Bearly Legal
Chapter One
Roscoe
Roscoe made his way through the forest as was his custom every morning before dawn. He liked starting the day knowing that his pack was secure, that there were no signs of intruders around them and that their sliver of the forest was still isolated. They'd gone a long way to be safe and had sacrificed much. It was up to Roscoe to ensure they continued to be safe. During the first few days, Roscoe's brothers had made the walk with him, but with them off to gather more supplies, he was able to enjoy peace and quiet as well as maintain the safety of his den brothers and sisters.
Plus, he just liked the touch, taste, and feel of the forest, especially under his colossal bear paws. He felt strongest in this form, a massive bear--as big as one of those fancy smart cars—did not have many natural enemies leaving him free to roam, sniff and stroll as he liked.
That morning, he had caught the scent of something sweet and alluring. Like fresh cut grass on a Fourth of July morning. The scent had called to him immediately, and while he didn't normally spend his mornings following a delicious scent trail out of curiosity alone, that's what he was doing now.
He had the right direction, evident by the way the scent grew stronger. Now, it was like blueberry muffins, straight out of the oven and served with a generous dollop of homemade sweet cream butter. Roscoe trekked through the forest without much care to how loud he was being. It was hard to be large and stealthy anyway. But that meant that he broke branches as he walked, and after snapping a larger twig, he heard startled rustling in the clearing ahead of him.
"Who's there?" a voice asked. The voice had an odd quality to it like the speaker was trying to sound tough while also being terrified.
Roscoe waited. He was quietest when he didn't move, so he stood there, letting only his nose move as he sniffed the path ahead. Whoever was there had the delicious smelling thing with him. A bear's sense of smell was stronger than a human's by far, but nowhere near as strong as some other shifters, like wolves. For whatever reason, Roscoe couldn't get the scent of the speaker. Now he was curious.
Curiosity killed the cat. Good thing he was a bear.
"I know someone is there. Just come out so I can see you. No more of this hiding in the bushes bullshit. I don't have any money, so you can forget about robbing me. I've got some grass. You can have it. Or you can come smoke it with me."
Roscoe's soft growl rumbled through him. Ahead, the voice cursed and began to move quickly, haphazardly. There was shuffling, and then a zipper being zipped.
Good riddance to him, Roscoe thought. He didn't care about what the guy had that was attracting Roscoe. He wasn't allowing any drugs on his mountain. This man could take his smell and his drugs with him. He stalked forward, not bothering to try to walk softly. If anything, he did the opposite, making as much noise as possible.
Ahead, the speaker cursed again, fear in his words. The fear gave Roscoe pause. He didn't want this person's fear, just his absence.
His footsteps rushed away, and Roscoe moved forward, staying hidden, but remaining a driving force. Roscoe's pack had left their home to get away from drugs--among other things--Roscoe wasn't going to let some camper bring it back in.
He reached the small clearing where the man had obviously set up camp. The small fire couldn't have provided much warmth, and Roscoe didn't see a spot where a tent had been. He noticed the depressions in the dirt beside the fire, where the guy had been sitting and possibly laying down. There were no belongings left behind and with as quickly as he had packed up, there must not have been much for him to take. Was he homeless? An extreme camper?
Roscoe kept on forward, the smell was so strong in the campsite, but its effect on Roscoe changed. No longer was it just a delectable smell that made him think of happy memories and food. This intense, it was alluring. His body tightened as he let the scent wash over him. Too bad this guy had to do what he did. Roscoe would have enjoyed meeting him and discovering why his scent caressed Roscoe's dick.
He continued, maybe a little distracted in his thoughts, which would explain why he didn't notice that he'd broken through the forest line, the edge of his new territory and was now in clear view of anyone on the side of the highway.
Normally, this high up, the number of people on the highway would top out at zero. Or one, if he counted himself.
But, at this moment, that number also included one terrified, youthful man who happened to look back as Roscoe emerged. The man screamed and started forward, but he wasn't looking where he was going and tripped over the guardrail. His body flipped over it, and he landed, head first against the pavement.
Roscoe smelled blood.
The boy was so close to the road that if Roscoe left him there, a passerby would spot him. But maybe only after some idiot had run him over. Roscoe shifted into his human form and grabbed his clothes out of the pouch he wore around his ankle. The material was a special elastic that stretched when he was in his bear form and then hung loosely in his human form. Sometimes, the pouch slid off, but that was a small price to pay for not having to be naked all the time. Not that Roscoe minded being naked. Especially not when he was around a sweet-smelling male...
...that you scared so badly he hurt himself. He pulled his clothes on and ran out to the body. The boy groaned, which was a good sign since it meant he wasn't dead. Roscoe hopped over the guardrail and bent down over the body.
He immediately regretted it.
If he thought the boy smelled good before, that was nothing compared to the unfiltered, undiluted, straight from the source scent. He made Roscoe want to roar into the sky. Images of claiming this boy, bending him over the guardrail and then again against every tree they walked by, filled his head. He was instantly hard. His dick pushed against the fabric of his pants harshly. His head filled with a lusty haze as he thought about taking this boy in every way possible until he had no question about who he belonged to.
He leaned over, and the boy whimpered. But it wasn't a sexy whimper by far. It was a fearful whimper. Just the noise to cut through Roscoe's lust and to see the boy with new eyes.
