mitch remembered the conversation in her kitchen on that

fateful day—the day he’d discovered Ben was still with him
through John.

Mitch swallowed his mouthful of food. He needed to say

this before he chickened out, again.

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“John, I…”
“You know, it’s very difficult for me to hold a real

conversation with you when all your beautiful bits are on display
like that.”

“John, please.” Mitch wasn’t in the mood for humour. Not

yet at least.

“Sorry, you were saying? And from the look on your face,

I’m guessing it’s something big.”

“Yes. Huge. Probably the most important and biggest

thing I’ll ever need to ask you.”

John stopped eating and gave Mitch his full attention.
Mitch reached out and took John’s hand. “Please don’t go

back to London at the end of the summer.” His throat had gone
dry. He wished he had a large drink in his hand. “I need you.
Teddy needs you. You’re everything to us.” Mitch had rehearsed
an entire speech, but now, at the moment of truth, he’d forgotten
most of it. But at least he’d gotten his main point across.

“You remember that evening on the beach, just before

you shifted for the first time in front of me?”

Mitch nodded uncertainly.
“You told me that you loved me. But you stopped me from

replying. Remember?”

Mitch nodded again.
“Well, even though you threw some pretty weird stuff at

me just after that interrupted conversation, one thing remained.
That is that I love you, am in love with you.”

“Oh.” Mitch knew he should say more, but at that moment

he couldn’t think of anything.

“Yes, I should have said something sooner, but I…” John

shook his head. “I don’t know why I was afraid to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Mitch wanted to ask him again to stay,

but the man’s previous statement still had him reeling.

“I’ll admit, finding out I share the same soul as Ben threw

me for a loop.”

It had done the same for Mitch.
“You remember Morwenna talking to me about George’s

soul and how we probably would meet again?”

219

“Yes.” Mitch hadn’t liked that. He wanted Ben or John or

whatever the name of their soul was all to himself.

“Well, when you fell asleep I asked her some more

questions about reincarnation. I still don’t think I fully agree with
it, but it’s totally obvious that there’s no other way I could know
those things about Ben.”

Mitch agreed.
“Morwenna told me that you and I, or rather our souls,

have been lovers many times throughout history. Jack and Ben
were just the latest incarnation of them. You kinda bucked the
trend a bit by living as long as you did and outliving Ben for as
long as you have.”

“I outlived him, yes, but I didn’t allow myself to truly live

after his death.”

John sighed. “And that’s just tragic, criminal. You should

have lived. You shouldn’t have hidden yourself away like you did.
I wonder if that’s why it’s taken Ben, currently in the body of
yours truly, so long to find you?”

Mitch opened his mouth, but it took him a couple of

seconds to phrase his statement. “You’re saying that if I’d have
made myself go out in the world more than I did, I’d have found
you sooner?”

“Perhaps you’d have found the person who had Ben’s

soul before me.”

Mitch wondered if, during the past ninety years—no, the

years between Ben’s death and John’s birth—someone with Ben
inside him had been looking for him but couldn’t find him. “Ben,
I’m sorry.” Mitch buried his face in his hands, ashamed of himself
for causing Ben to suffer.

“It’s okay. How were you to know?” John rubbed Mitch’s

back. “I should have said something sooner, but Morwenna hit
me with some pretty heavy stuff and I didn’t know how to deal
with it. I’m still not sure.”

Mitch shook his head. “You waited two weeks. I waited

ninety years.” Mitch wiped his eyes. He needed to be strong for
this next bit. Squeezing John’s hands, probably tighter than he
should, he said, “You need to be with me. We need to be with

220

each other.”

John nodded. “Yes.”
Had Mitch heard correctly? “You mean…?”
“Yes, love, I’ll move here to Cornwall and live with you

and Teddy. But,” he held up a hand, “there are conditions.”

