Page 1 of Bearly Breathing

PROLOGUE

Marcus rolled his shoulders and waited impatiently for the familiar buzz that preceded his Change. It was early yet. The evening sky was still bright with the setting sun. Too light for what he was about to do, but he didn’t care. He needed to do it now.

He tore off his apron and stepped out of his flour-caked sneakers, kicking them onto the rubber mat that sat against the exposed brick wall of the hallway that led to the ovens.

He’d have to remember to tell the cleaning service to hose down the mats before they left at night. He made a mental note, but that didn’t slow him down in the least.

Marcus turned sideways so he could fit smoothly through the back door of the bakery and half-jogged down the steps. He sniffed the air, ignoring the sweet smell of flour and yeast as he loped towards the stand of trees just behind the employee parking lot.

He ran his eyes over the area, checking one last time to make sure he was completely alone, before stripping out of the remainder of his dough splattered clothes.

The bakery was hot as fuck on any given day, no matter the season. Today was no exception. Tiny rivulets of sweat clung to his skin, but the cool air that met it caused him to shiver. Or was it caused by something else?

He sucked in a deep breath. Change was coming, his Bear sensed it. Not the kind that swapped skin for fur, this was something else. The weather perhaps?

Just another week or two and the unseasonably cold spring would be over, replaced by the intoxicating heat of summer. Marcus loved summer.

Actually, what he liked most about his home in southwestern New Jersey was the change of the seasons. Except lately.

This winter had been a long one and, as for spring, it was nonexistent. He felt restless and barren as the landscape. Small, unfulfilled buds covered the trees. They looked hard and small, dead even, incapable of holding the life he knew that dwelt deep inside.

He longed for the lush green of the summer months. With it came the frenzy of his fellow woodland creatures as they went about their lives of hunting, gathering, making homes, and making babies. Fuck. Babies. The thought alone used to be enough to have him breaking out in hives. But now…

This line of thought was getting him nowhere. He exhaled and shook his head, freeing his shoulder-length hair from the confines of the tight braid he preferred when baking. It’s time. The voice inside him growled, but Marcus resisted.

He didn’t want things to change. He liked his life. Business was good, his family was healthy and safe, he had roots right there in town, what more could he want? Mate. Must find a mate, his inner beast growled.

His great-great-grandfather, Ignatius Devlin, moved to Barvale from Ireland over two hundred years ago seeking fortune and a better life for himself.

After he landed, he started as an apprentice baker to the one man willing to give an Irishman a job. Years later, after marrying the man’s daughter and inheriting the shop, he founded the Devlin Clan.

Family legend said the young baker’s wife was curious about her husband’s nightly runs through the woods. He’d avoided her questions with success until one night when their first child promptly turned into a bear cub after refusing to go to bed when his mother ordered him to.

Old Ignatius had a lot of explaining to do that night, afterwards, harmony reigned in their house, and the bakery was re-christened the Bear Claw Bakery.

The Devlin Clan owned and operated the Bear Claw Bakery to this very day. In fact, his own father had recently retired from the business and gave control over it to his three sons.

Marcus had immediately thrown himself into work, aiming to prove he could do a good job, and he had. Only, just lately, he felt as if time itself was breathing down his neck. His Bear was restless.

It wasn’t because of work, that much he knew. Marcus had baking in his blood. There was nothing on God’s green earth that compared to the heady rush he got when he breathed in the wholesome fragrance of freshly baked bread and the other sweet and savory goods that made the Bear Claw Bakery one of the best in the industry.

The old family recipes that had been passed down to them were revered by the brothers. They were responsible for keeping their products fresh with bold new innovations in flavors and by using only the best non-GMO, organic ingredients.

His father had smiled indulgently whenever they talked about their new take on old family recipes. As if he had ever used inferior ingredients! Bah! But the world was changing, and chefs and bakers the world over had their work cut out for them in so far as selecting only the best for their products.

Marcus dusted the flour off from his hands and grunted. Success aside, something was missing from his life. Something soft and supple with sweet curves and a wicked tongue… Fuck, not now, he thought.

The image of a faceless woman with a body made for him entered his mind and he felt himself swell instantly in response. No. He was damned if he was going to admit that what he craved, what he lusted after was a woman. No, not just a woman.

Women were not exactly flocking to his bed, though he’d had his fair share. He was a good-looking guy, but his days of sowing his wild oats were long gone.

One night stands simply held no appeal. But having one woman, the right woman, might. Marcus squinted against the setting sun and rubbed his hand over the middle of his chest.

He was acutely aware of the emptiness there. Like a hole had suddenly popped up right smack in the middle of his heart. He’d been fighting it for months now. But tonight, it hit Marcus like a ton of bricks.

He couldn’t outrun it any longer. You need a mate. The second he acknowledged it, his Bear roared in agreement. He wanted to balk at the very idea of it.

That his Bear should demand he find a mate before the man was ready! It made him damned angry. Shit.

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