Unbearable Fear Read online

  Strange thing was the phone had no wifi setting or personal hotspot or bars.

  There were other features that she couldn’t access. The phone kept saying access denied when she asked, but she suspected the features would activate with Walfea’s voice.

  She headed over to the refrigerator to pull out lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers to make a salad when there was a tap on the door.

  Walfea held up a bottle of red wine and a heart-stopping smile. His handsomeness had turned on a number of nurses headed at urgent care.

  “Come on in.” She motioned with her arm.

  At least he didn’t barge in like Hector.

  One point for Walfea.

  “Shades, that smells delicious.”

  She shredded the lettuce. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Why don’t you pour us a glass of wine? You didn’t have to bring wine. This place is stocked.”

  He shrugged. “I know, but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

  “Glasses are in the china cabinet.”

  He walked over to the cabinet and pulled out two crystal glasses. He popped open the wine cork.

  She blinked. Did she imagine it, or did he just use a fingernail? “How did you do that without using a corkscrew?”

  He looked at the cork and up at her. His cheeks flared red. “I don’t know. I just pulled it out. Is there something wrong?”

  “No….but I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

  Without looking at her, he poured the wine. “First time for everyone.”

  “I guess so.” She went back to stirring the spaghetti, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.

  Something was odd about him. Not scary odd. But weird odd.

  “Here.” He set the glass of wine near her.

  “Thank you.” She kept going over what she saw in her mind. She glanced up at the hidden camera in the ceiling. Sandra had a security system built into the ceiling, and Skye vowed to watch the film later.

  He was staring at her.

  “What?”

  “I just wanted to thank you for cooking me dinner. I’m not the best cook and still struggle with Earth’s food.”

  She stopped stirring the sauce. A slight shiver ran down her back. “Excuse me? Earth’s food?”

  He ran his fingers through his thick white hair. “Oh, sorry. I meant fresh ingredients.”

  Fresh ingredients didn’t come close to Earth’s food. There was something weird about him. Not Hector creepy-weird. But Twilight Zone weird.

  “So, where did you come from originally, Walfea?”

  He swirled his wine around in his glass and didn’t say anything.

  “Walfea?”

  He blurted. “Alaska.”

  “Really? What made you come to Colorado?”

  He pressed his lips together. A cloud of anguish flitted over his green eyes. “I was on a security team up there and needed a break.”

  “You were in the armed forces?”

  “Something like that.” He refilled his glass.

  “Really?” She placed her crutches against the cabinet and put her hands on the boiling pot of spaghetti. “I thought the armed forces would make you cut your hair.”

  “Here, you’re going to kill yourself. Let me do this.” He easily lifted her out of the way then picked up the boiling pot. He drained the hot water in the colander. “I never said I was in the armed forces. I said my security team was similar to the armed forces.”

  Her gut tightened. “You were a mercenary?”

  “No.” He sat the pot back on the stove. “I really don’t like to talk about it.” His green eyes turned vacant.

  “Why?”

  He clutched his glass and leaned against the patio window as if lost in thoughts. He rubbed the back of his neck then took a long swallow of wine. “Bad memories.” His voice was strained as if he were trying to remain in control.

  “You lost someone?”

  He lowered his head. “My brother.” His voice was so tiny she wasn’t sure she heard.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded but didn’t answer. A thickness formed on the back of her throat. Opening up his deep wounds hadn’t been her intention. She gave him time to regain his composure and concentrated on preparing the final steps of the meal.

  “That looks good. What do you call that dish?”

  Back to strangeness one-o-one. “Spaghetti and meatballs. You’ve never had this?”

  “Obviously not.” He set his wine glass near a plate on the table. “Let me take the bowl over to the table.”

  “Please, put it on the hot pad in the middle of the table. I’ll finish dressing the salad. Vinegar and olive oil okay?”

  “Sure. Anything’s fine.”

  The oven buzzed. She hobbled over to it to take out the garlic bread, but Walfea beat her. He grabbed a towel and pulled out the cookie tray. “Smells delicious.”

  “I could have done it. There’s a basket for the bread.”

  “I see it. You’re not used to people helping you, are you?”

  “No, not for things like this. I’ve been on my own most of my life.” She picked up the salad and frowned, not sure how she was going to get it to the table.

  “Just sit down. I’ll bring everything over to the table.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but this was stupid. She’d end up either falling on her ass or dumping the salad on the floor. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” He sat the bowl near her and dished up her plate with the greens.

  “I could have––”

  “I know, but I wanted to.” He sat across from her. “How long have you been on your own?”

  “Since I was eighteen.” She put a piece of garlic bread on her plate.

  “Do you have family?”

  “Not really. My real parents died in a car accident when I was fourteen. I didn’t have any other living relatives, so I grew up in foster homes.” Something she chose to forget.

  “What are foster homes?”

  She put down the piece of garlic bread she was about to take a bite of. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Humor me.”