“Anything.” Mitch couldn’t believe it. John was going to be his.
“You need to improve your life. Yes, you’ve made a great

start with the adult literacy classes. But be honest, you’ve gone
because of me. You’re going to have to do this, and a load of
other things because it’s what you want to do. Do you get what
I’m saying?”

Mitch nodded. “I can see that, through you, Ben has made

the effort to join the modern world. I need to do the same, too. I’d
sort of realised that earlier when I was making up the picnic, but
you helped me understand better why I need to do it.”

“We’re a team.” The man’s smile was brilliant. “Now, I

think we need a bit of a break from all this emotional stuff. I see
that we have two choices. Food or making love.”

Mitch threw himself at John and knocked him to the

blanket.

“Didn’t take you long to decide,” John laughed, his

laughter cut off buy Mitch’s mouth sealing itself over his.

They rubbed and writhed on the blanket, each seemingly

not able to get enough of the other. They needed to touch and
be touched everywhere at the same time. Mitch was beside
himself at getting John back, at getting Ben back. He determined
he wouldn’t fuck things up again.

“Do we need rubbers? You being celibate for so long and

being a werebear?” John asked when Mitch uncovered the
man’s mouth long enough for him to draw breath and speak.

“No. Not ever again.”
“Good, because I didn’t bring them. Must still be in your

bedroom.”

Mitch remembered they needed lube though. Damn, he

hadn’t put any in the basket.

“But there were still some sachets of lube in my trouser

pocket.” John reached into his pants pocket—a different pair

222

Chapter 20

It had been foolish to try and drive all the way home to

Cornwall without stopping for a meal or a pee break. But John
needed to get to Mitch and Teddy. He’d spoken with Mitch every
night on the phone, but it wasn’t the same as holding and being
held by the big man, or his bear.

John had told Mitch it would take him about a month to

close down his life in London. He needed to serve out his notice
at work, put the flat on the market, have the meters read. The list
was seemingly endless. He’d already done all he could from
Cornwall by post and over the phone. But a good deal of it had
had to be attended to in person. He hadn’t been surprised when
no one in his office had suggested throwing him a farewell party,
not that he’d have wanted one.

However, his work colleagues had had a whip round and

bought him an antique eight-day mantle clock. He’d smiled and
thanked them, but as he’d be with Mitch, the human—sort of—
talking clock, he doubted he’d really need the timepiece.

The clock was in the back of his car, along with a

collection of stuff he couldn’t bear to live without: Photos of him
and George, a quilt his late Aunt Phyllis had made for him, and
various other odds and ends that a person accumulated over the
course of a lifetime. It amazed him that he could fit everything
that was important to him into the car with room to spare. But
then the most important thing in his new life was in Cornwall,
impatiently waiting for his return.

Doris, perceptive as ever, had volunteered to see to the rest

of John’s affairs when she’d seen how much he was missing Mitch.
She’d been delighted that John had found someone else. John had
worried she’d think it was too soon after George’s death.

“Don’t be silly. Mitch sounds like a wonderful man.” John

had shown her a picture of Mitch, woodworking tools in hand,
working on one of his children’s chairs. “I know George would
have liked him.”

So as soon as he’d completed his two week notice with

the civil service, John left everything else in Doris’s hands and

223

pointed Siobhan for Cornwall and a hopefully surprised Mitch.

With any luck, he’d be home before dinner, not that he

planned on cooking.

Driving through St. Duncan’s, he saw their favourite pizza

parlour was open, so he pulled in, ordered two large meat lovers’
to go, and paid a quick visit to the toilet.

The woman who usually served them was working at the

counter, and John had to make polite conversation with her while the
pizzas cooked, when all he wanted to do was get home to his man.

Eventually the pizzas were ready. John paid and got back on

the road. The last five kilometres to get to Mitch seemed the longest
of all. But even though he was tempted to put his foot down, John
didn’t, as he needed to get there in one piece. One lover had already
died on Mitch; John wasn’t going to be the second.

