Page 3 of Bigfoot's Bride

“He’s got issues.” Olwydd shakes his head as he watches Wmffre’s moody exit.

I sigh, wishing I could find the right words to reassure him. To reassure all of us. Because as much as I want to believe this will all work out, a part of me is terrified that it won't. That Wmffre is right and we'll open our home—and maybe even our hearts—to these women, only to have them betray us.

“We have to try.” I take a deep breath and scoop up the bouquet.

“My soulstone will sing for one of them. I just know it.” Olwydd winks cockily.

It’s what we all wish to experience—for our soulstone to come alive, the signal we have found our true mate. It’s a longshot. True soul matings are rare. I’d settle for a partner, a confidante, a female to share exclusive intimacy with.

I know I can be a good mate, if given the chance. I’d care for my female, protect her, provide for her, and give her everything a mate might desire. A chance, that’s all I need?—

As Colwynn enters, a sudden hush falls over the bar. Everyone's attention fixes on the doorway. He clears his throat. "They're here. The humans have entered Grotto. They'll be arriving in the Hub shortly."

We all exchange quick glances, a mix of excitement and trepidation buzzing through our veins. This is it. The moment we’ve been waiting for.

I take one last look at my reflection in the polished stone wall, making sure my fur is smooth and my bouquet is presentable. First impressions are important.

The five of us file into the common room. The place is packed. Every Squatch in Grotto has turned out.

As we round the corner and catch our first glimpse of the transport containing our guests, I feel the tip of my cock start to tingle and warm. Is that...could it be...?

And then, I hear it. A faint hum at first, growing louder, more insistent.

It is. My soulstone has begun to sing.

Chapter 3

Kiki

I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the dim interior of the van. Four pairs of eyes blink back at me, each reflecting the same mixture of confusion and apprehension that I'm sure is plastered all over my face.

Managing an awkward wave, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and slide onto a bench seat in the most suspicious-looking vehicle since the one in Silence of the Lambs.

For a long while, we ride in silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or shaky breath.

I have no idea where we’re going or what’s going on. One minute I was on the run with the stone-faced Deputy Marshal Johnson, fleeing yet another secret identity in the middle of Podunk, Nowhere, the next I’m riding on a dirt road through thick woods in a sketchy van surrounded by a group of women who look about as trauma-dazed as I am.

Who are these women? Should I ask, or should I just mind my own business?

The confusion in the air is so thick you could slice it with a machete.

Riding with a bunch of shell-shocked fellow passengers is unexpected. I wonder if they’re all in WITSEC too. I glance around. There's a gaunt African American woman with dark circles under her eyes, a woman with auburn hair and green eyes that seems vaguely familiar, a woman with a wicked burn scar all down the left side of her face, and a redhead with a riot of corkscrew curls and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

Mustering up some classic Kiki Karaprtyan nerve, I cross the aisle sliding next to the woman closest, the redhead. She’s humming something under her breath and by all appearances, she’s the one least likely to be further traumatized by a stranger making conversation.

"Uh, so...I guess we're all in the same boat. Or van, as it were," I wince only slightly at my lame attempt at an icebreaker. "Any clue what's going on?"

She glances around at the others then leans in conspiratorially. "Your guess is as good as mine. The guy who brought me here wasn’t very talkative. He was mostly annoyed by me which is typical. I tend to have that effect on people. Annoying, I mean. Probably because I talk too much and don’t know when to shut up. I can’t really help it. I mean, I try, but for some reason I just babble on like a wind-up doll. Especially when I’m nervous. When I’m nervous, you can forget it. I go on and on. My grandma used to call me Chatty Cathy. Which is weird because my name isn’t Cathy, it’s Steph…” She must realize she’s babbling because her words taper and she grimaces apologetically. “Sorry. I’m nervous. All I know is the basics about the dating program."

I blink. Once. Twice. Please tell me she's joking. "Dating program?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, apparently we're going to some off-grid remote location with a secluded population.

"Secluded population? What does that mean, exactly?"

Steph’s voice lowers. "Apparently, it's some kind of hidden town. Full of men of another race and culture who are eagerly awaiting women to…you know..."

I let her words sink in a minute then finish them for her, "Date."

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