Bear Prince: Shifter Paranormal Romance (Royal Bears Book 1) (4 page)

CHAPTER

5

Andrei didn’t tell Hannah the recipe he’d said was his mother’s actually belonged to their chef- though anything created in the castle kitchen technically belonged to the Queen. What worse way to drive a chasm between them. She, a broke student and street busker and he, Heir to a kingdom he wished he could trade in for a regular life.

The Queen. Andrei grimaced. He didn’t look forward to her foul temper when he returned. He’d maintained a minimum amount of contact for her peace of mind, but hadn’t spoken to her in over a day. And he wouldn’t speak with her. It was one thing to ignore her, but to defy a direct order that he return to the hotel… that, he couldn’t do. He was a Sahakian, albeit a reluctant Sahakian. And he would not- directly- defy his Queen.

However long Hannah allowed him to remain in her home, Andrei wanted to take advantage of it. The peace he found in her presence was precious. Not just the quiet, and the lack of expectation. Not just that she treated him like a normal man, like… Andrew… but her soul called out to his. Kind, a little wary, yes. But warmth lurking under reticence. And a subtle strength he would enjoy testing his mettle against. What was more intoxicating that strength, beauty and gentleness of spirit wrapped in one unassuming woman?

The image of his face emblazoned across the front page of all the tabloids was seared in his mind, branding him forever the missing Prince. He was damn lucky the clerk at Whole Foods had kept her mouth shut. It had taken only one quick, sharp look from him while Hannah’s attention was diverted. When his little human ever found out he’d omitted such a fact… he wondered if she would be upset, awed or amused. He’d be discovered, soon. His mother would have him flying back to the castle with its stoic guards and echoing hallways.

Would Hannah think less of him if she knew his lineage? She might throw herself at him like other women if she knew he was a Prince, but she hardly seemed the type. That troubled him most of all- would she change if she knew the truth, become the kind of grasping groupie he’d always avoided?

He brought the rest of the food to the table. Penne in a ragout made of ground beef, tomatoes, cream and basil, fresh garlic bread, and resting in the refrigerator, a Raspberry Fool. Hannah seemed impressed by the food. She hardly spoke as she devoured it, and Andrei was only too happy to join her. He reined in his normal appetite though he was starving. The amount of food he could consume would be a dead giveaway that he wasn’t human- if there was one thing the media like to joke about, it was Bears and their table manners.

“This was so good,” Hannah said. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ll clean up.”

Andrei smiled. “I’ve no objection to that. The cook never cleans, right?”

Hannah snorted. “Uh-huh. Unless the cook is a woman. Then she cleans.”

He teased her about farm life as she cleared the table. He wanted to savor all the precious normality he could before his fantasy came crashing down around him.

***

Hannah wasn’t used to such amazing food, or being waited on. Her own cooking tended towards simple, hearty fare. Meat and potatoes. She’d been raised to provide a clean home and nourishing meals for her family. Expected to help her mother in the home until a husband was found for her, and then she would be mistress of her own domain. But still, cook and clean and sew and garden.

There was nothing
wrong
with that life. She missed it- but Hannah loved dance. One day she would marry, settle down and raise a family, but she wanted to pursue her talent as well. Mother must have agreed or she never would have convinced her father to allow Hannah the dance lessons at the community center. Especially when he saw the leotards for the first time. Her mother had had to quickly sew something less… spandexy... to appease the head of household. So she’d danced in wide legged pants of a flowy material and a fitted long sleeved t-shirt. The center had modified recital costumes for Hannah. She’d been lucky.

But now. Now things were suddenly different somehow. Where she’d once been content to think of herself becoming a dancer, she now wanted something more from life. She could see a life beyond the pirouette.

“I have to get up early for class tomorrow,” Hannah said, pushing those thoughts aside. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

“You are very welcome,” Andrew said.

They stared at each other. The silence stretched, a kind of strange tension humming in the air between them. Andrew’s eyes seemed to brighten and then he moved, breaking their connection.

“You’ve been very kind to me,” he said. “I… find I don’t want to leave you just yet. It’s an odd request. Do you mind if I sleep on your couch again tonight? On my honor, I mean you no harm.”

He had such a funny way of talking. “You aren’t American, are you?”

Andrew folded his arms. “… No.”