Finally the turn off for the cottages came into view. Driving

along the rutted track felt like coming home. John realised he
must be tired, because he couldn’t sense Mitch’s presence,
something he’d gotten quite good at in recent weeks. Mitch had
said that it might be something Ben had gifted him with. John
wasn’t so certain, but the fact he could normally sense when his
lover was close gave him a huge amount of comfort. That was
another reason why he’d cut his time in London short. He missed
Mitch’s mental presence just as much as he did the physical.

“What are you doing here?” Morwenna asked, rushing up

to John, a troubled expression on her face.

John closed his car door. “Um, I live here?” He’d moved

the few belongings he’d brought with him at the beginning of the
summer over to Mitch’s cottage the day of the picnic. Mitch had
insisted.

“Yes, but…” Morwenna was flustered. John had never

seen the woman anything other than in control.

A hand squeezed at John’s stomach. “Mitch, is he all

right?” He couldn’t get his breath.

“Yes, but he isn’t here.”
Because he didn’t drive, Mitch didn’t go anywhere outside

of walking distance from the cottages. “Where is he?”

Morwenna shook her head and began to fiddle with the

224

bangles on her wrists. “He’s on his way to London.”

When John had decided to go back to the capital to sort

things out, Mitch—showing just how far he’d progressed—had
offered to go with him.

John had been pleased at the gesture but had pointed out

that there wouldn’t be anywhere for Teddy to run free.

“There are parks in London.”
“Yes, but…” John had imagined the fuss that would be

created if a huge grizzly was seen jumping into the Serpentine in
Hyde Park when Teddy decided he wanted to go for a swim.

Eventually, after a lot of negotiation and reassurances that

he was definitely coming back, John persuaded Mitch to wait for
him in Cornwall. His suggestion that Mitch redecorate his…their
cottage in preparation for them officially moving in together had
been the ultimate persuader.

Staring at Morwenna, John asked, “Why’d he go to London?”
“To see you of course. He was missing you terribly.”
Mitch had done a good job of hiding it. Their daily phone

calls had been full of Mitch’s achievements in class, what he or
Morwenna had bought for the cottage, even passing on well-
wishing messages from Nick.

“I…How’s he getting there?”
“I put him on the train in Penzance this afternoon. In fact,

I’ve only just got back.”

John tried to work out distances and times in his head, but

such things were beyond him at the best of times, and doubly
impossible when under stress.

Morwenna saved him the trouble. “His train is due in at

Paddington at nine.”

John looked at his watch. He doubted he’d get back to

London in three and a half hours. “Shit.”

“Come inside, I’ll make a cup of tea and we’ll think of

something.”

John followed her, not knowing what they could do.
“How did he intend getting from the station to my flat?” It

was all the way across London. “Surely not by Underground.”

“I told him to get a taxi,” Morwenna said, filling the teapot.

225

“That’d cost a fortune.”
“He loves you.”
John’s heart ached for Mitch—alone and probably scared,

even more so when he realised John wasn’t at home.

“He needed to do this as part of his journey, if you’ll forgive

the pun.” Morwenna opened the cake tin. “Slice of lemon cake?”

John shook his head and remembered the pizzas on the

passenger’s seat. He wasn’t hungry.

“Has Mitch ever been on a train before?” he asked.
“Don’t think so.”
“Shit.” John started pulling at his hair, realising it was a

habit he’d picked up from Mitch. “He doesn’t have a mobile
phone, so we can’t get in touch with him.”

“It’s possible he’ll ring here when he finds that you aren’t

at your old flat. Can you call one of your neighbours and ask
them to explain to Mitch what’s happened?”

John shook his head. He told her that his neighbours were

little more than nodding acquaintances. He doubted he knew
their names much less their telephone numbers.

“How sad,” Morwenna said, beginning to pour the tea.
“Doris!” John got to his feet. “I’ll call George’s mum. She

doesn’t live too far from Paddington.” She could meet Mitch off
the train and take him back to her house until he could get there.
“Can I use your phone?”

