Read Online The Bear's Surrogate: A Paranormal Pregnancy Romance by Angela Foxxe - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Foxxe
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also sported a heavy fur cape that was crafted from the skin of an exceptionally large bear. Valemon tried to avert his eyes from the last remaining physical relic of his wife.
Angrboda noticed his aversion. “Does it still pain you? After all these years, it still does, doesn’t it?” she purred “Well, too bad. We keep what we kill in the Ironwood Clan.” She turned on her heel and started towards the dense woods. “You may rest here until you have your strength back. Then you must leave. Only come back when you have the child.”
Valemon trundled away from the water and towards the large rock that stood in the middle of the small, isolated island. There, he knew, was warmth and safety. The wolves couldn’t enter that cave; else the treaty would be violated. This was the Sacred Island. All shape shifters were supposed to be welcome here, but Angrboda and her family took it over centuries ago, and now hold sway over it with an iron fist. Only dire wolves had their permanent residence here. All others were either slaughtered, or driven off. Valemon waited for the day when the gods would return and make Angrboda pay for what she had done.
After an hour of slow trudging through the dense woods, Valemon located the base of the giant granite spike that curiously jutted up from the dense canopy. He ambled around and found the triangular opening of the cave that not even Angrboda could enter. He pawed the dried grass and pine needles that found their way into the cave into a neat nest on the dirt floor, and flopped down onto it in a heap of exhaustion. His ice blue eyes were closed before the dust settled around him, and the small cave filled with the sounds of large bear’s snoring.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rachel was in a very bad way. She woke up and bolted out of bed towards the commode, barely making it before heaving into it once more. She retched so forcefully that she blacked out and hit her head on the porcelain bowl, cutting her forehead open.
The housekeeper walked in and gasped as she found the tall, blonde woman passed out in a puddle of congealing blood on the slate tile floor, and hustled off to get Hans, since Valemon was nowhere to be found.
Hans stoically strode into the bedchamber with a haughty expression on his lean, goateed face and peered into the bathroom. “Oh my, it looks like she might need some medical attention,” he said dryly as he reached into his back pocket for some blue surgical gloves. The maid told him about the accident so he had come prepared. He flicked them open and pulled them over his spider-like fingers as he approached the prone woman.
“Hmm, it seems to me that she was getting sick, then fell and hit her head. Bring her to the infirmary and I shall stitch her up,” he ordered the maid who looked at him with a helpless expression, not knowing how she would lug the heavy, muscular Rachel all the way to the manor’s medical room.
“Or do I have to do everything myself?” Hans sneered at the blonde woman. “I’ll go summon one of the groundskeepers.” He sighed as he walked towards the intercom that was positioned just outside the room. He pushed the code that patched him through to the groundskeeper’s shed. “Yes, I need the assistance of one of you oafs, the master’s...” the word came out as a sneer, “plaything has fallen in an unfortunate accident. Don’t worry, a burial will not be needed, yet.”
Hans clapped his thin hands together as he re-entered the room. “And there we go. Help is on its way! Oh, do be a dear and clean her off and staunch that, will you, Hilda? Good girl. We don’t want it dripping all the way to the infirmary and causing you ladies any more work, now do we?”
Hilda shot Hans a dirty look as she dampened a white washcloth under the hot water faucet. She knelt down and dabbed carefully at the nasty gash that adorned Rachel’s smooth, high forehead. Blood
Angrboda noticed his aversion. “Does it still pain you? After all these years, it still does, doesn’t it?” she purred “Well, too bad. We keep what we kill in the Ironwood Clan.” She turned on her heel and started towards the dense woods. “You may rest here until you have your strength back. Then you must leave. Only come back when you have the child.”
Valemon trundled away from the water and towards the large rock that stood in the middle of the small, isolated island. There, he knew, was warmth and safety. The wolves couldn’t enter that cave; else the treaty would be violated. This was the Sacred Island. All shape shifters were supposed to be welcome here, but Angrboda and her family took it over centuries ago, and now hold sway over it with an iron fist. Only dire wolves had their permanent residence here. All others were either slaughtered, or driven off. Valemon waited for the day when the gods would return and make Angrboda pay for what she had done.
After an hour of slow trudging through the dense woods, Valemon located the base of the giant granite spike that curiously jutted up from the dense canopy. He ambled around and found the triangular opening of the cave that not even Angrboda could enter. He pawed the dried grass and pine needles that found their way into the cave into a neat nest on the dirt floor, and flopped down onto it in a heap of exhaustion. His ice blue eyes were closed before the dust settled around him, and the small cave filled with the sounds of large bear’s snoring.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rachel was in a very bad way. She woke up and bolted out of bed towards the commode, barely making it before heaving into it once more. She retched so forcefully that she blacked out and hit her head on the porcelain bowl, cutting her forehead open.
The housekeeper walked in and gasped as she found the tall, blonde woman passed out in a puddle of congealing blood on the slate tile floor, and hustled off to get Hans, since Valemon was nowhere to be found.
Hans stoically strode into the bedchamber with a haughty expression on his lean, goateed face and peered into the bathroom. “Oh my, it looks like she might need some medical attention,” he said dryly as he reached into his back pocket for some blue surgical gloves. The maid told him about the accident so he had come prepared. He flicked them open and pulled them over his spider-like fingers as he approached the prone woman.
“Hmm, it seems to me that she was getting sick, then fell and hit her head. Bring her to the infirmary and I shall stitch her up,” he ordered the maid who looked at him with a helpless expression, not knowing how she would lug the heavy, muscular Rachel all the way to the manor’s medical room.
“Or do I have to do everything myself?” Hans sneered at the blonde woman. “I’ll go summon one of the groundskeepers.” He sighed as he walked towards the intercom that was positioned just outside the room. He pushed the code that patched him through to the groundskeeper’s shed. “Yes, I need the assistance of one of you oafs, the master’s...” the word came out as a sneer, “plaything has fallen in an unfortunate accident. Don’t worry, a burial will not be needed, yet.”
Hans clapped his thin hands together as he re-entered the room. “And there we go. Help is on its way! Oh, do be a dear and clean her off and staunch that, will you, Hilda? Good girl. We don’t want it dripping all the way to the infirmary and causing you ladies any more work, now do we?”
Hilda shot Hans a dirty look as she dampened a white washcloth under the hot water faucet. She knelt down and dabbed carefully at the nasty gash that adorned Rachel’s smooth, high forehead. Blood
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