Hannah hesitated. But… she didn’t want him to leave quite yet, either. Heart in her throat, she said, “Goodnight,” and slipped out of the kitchenette. Understanding why the girls in romance novels seemed to always make such silly mistakes.

“Goodnight.”

His quiet voice chased her into her bedroom, the deep tone wrapping around her body and sending her thoughts to sinful places. His face swam behind her eyelids, strong and calm, matching a quiet strength and kindness she hadn’t experienced before. And his eyes… she might be inexperienced, but the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking... and sometimes, when she glanced up he
wouldn’t
look away. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Would it be so wrong? If he desired her, and she him, and there were feelings between them more than mere lust- would it be so wrong?

Restless heat stirred, deep in her core. She held herself stiff to keep from leaping out of her bed and going to him. It was a long time before she could sleep.

***

The next morning Hannah dressed quickly and left before Andrew awakened. It might have been the cowardly thing to do, but she would rather he just leave than say goodbye. She didn’t think she wanted to hear that word coming from his lips.

She pushed her way into the spacious, echoing dance studio. The door slammed behind her, the sound reverberating as she crossed the room toward the other dancers in her class.

“Hannah!”

The grating voice of her teacher rolled across the floor. She cringed before turning to face the stern older woman.

“Ms. Darlington, I can explain.”

“Oh, please do, Ms. Fisher. What was so important that you’d miss a second day of rehearsal for the summer showcase?”

The woman stood more than a head taller than Hannah-
really
tall. Her arms were crossed, and she peered down her long nose, awaiting an answer.

“I was... well, I was almost mugged, and…”

“Wait.” Her teacher held up an imperious hand. “This excuse I have heard before. Mugging? Not original.”

Indignation flared. “I’m not making it up. I’ve never been late to class before.”

“Irrelevant.”

“I know it sounds really odd, but…”

“Odd is not the word, Ms. Fisher.”

“I understand. I really would have come but the man I was with was hurt defending me and-”

Ms. Darlington snorted. “Ah, now we get to it. Always a man. Even a thing as innocent seeming as yourself- always a man!”

Some of the other dancers snickered. Hannah cringed at the sound of Miranda Harvey’s voice as she said, “Sounds to me like she’s just been shacking up and couldn’t be bothered to leave her new man long enough to come to rehearsal.”

“Be quiet,” the instructor snapped. She turned her attention back to Hannah and said, “By all rights I should replace you in this year’s summer showcase. All the other girls, even the stand-ins, have made it to every single rehearsal. You’ve missed two already!”

“I am so sorry, Ms. Darlington, you have my word it won’t happen again.”

The woman’s gnarled hand wrapped around Hannah’s upper arm and she pulled her across the room. When they were at a safe distance from prying ears, she leaned close.

“Don’t force my hand, young lady,” Darlington said. “If you screw up again, I won’t give you a pass. You have potential, but to allow the petty distraction of a
man
…”

“It won’t happen again,” Hannah repeated.

“See that it doesn’t, Ms. Fisher.”

Hannah heaved a sigh of relief as the instructor moved to the center of the room, clapping for attention, and scurried into her place. Darlington left a moment later to take a call.

“Wow, I can’t believe she let her stay,” Miranda stage whispered, lip curling.

Hannah clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. She’d endured Miranda’s relentless bullying since the first day she enrolled at Loyola on scholarship. First, Miranda had dared to mock her racial background- in her worldview, ballerinas were white, and skinny. It was true that Hannah was one of the only women of color at the school, but even the other girls had not appreciated Miranda’s use of that fact against Hannah. So she’d changed tactics and began to ridicule her over the fact that she was shy, that she’d come from a poor, rural background, and that she didn’t wear cosmetics or carry a cell phone. And, of course, she was curvy.

The first year students had formed a tight-knit clique, excluding Hannah, not long after the semester began. Miranda ruled her cronies with an iron fist, and if any of them so much as cast an innocent smile in Hannah’s direction, the young woman would immediately be shunned by the rest. None of them wanted to risk the facing of Miranda’s wrath, so Hannah had largely become ignored.

It was so… high school.

“Did you hear about that missing Prince?”

The students began their warm ups, awaiting the instructor’s return. The voice was barely above a whisper, but Hannah strained her ears to listen as the other women discussed the latest tabloid gossip.