Morwenna nodded. “Of course.”
Doris answered on the third ring.
“Doris! It’s urgent. I need you to go to Paddington and pick

Mitch up.”

Thankfully the woman was able to tell John meant

business, so she didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. “What
time is his train?”

John explained best he could, but had to repeat himself

because he was talking too fast. “He’s…not used to travelling on
trains and has never been to London before so—”

“Deep breath. I’ll have plenty of time to get there. Don’t

worry. And I know what he looks like. Didn’t you say he was six
feet eight?”

226

John nodded, then realised Doris couldn’t see him. “Yes.”
“Then I won’t have any trouble spotting him in the crowd.”
John felt like weeping with relief that Mitch would be safe.

“I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”

“Take your time. You only set off from here late this

morning. How long have you been back in Cornwall?”

“Um, about quarter of an hour.”
“Then stay there until the morning, then drive up. Or better

still, I’ll put Mitch back on the train in the morning and you can
meet him at the other end.”

John shook his head. He couldn’t be without Mitch that

long. “Tell you what. I’ll wait here a couple of hours, then, if I feel
up to it, I’ll set out in time to get to you before you go to bed. And
if I’m too tired I’ll give you a ring to say I’ll come in the morning.”

Doris chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you tonight then.

But don’t you dare drive if you’re tired, you hear?”

“Yes, Mother.”
They said their goodbyes and hung up. John slumped

against the wall, exhausted from the drive and the emotional
strain.

* * * *

It was after midnight when John pulled into Doris’s

driveway. If he’d felt exhausted before, he certainly did now. No
way would he be able to drive back to Cornwall that
night…morning. They’d get a hotel room somewhere and… The
thought of being in a bed with his bear of a man had John
perking right up. Or was it the proximity of Mitch?

Doris’s door flew open and his bear man came barrelling

down the steps. John had hardly gotten his seatbelt off before
strong hands plucked him out of his seat and pressed him—none
too gently—into a solid wall of muscle.

“Missed you,” Mitch growled, nuzzling John’s neck.
John was conscious of Doris watching from the doorway,

but he didn’t care. He was in Mitch’s arms again.

“I’m making cocoa. It’ll be ready in five minutes.” She

227

ducked back into the kitchen, giving them privacy, or at least as
much privacy as a driveway on a public street in inner London
after midnight could offer.

“I love you,” Mitch said, sounding emotional.
“I love you, too. But you shouldn’t have gotten the train

like that. Anything could have happened to you.”

“I was fine. You worry too much.”
John found himself touching all the parts of Mitch he could

reach, checking that his man was indeed fine. “We better go
inside. Don’t want Doris’s neighbours to get the wrong idea.”

“Who said they’d be wrong?” Mitch asked, pressing a hard

dick into John’s stomach.

“Mitch!”
Mitch shut the car door with his hip before lifting John off

the ground, John’s arms and legs finding their accustomed
positions around Mitch’s body. John knew he should be
embarrassed at his child-like clingy behaviour, but there was
something about this big gentle person that filled a yawning need
in John to be cared for.

“Missed you,” they both said at the same time.
John was carried toward the house but had enough sense

left to press the key fob. Siobhan gave her usual beep to indicate
the doors were locked.

“This isn’t Cornwall,” John told Mitch. “You need to lock

cars here.”

* * * *

Mitch let out a contented sigh. “Have I told you that I

missed you?”

John kissed him on the lips. “Yes, but you can tell me again.”
“I missed you.”
John smiled and shook his head.
It was a tight squeeze, fitting a grown man and a huge

werebear man in a standard double bed, but they had no
complaints at being so close. John had been surprised when
Doris had announced that she’d made up the spare room for

228

them both.

Just as he was about to drift off, John jerked awake,

amazed that he could forget something so important.

