Taming the Beast

He had his answer when they caught sight of him and began buzzing in a low angry tone. A cloud of bees emerged slowly from the tree, like a sword being draw from a sheath. There were so many of them that Liam paused to reconsider his plan. Together, the swarm was much larger than him. And his face still stung from last night’s attack.

He could turn back, he knew. There were other hives with perfectly acceptable honey in them. The bees that guarded them were normal sized and their stingers wouldn’t have a chance against his thick skin. But no, he couldn’t turn back. It wasn’t any sort of macho posturing. Liam was smart enough and humble enough to know his limitations, but rather he found he had an insatiable need to impress the visitor in his cottage. He needed to show her the best his world had to offer.

If you’d asked him why he felt such a need, he would not have been able to articulate it. The bear in him thought the whole idea was ridiculous. Indeed, it felt animosity still to the stranger who had entered his territory. But the bear craved more of the honey and would do anything to get it. In its heart, his bear was a simple creature who craved nothing more than sweet foods and long naps and hours alone in the woods. It was the man in him that needed to impress the woman. It was the man that let out a wild whoop and tugged his thick canvas coat over his face and ran at the hive, scooping out a thick handful of honeycomb, stuffing it into a pail tied around his waist and then running off as fast as he could, with those terrible dagger-huge bees giving pursuit.

He didn’t escape unscathed.

The bees were confused by his clothing and focused on his exposed hands and face, stabbing them with a fury. Many bees gave their lives that day in their war with the lumpy, giant invader. Liam couldn’t help but admire their brave sacrifices. His right hand had swollen up to twice its usual size, with dozens of their stingers and torn abdomens lodged in his skin. His face burned and then went numb under the bees’ assault. They gave off pursuit after half a mile, but as he escaped their torment he swore they took special notice of him and buzzed louder, as if to say, “And stay out!” at his broad half-bear back.

As he ran back home, the stolen honey filling the little pail on his waist, he picked the bee remains out of his skin, yelping loudly as each barbed stinger was ripped from his skin.

They gave a good fight, those bees did. He wouldn’t go back for their honey again anytime soon.

He had healed somewhat by the time he returned home. It was a gift of his shifter blood. He had enhanced senses, the strength to topple trees, razor sharp claws and a regenerative ability that defied all convention. Or he should have. In reality, all of his shifter gifts had been diluted by the curse. He healed, but not as fast as his kin. His senses were keen, but best when the sun was down. And of course, he could not shift at all. His cousins—the rest of the bear shifter kind—boasted an immunity to any weapon forged by man. But he was not so lucky. Fire wouldn’t burn him. Cold couldn’t bite his flesh, but a blade would cut him.

The others in his family, when they had taken ill or been wounded in ways that would have killed a mortal, had retreated into hibernation. It was a healing sleep that lasted as long as it needed. They said there was a cave under Bearfield where the old bears dwelt, hibernating for decades at a time, awakening when their bodies and minds had knit themselves back together. His mother was there. And his older brother. Both victims of the car accident that took the rest of his family away. But Liam knew, in his heart, that he would never go to the cave. The curse would deny him that. If he was mortally wounded, he would die. He wasn’t just half a bear, he was also half mortal.

When he returned to the farm, he found his visitor still asle

ep, snoring gently. Her scent was emanating from the cottage as surely as the smell of his bread had wafted out of the kitchen. She smelled of warm paper, of mint leaves growing in a half-shadowed glen, and of hope. His senses were dull during the day, but even so he found the smell of her intoxicating. Even his bear found it curious and wanted to go snuffle around the cottage door, so as to examine it more.

But, he knew, that would be creepy and an invasion of her privacy.

Instead he set about the chores that kept the ramshackle farmhouse in one piece. He fed his chickens and checked the fences that marked the edge of his land for any disturbance and then, since she was still asleep, he decided to catch up on his wood chopping. It was the most he’d done in a day in years. Usually he could manage one chore a day, if he was at his best. But mostly he slept and dreamed and read the few books he had left.

The noise of his chopping awoke her. He’d broken his axe years ago and split the wood with his bare hands. It was efficient but loud.

When she emerged from the cottage wearing clothes that had belonged to his first love, the bear in him raged at the violation while the man in him felt overcome with a giddy enthusiasm.

She smiled when he spoke, but not in a cruel way. And when she gazed upon him there was no fear or disgust in her scent. Perhaps a gentle pity or a curiosity, but no malice at all. When she gazed away, out the window or towards the road, she smelled strongly of fear. But it was not of him. No, she was afraid of whatever had driven her this far.

Liam kept his face hidden as much as he could. His hands, too, he kept away from her sight for fear of her horror at seeing their half-fused bee stung grotesquerie.

She ate the eggs and bacon with a gusto that made wonder why they bothered with plates at all. Why not lick their plates clean? But it was when she tried the honey—first tentatively and then with a gulping mouthful—that Liam felt something stir in his heart.

Rose—for that was her name—had a cautious face. She squinted at the world. She wrinkled her nose. It was as if she expected every delight to come with some hidden cost. But when she tasted the honey all of that fell away and she glowed. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly in appreciation and a small moan fell from her lips. Then she looked at Liam wide with wonderment—her whole self transformed. When suspicious and polite, Rose was merely pretty. But when she let her walls down in that moment of honey-tongued revelation, the real her shone through and was more beautiful than Liam had any right to witness.

He could watch her eat every day for the rest of eternity and count himself a happy man, he realized. What a strange idea that was. It made him wish he had more to give her, more to share with her. It made him realize what an absolute heap of filth he lived in.

Once they were done with eating, he mentioned his phone to her. She considered the idea thoughtfully, a measure of worry on her face as if it was a trap.

“It’s an old phone,” he added. “I don’t even know if it still works.”

Rose’s eyes flicked to regard his hands, before darting away.

“Yes,” Liam agreed. “I find it nearly impossible to use these days.”

Rose cocked her head. “Your hands weren’t always that way?” Her breath smelled of honey now.

Liam shook his head.

“I assumed it was a birth defect sort of thing,” she said. Her voice was so kind that it made him ache. “Was it an accident? Like with farm equipment?”

“It was a punishment,” Liam said. He wanted to say more. He opened his mouth to tell her about the witch, about the curse, but nothing came out. The magic had locked his words away, too.

“That’s horrible,” Rose said. “Who did this to you?”

Liam fought for the right way to tell her. His bear raged inside him for a moment, making his vision go red and his breath grow ragged in his chest. “I deserved it,” he said. “That’s all I can say. Years ago, I was unkind to a stranger.” He held up his hands, palms facing Rose, showing her the bear claws that poked through irregularly from the tips of his fused fingers.