Alpha’s Prey: A BBW Bear Shifter Romance (Bad Boy Alphas Book 11)
Alpha’s Prey: Chapter 8

Caleb

I should be furious with myself. Or at least be wracked with guilt. And I do feel some of that. But mostly… mostly what I notice is how sane I feel.

For three years I’ve been tottering on the edge of insanity. I’ve let the bear run the show too often, lost my grip on reality. On living. On being human. I’ve even wondered sometimes if I was responsible for what happened to Jen and Gretchen. They were killed by bear claws, after all.

And now—after one fuck with a young human female, I’m me again. I can think straight. Clearer. My surroundings seem more in focus, the fog’s lifted.

“How did that rate on your scale?” Miranda peeps up at me from under her lashes—like she took shy pills and they’re suddenly taking effect. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, red hair a disheveled halo around her glowing face.

I scowl, because her question makes me think of rating her against other women, which immediately brings to mind Jen.

The doctor flushes a deeper red, though, and I kick myself. Wounding her pride was never part of this. I may have had something to prove, but it wasn’t about her lack of skill or appeal.

I rub a hand over my face and down my beard. “Best sex I’ve had in three years.” That’s a truth I don’t have to feel guilty about.

But she’s too smart. She leans up on her forearms and cocks her head to the side. “Is this the only sex you’ve had in three years?”

I offer a chagrined smile. “You got me there.”

She sits up in the bed, her big tits shifting as she comes to vertical. She’s so fucking voluptuous. So appealing. Even though I just came—and hard—my cock gets chubby again.

She notices.

There’s no game playing in her next question, though. No badgering, no coyness. No judgment, either.

“Did you lose someone, Caleb?” Her voice is soft. Soothing.

A sound tumbles from my lips. A bark of some sort. Not a laugh, not a sob. Something in between. I fall down onto the bed beside her and stare at the ceiling. The vulnerability of looking in her eyes right now is too much. “I don’t know how you figured that out.”

“This place is clearly yours, but it has feminine touches, too.”

“Well, damn. You examined the data, didn’t you? Guess that’s why you have the Ph.D.” I interlace my hands behind my head. I usually get pissed off—or downright rage-filled—when people want to talk about my loss. But for some reason, this conversation comes as a relief.

Like my past is a burden I’ve been wanting to share.

And Miranda’s the perfect listener. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask any more questions. Just offers her silence as a spacious offering. A space I can fill if I like. Or not.

“My wife and young daughter were killed a few years back.”

I hear her shocked intake of breath, but still she refrains from speech. Just lets me talk.

“I found them down by the river. Bear attack. Or so the police said. Their bodies were ripped up by some kind of wild animal. I don’t know—it doesn’t make sense to me.”

She waits a while longer before she murmurs, “I heard about the attack. It didn’t make sense to me, either. I actually chalked it up to small town small-mindedness.”

I turn to look at her. Her words are so welcome. Like a lifeline I can hang onto. I’ve felt like a crazy man for so many months now. Everyone around me, shifters included, said it had to be a bear. Shifters figure it was someone who lost control of their animal—who lost their humanity and went nuts. Kind of like what nearly happened to me after their murder.

Humans thought the bear must be rabid. Or overly aggressive.

But this highly intelligent, well-educated ecologist beside me knew the story couldn’t be true. Just as I did.

She reaches out and touches my biceps with her fingertips. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.”

“Don’t,” I cut her off. I don’t want her sympathy, even if it soothes me like a balm.

“Do… do you want me to go back to my room to sleep?” It’s a sweet offer and one that comes as a relief. I wouldn’t have asked her to leave, but I was suddenly feeling like it was wrong to have her in this bed.

“Yeah. Maybe that would be best.” My voice sounds more gruff than I mean it to and she winces.

Damn.

I catch her hand as she’s rolling away from me. “Miranda?”

“Yeah?” She turns, her red hair swishing over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” I let go of her hand.

She gives a surprised laugh as she gets out of the bed, then grabs one of the pillows and uses it to cover herself. “Not sure what for, but you’re welcome.”

“For this,” I wave a hand to the bed. “And for”—I scrub my hand over my face again—“for listening.”

Her brows arch in surprise. “Yeah. You’re welcome. Thank you for, um, the research data.”

I can’t help the grin that forms at the corners of my mouth. And suddenly the desire to give her a few more data points surfaces.

Good thing she’s already at the door.

“Good night, Caleb.”

Wow. That sounds so familiar. So intimate.

“Good night, Doctor.”