“What?” Mitch asked, sleepily.
John started to get out of bed, but Mitch pulled him back.
“Put the light on. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“I’ve seen it already, but I don’t mind seeing it again.”

Mitch grabbed John’s crotch through the boxer shorts he’d
insisted that both of them wear while in Doris’s house.

“Stop it! Doris will hear.” He slapped Mitch’s hands away.

“I didn’t mean show you that, you horn dog.”

“That’s ‘horn bear’ if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry, Teddy,” John said, patting Mitch’s stomach where

he imagined Teddy lived when they were in their Mitch shape.

John managed to worm his way out of Mitch’s clutches

and stood at the side of the bed. “Now turn the light on, please.”

There was a click and the room was bathed in a soft,

orange glow. John went to his overnight bag on top of the
dressing table and delved into the side pocket.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Mitch complained. “I’m

missing you here.”

John shook his head and pulled out a brown envelope.
“What’s that?”
“Your future.” John got back into bed and held the

envelope in trembling hands.

“John?” Mitch asked.
John sighed, looked over at Mitch then unsealed the

envelope. “I realised that, in order for you to join the modern world,
you needed an identity. I am not going to sit back and watch you
feel like an outsider in what has become your adopted country.”

“But, how?”
John could tell he had Mitch’s attention now. “I work, or

rather worked for the Department of Work and Pensions. They
deal, amongst other things, with National Insurance numbers.
They’re kind of like American social security numbers. I thought
I’d try and get hold of the details of someone who was born
about forty years ago, but is now deceased. I did some research

229

on some rather dodgy websites and discovered that for best
success it was advisable to pick a person who died in childhood.
That way they won’t have already applied for most forms of
identity. Plus they wouldn’t have a criminal record.”

“I see. I think.” Mitch definitely seemed interested now.
“Once I got the specifics of this dead child, I was able to

apply for a copy of his birth certificate.” John pulled the birth
certificate out of the envelope and laid it facedown on the bed.
“With that,” John nodded to the piece of paper, “I was able to
apply for a credit card. I also opened a bank account and a
savings account.” John pulled out a couple of bank cards, a
credit card, a passbook, and a chequebook. He laid each
facedown on the quilt next to the birth certificate.

Mitch made to turn one of the cards over, but John

stopped him.

“Most importantly of all, I was able to get a passport. I had

to cut down one of the pictures I have of you to go inside it. It
worked surprisingly well.” The last item to come out of the
envelope was a newly issued passport. He laid it on top of the
other items and took hold of Mitch’s hands.

“The person whose identity you’ve assumed was born

forty-one years ago to an American father and a British mother.
Soon after their son died, they moved back to the States. This
was a stroke of luck for us. It isn’t likely they’d be around to issue
a challenge if they found out their dead son had suddenly come
back to life.”

“You did all this for me?” Mitch stared at John.
“I love you.”
“But, you could go to jail if anyone finds out.”
“I love you,” John repeated.
“John, I…” Mitch swallowed.
“I say again, I love you.” John, too, was close to tears.
“Who am I going to be?” Mitch asked, freeing a hand to

turn over the birth certificate.

John held his breath. He couldn’t believe the irony of the

name of the person he’d resurrected.

“Theodore James Wilson,” Mitch read slowly.

ABOUT DREW HUNT

Having read all the decent free fiction on the net Drew

could find, he set out to try his hand at writing something himself.
Fed up reading about characters who were super-wealthy,
impossibly handsome, and incredibly well-endowed, Drew
determined to make his characters real and believable.

Drew lives a quiet life in the north of England with his cat.

Someday he hopes to meet the kind of man he writes about. If
you’re that man, or even if you’re not, Drew would like to hear
from you—

drew@drew-hunt.co.uk

. Visit him online at

drew-

hunt.co.uk

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated

by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including
gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.
Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and
compiled into single-author print anthologies, while stories over
30k in length may go into print. Visit us at

jms-books.com

for our

latest releases and submission guidelines!

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