Swan and the BearBy: Eve Langlais
The heat from the inferno, fed on chemicals and years of hard work, singed whiskers and dried exposed skin, sucking the moisture from the air and leaving the mouth dry. The acrid stench of smoke made a tickle form in twitching nostrils, but determination held the sneeze at bay. Nothing, however, could halt the fire, which devoured everything in its path.
Ruined! Everything is ruined.
And things were progressing so well. The elusive chemical cocktail that would make even the puniest of shifters into creatures worth respecting was so close to completion. Ah to finally be a monster with big, freakn’ teeth! The dream of a lifetime gone up in smoke.
Gnashing tiny, pointed teeth wasn’t anywhere close to satisfying, but frustrated, it proved the only available outlet to relieve some of the tension. What would have really made the moment bearable was going rabid on the person responsible. The blame for this fiasco resided on the shoulders of one irritatingly bubbly bunny. Because of the fluffy monstrosity, and her friends at FUC, the project of a lifetime went from almost smashing success to burning failure.
So unfair! And reminiscent of the days on the schoolyard when the popular group would lord it over the less fortunate, their genetic perfection making everything fall with ease in their laps. No more. Time to level the playing field through scientific manipulation and get revenge on those who thought to stand in the way of success, starting with one irritating cottontailed female! Miranda would pay, she and everyone else who’d contributed to destroying the Frankenstein lab—my pride and joy—with its bevy of special creations.
Thankfully, they’d never found the lab mockingly named Moreau with its secret scientific installation—and cages full of failures. From the ashes of defeat, the rebuilding would begin, success would finally be achieved, and revenge maliciously plotted.
I’ll kill you, Miranda, you and that big brown bear you call mate! Then, I’ll take on the world.
Muah-*cough*-erk. Bleh. Damned smoke.
Mason tried to fight it, he truly did, but bears ever did have one ultimate failing; curiosity. In his case, he also had impulse control issues. His poor mother often lamented the fact he acted before thinking as she paddled his bottom. Mason preferred to think of his antics as refreshing, spontaneous and fun. Needless to say, he’d gotten in trouble a lot as a cub, and still did as an adult.
Case in point, the dilemma before him. He knew he should walk away. This is such a bad idea. His inner conscience truly did try to warn him, but…
The temptation proved too hard to resist, especially with it wagging right in front of him. Encased in what looked like men’s cargo pants stretched taut around a full-bottomed behind, it begged for it. He could almost hear it screaming, “Do it!”
Mason wound up and smacked the bobbing ass. Unfortunately, the outcome wasn’t exactly how he pictured it. In his experience, when he complimented a butt, the female squealed, pretended affront, then came on to him with lashes batting in delight.
Not in this case.
The woman, hidden under the desk, reared up with a startled shriek, whacked her head, and let out a stream of curses that would have made most sailors blush. However, since Mason had used all the expressions at one time or another, he didn’t even blink. Although, he did take a step back when the owner of the slapped ass started detailing in vivid oral elegance what she would do to him when she got her hands on him.
Shuffling back while still hunched over, the object of his attention cleared the desk and stood, flipping as she did a silky mane of dark hair that tickled the skin of his face as it swept by. But he didn’t mind once he got a look at her.
Happy birthday to me. Despite her potty mouth—which could do delightfully dirty things to him anytime it liked—he beheld feminine perfection with a few extra curves—more cushion for the pushing. Reaching his chin, the wearer of the cargo pants had ebony skin, which gleamed like the richest of chocolates. Round cheeks, full red lips, a snub nose and dark, really annoyed eyes greeted him. As if that weren’t enough, Ms. Hot-Ass possessed the most fascinating hair; long and feathered in layers, black as sin but tipped in white, even the edges of her bangs. It gave her an exotic look he found quite appealing. Just ask his twitching cock.
Inhaling, he took a sniff and his toes curled in delight at the spicy citrus scent that emanated from her. He did so like his fruit, especially the eating part. Further examination of his whiff and he determined she belonged to the bird genome, although he couldn’t quite pinpoint which caste. Not that he cared. Unlike his snobby brother, Mason enjoyed the ladies of all species, because as everyone knew, bears loved their honey. Mix it with some sweet pussy pie, and they were in heaven.