  “Foster homes are people who take in wards of the state. Wards of the state are children whose biological parents are either deceased or have lost their parental rights.”

  “Did you like those homes?”

  “Not really. I missed my parents and rebelled against everyone.” She grinned over the top of her wine, remembering how many times her caseworker flicked her pen. “I drove my case worker crazy.”

  Another puzzled look fell across his face.

  God, he was too much. “Case workers are social workers from the state who managed our cases.”

  “Sounds impersonal.”

  “It was. The day I turned eighteen, I walked out the door and never saw my most recent foster parents again.”

  “So, you weren’t close with anyone in these homes?”

  “Yeah, I was. My manager, Steve Walker.”

  “You guys are the same age?”

  “No, Steve’s about four years older than I am. I met him in my first home. We stayed in touch.” She picked a piece of lettuce out of the bowl. One of the many things that drove Steve nuts. “He tried to tell me to behave.”

  “But you wouldn’t listen.”

  She pointed her finger out him. “Bingo.” She stood up to dish up their plates with spaghetti, but he waved his hand.

  “You cooked. Let me serve.” He quickly dished her plate up with spaghetti.

  “Whoa.” She put her hands. “Not that much.”

  “Do you want me to put some of it back into the bowl?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He did as she asked, then proceeded to pile up his plate with a hill of pasta, meatballs, and sausage.

  She lifted her wine glass. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  Good thing she’d cooked a pound of spaghetti. Based on his appetite, she definitely wouldn’t
have any leftovers.

  “What happened after you left the foster home?”

  “I contacted Steve, who was in a band, to see if I could be a roadie. His band was struggling. Steve was the singer, but to be honest, he wasn’t very good.”

  “And?” He struggled to fit the spaghetti on his fork. Noodles slid off his fork or dangled, threatening to flop onto his green shirt.

  She laughed. “No––like this. Twirl your fork around in the noodles.” She lifted her fork. “See?”

  He imitated what she did and stuffed the fork in his mouth. His eyes widened as he swallowed. “This is great.”

  “Thank you. My mom taught me well.” Her chest and throat tightened as she thought of her mom teaching her how to make homemade pasta. Skye missed her mom.

  “So, what happened with the band?”

  “Well, some of the guys quit. Steve recruited Jeff and Davey. Davey caught me singing and had me audition. He and Jeff liked what they heard.”

  “So, they asked Steve to step down?”

  “Yeah, they did, but Steve stayed on to be a manager. He’s a much better manager than he ever was a singer.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “He wasn’t pissed?”

  “No, why?”

  “Most guys would be mad.”

  “Steve’s more like my brother. We talked about it. He swore he wasn’t mad.”

  “And you believed him?”

  Warmth swooshed over her cheeks. “Yes, he’d tell me if it had bothered him.”

  “Maybe.”

  She stiffened, her fork in midair. “Look, Steve and the guys are my family. Don’t diss them.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Skye. In my line of work, we’re just suspicious of everyone. It’s how we stay alive. One mistake could cost you your life or someone else’s.”

  “Is that what happened with your brother?”

  His eyes narrowed. Rage and fury darkened his face––powerful enough for Skye to feel its heat. Heat that scorched her curiosity.

  She immediately regretted what she had said. “I’m sorry, Walfea. I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes my mouth engages before my brain.”

  He didn’t answer her and attacked his food.

  Her stomach tumbled into a jumble of knots.

  He glanced at her plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I tasted while I was cooking,” she lied. Her stomach was too full of bundled nerves to squeeze another bite of spaghetti.

  “Shades, you eat like a bird.”

  “Actually,” she said. “Birds eat half their body weight each day.”

  “Interesting. Would you like some more wine?”

  “Yes, please.” She slid her glass toward him, ignoring the lightheadedness warning her to stop.

  Walfea generously refilled her glass.

  He handed her it back to her, their fingers brushing slightly.

  Tingles swept her arm, giving her a bit of a shock. What was it about this man? She forced herself to clear her fumbled thoughts. “Would you like to watch the Avengers after dinner?” She slurred her words.

  “Sure. What about the dishes?”

  She motioned with her hand. “I’ll do them later.”

  “No, you cooked dinner. I’ll do the dishes.”

  Her eyes widened. “You will?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Not many men I know do this.”

  “Then those men don’t know how to treat a mate.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I meant a lady.” His husky voice caressed her desire.

  He gathered up the plates. “You just sit back and relax. The dishes won’t take me long.”

  Skye allowed him to do the dishes. He made the large open kitchen look smaller. The briefest movements of washing plates and silverware caused his muscles to bulge beneath his shirt.

  His large hands moved super fast when he loaded the dishwasher. He scrubbed the pots and pans and even covered the leftovers and stuck them into the refrigerator. She wasn’t sure if she had too much wine, or if she was over tired, but he did this in record time.

  “Wow, that was quick.”

  “I don’t waste time when I’m doing chores.” He grabbed his wine and headed into the living room. “Do you think they have a big enough TV?”