“You mean that guy on the front of The Inquisitor? Omg, he’s hot. Did you see those eyes?”

“He’s only Prince of some tiny little country in eastern Europe,” Miranda said. “I’d never even heard of it.”

“Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it’s not important, Miranda,” Krista said. Another willowy slim, upper middle class student. Brunette, wide liquid eyes and a haughty demeanor.

“Actually, that’s
exactly
what it means,” Miranda retorted. “My family owns more land here in the United States than that whole country has within its borders. The guy might as well be Prince of Rhode Island. And he isn’t even human. Uck.”

“They said he’s heir to a vast fortune. Only the royalty over there is so private that no one knows exactly how much he’s really worth. Let’s just say they don’t make it onto the Forbes 500.”

“Of course they don’t,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes. “The Forbes 500 only tracks important people. Like my family.”

Hannah still couldn’t believe anyone could be so completely full of herself, and she’d been around Miranda for nearly a year.

“So how’d he go missing, anyway?” Tiffany’s voice.

“Maybe he’s Hannah’s mystery man,” Miranda smirked. “Hannah! Are you hiding a Prince in your apartment? She probably kidnapped him and she’s got him tied up in her closet, holding him for ransom to pay her rent!”

A smattering of students laughed, and Hannah turned and stormed from the room. She found Ms. Darlington in the hallway, returning from a trip to the restroom.

“Ms. Fisher?”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t stand stupid gossipy people.”

The instructor snorted. “Learn to deal with it, girl. A weak woman won’t make it in this industry. Come.”

The older woman hooked a supportive arm around Hannah’s shoulders and marched her back into the studio.

“Alright, ladies, let’s get started! Today you work, or I cancel this show faster than you can say ‘would you like fries with that?” the woman shouted, clapping her hands together sharply in rapid succession. “Begin!”

Ms. Darlington made her rounds, critical eye on the dancers. “By the way, ladies, I thought you might be interested to know one little tidbit of information about this year’s showcase. This year, our show is sponsored by the royal family of Casakraine. Their country is creating a cultural exchange program in order to cultivate a richer arts environment there, and they’ll be offering a few very prestigious scholarships to a few lucky students.”

A buzz erupted among the girls, and Hannah heard one of them mention Casakraine was the country with the missing Prince.

She went straight home after classes were done. The closer her bus drew near, the harder her heart beat. She emerged from the bus and walked a brisk half mile to her building, slowing when she saw the man standing outside the steps.

She’d seen pictures of ancient Greek statues. Serene with a masculine beauty defying the ability of mere mortals to produce. He stood with arms folded, an oasis of calm around which other life flowed. He’d done the same while watching her dance the other day. Hannah couldn’t decide if it was arrogance on his part to expect the environment to conform to him, or if he was just so at one with the environment he wasn’t conscious of how far outside it he stood.

His head turned as she approached and her breath hitched. Wild summer blue eyes in a face carved of stone. And then his expression softened and he strode towards her.

“Why are you outside?” Hannah asked. “The light can’t be good for your headache.”

Andrew looked down, black hair gleaming in the light, a finger brushed the curve of her cheekbone. “I wanted to ensure that odious little man remembered his manners.”

The sentiment simultaneously warmed and worried her. “Andrew... this isn’t the neighborhood to get into fights with people.”

His brow rose. “I can defend myself- and you- against a human or several. Come.”

He took her bag, escorting her inside. The scent of cooking food greeted her nose.

“I decided to make dinner,” he said, moving towards the stove to examine his pots. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course not. But you don’t have to cook.”

“Hmm. Where do you keep your colander?” The question must have been rhetorical- he looked like he’d already cataloged, and possibly rearranged, every item in her kitchen.

She locked the front door behind her and crossed the floor, heading into the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” she said softly, reaching past him to retrieve the colander from the cabinet.

Her body brushed against his and a feeling of warmth spread from the point of contact and rushed straight to her cheeks. Her heart fluttered, and she immediately stepped backward.

“Sorry,” she croaked, a lump in her throat suddenly choking her as she set the colander on the counter with a clang.

Hannah turned to flee, but a strong hand closed over hers. She stilled, body paralyzed with unfamiliar desire.