  “Sandra’s folks like to have the latest technology. This one’s at least eighty inches.”

  “Impressive for this type of device.” He put the movie disc into the DVD player. “What do Sandra’s parents do?”

  Conscious of his large size and how his shadow covered her like a dark cloud, she scooted to the side to make room for him. His legs were long and thick with muscle, barely contained by the snug jeans; his waist was lean, his belly, where the T-shirt pulled tightly across, was flat and hard as a board. Chest and arms would have flattened a marine.

  Lust flamed inside her. Sweat gushed through her like a hot flash. “You don’t know?”

  He sat next to her, stretching his long arm behind her. “No.”

  She inhaled the scent of pine and soap. He was so close she could see flecks of blue in his green eyes that reminded her of a mountain meadow on a sunny day. His eyelashes were absurdly long for a man, black as ink, framing eyes that burned with secrets she was determined to unlock.

  She realized he was staring at her waiting for an answer. “Scientists,” she murmured. “Sandra, her mother, and step-father are all scientists.”

  “Figures.”

  She frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Scientists just sit around thinking and possibly inventing new technology. They don’t risk their lives for their people.” His words cracked like kindling. “Yet they are paid handsomely over the rest of us.”

  His bitterness peaked her interest. “You know this how?”

  His eyes darkened with such a sharp intensity that sent chills zipping down her back. She could feel herself tensing, her blood humming as it did in the hot, still moments before she went on stage.

  “My brother and I both risked our lives for our people, while the scientists received the higher wages.”

  His arm tensed behind her, reminding her of the power, threatening to unleash beneath him. His other hand was clenched into a tight fist.

  She blurted, “Your people?”

  His eyes turned from bright blue to a blazing green. His mouth set into a scowl that would have frozen the hardest criminal. Who was he? Her nosey questions must have hit a dangerous nerve. Her heart rattled in her chest. Was he going to hurt her like Hector? She edged closer to the armrest, and with her hand trembling, she reached for her crutch.

  His scowl slowly faded, and he unclenched his fist. “Why don’t we watch the movie?”

  She nodded, not wanting to strike another nerve. She picked up the remote and clicked on the television, realizing that the man sitting next to her was larger and stronger than any of the superheroes.

  He seemed to have forgotten her. The light flickered on his face, highlighting his scar, reminding her that this man had seen horrors that would send her hiding in a cave.

  She took a shaky breath and settled on watching the tension brewing between Captain America and Iron Man which was amazingly similar to the sparks flying between her and Walfea.

  “So, this is what man thinks is in outer space?”

  “One man’s idea.”

  “If man knew what was out there, he’d shut down the space program and hope the planet would go unnoticed.”

  Her patience finally broke and her curiosity won. She stopped the movie. “Okay, enough. Why do you keep making these weird statements?”

  “What weird statements?”

  “Like you’ve never been to Earth.”

  He sighed, then got off the couch. He paced back and forth like a caged animal. “I can’t lie to you anymore.”

  His shadow wasn’t a man. It was a bear again.

  Every hair on the back of her head stood straight up and her foster kid senses went hyperse
nsitive. Vision aware. Hearing keener. Survival mode in gear.

  “Lie to me about what?”

  “You’re my mate, and I can’t lie to you.”

  Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap.

  The power, the terror, the horror slammed into her chest. Air died in her lungs. “I think you’d better leave.” Her voice came out like a puny puff.

  “I’m not from Earth.”

  “Oh, God, it’s happening again.” She pointed toward the door with her shaking arm. “You need to leave.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  In a minute, Walfea transformed into a polar bear, the same polar bear she saw eating berries in the wood. The same shadow she’d seen twice. She wasn’t crazy. She was trapped. A flutter in her chest crawled up her throat into a loud piercing scream that would wake the dead.

  Chapter 8

  Skye’s eyes were huge, and her face was as pale as his white bear. Walfea immediately transformed back into a humanoid. She was frozen on the couch except for her scream that rang in his ears like a pissed off eagle. It was so loud that it could reach the Intrepid. Not knowing what else to do, he reached for her.

  Her crutches leaned against the end table next to the couch. She smacked him with one. Pain slammed into his arm. He snatched the crutch and tossed it to the ground.

  “Stay away from me.” She fumbled for the other one.

  He grabbed her shoulders, and not knowing what else to do, he kissed her. She turned her head.

  “How dare you.” She raised her hands and her fingernails aimed for his face.

  He anticipated her move and managed to grab her wrists, pinning them to her side.

  She twisted her body. “Release me.” Panic had left her eyes replaced with a burning rage. Her rapid breath brushed over his face as if she were struggling to suck in air.

  “Will you stop screaming? I promise I won’t hurt you.” He lowered his voice, hoping she’d stop to listen.

  Her dilated pupils diminished until they were back to normal size.

  “Please, listen.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Let go of me and I will.”

  He released her slender wrists and lifted his hands. She narrowed her eyes. He backed off from her, giving her space.