He was young, much younger than Roscoe and he was thin. He had chin length, brown hair that covered half of his youthful face, but it didn't hide his smooth skin, the absence of wrinkles and grays, all things Roscoe had earned in his years on this earth.
How old could this boy be? Eighteen? Twenty? He feared the latter guess was him being hopeful. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy was seventeen.
That thought was like cold water doused over him. If this boy was underage, he was safe from Roscoe. And Roscoe would make sure he got somewhere safe from here. There weren't any other bear shifters in the area, but there were other shifters and humans that could do a young boy harm. He lifted the boy up and cradled him in his arms, doing his best not to let him rock or move too much.
Roscoe walked them back to the boy's campsite and laid him down before jogging back to the road to grab his pack. He found it, with a sleeping mat and bag strapped to the top. When he returned, the boy was groaning, coming to slowly.
"What happened?" he asked, the voice had a different quality now than it had before. He was dazed, and it made his voice plainly young.
Innocent.
None of your business.
Even if the boy had been a little closer to Roscoe's age, he would be off limits. With the help of his brothers, Roscoe had just managed to pull what was left of his pack out of sure destruction. He'd had to be hard with them when they moved, and there had been no small amount of grumbling from people who wanted to continue their bad habits.
If Roscoe broke any of his own rules that would begin a low boil of resentment with his den brothers and sister that would quickly spill over. Plus, his brothers would kill him for putting the pack in jeopardy so soon after rescuing it. But, his brothers were still out on a supply expedition, so they couldn't yell at him for making sure this boy was safe. Roscoe had been the cause of his injury after all.
He ignored the boy's question, making him a nice spot to lay his head instead. If there was one thing Roscoe could do, it was nest. Give him a corner of the forest, and he'd make it cozy. Though, he couldn't stop imagining how much more pleasant the little sleeping bag spot would be if he was able to cuddle against the young man.
"Where is that thing?" the boy asked with wide eyes looking into the forest containing no small amount of fear.
Roscoe grunted, "You don't have to worry about it."
"That isn't what I asked," the boy replied, showing a bit of backbone.
Enough for Roscoe to bend over and--
He shook his head and then shoved his large hand through his hair. He'd gotten a haircut recently, courtesy of one of his den sisters, Gaia and his fingers tried tugging on locks that weren't there anymore.
"That thing won't bother us. So why does it matter what it was?"
"It was huge. I thought for sure I'd finally seen bigfoot. Or a yeti, whatever you want to call them. All my years of camping out in random, isolated places and I finally see one here, in Middle of Nowhere, USA."
Roscoe knew too well how isolated they were. It had been why he'd chosen the lands just outside of Noel. "It wasn't a bigfoot," Roscoe said and then wondered why. What did it matter to him what this guy thought?
"What was it?" he asked again.
Now he'd done it. He'd told the boy it wasn't a bigfoot which implied he had seen it and knew what it was, so he couldn't claim ignorance now. "Listen here, son--"
"Son? You're like, old enough to be my older brother, tops."
Roscoe tried not to get too excited over that. "I could definitely be your daddy."
Now, that had come out wrong.
Except, it felt so right, and the moment his words had reached the young guy's ears, his mouth parted as he drew his breaths in more deeply. If Roscoe was reading his signs right, which he was, he could bet money that that had turned the young man on.
"You want to be my daddy?" the young man asked, and Roscoe had to get up and walk away, trudging toward a tree, he grabbed it, scraping his fingers against the bark providing the right balance of pain to distract himself.
"I want you to go about your way," he said when he'd calmed down enough. "Where were you heading?"
"You have a habit of not answering my questions."
Roscoe bit down on the tip of his tongue to keep from growling. "I don't have a habit of anything with you. Habits require time and repetition. I intend on pointing you in the right direction and seeing you out of my forest."
"Your forest?" the boy repeated, not the least bit phased by Roscoe's harsh tone and short words. Roscoe swore he could see the boy's wheels turning in his mind as he stared at Roscoe, looking his body up and down and then looking back out to the forest as if trying to make the two images line up in his mind.
"What's your name?" Roscoe asked half to distract him and half because he couldn't keep thinking about him as the young man.
"Sawyer, yours?"
"Roscoe."
"Pleasure." Sawyer made to stand, winced, and sat back down, nestling against the bed Roscoe had made.
Roscoe tried not to puff up with pride at that.
"Do you own that animal then? Is it like, a pet gorilla or something?"
"How hard did you hit your head? You do know what continent you are in, don't you?"
"Look, man I know that gorillas don't normally roam the Pacific Northwest, but this thing was huge. And, it looked pretty comfortable waltzing around on hind legs."
He hadn't been waltzing.
His guesses weren't that far off really, which was spooky. As much as it would make him an asshole, he had to shut down his line of thinking. "I saw it before I saw you. It was a normal wolf, and it ran away the moment it spotted me. You were probably just scared when you turned back and let your mind go crazy." His stomach twisted, turning his breakfast sour. Why was lying to this stranger so difficult? Roscoe had done much worse in his efforts to care for his pack.
"Whatever you say," Sawyer replied.
Roscoe didn't believe him for a second, and it appeared that Sawyer hadn't wanted him to since he had done nothing to his demeanor or delivery to attempt to convince him.
"If you want to lie about a freaking bear the size of a Land Rover, that's fine. I can move on just as easily as I stayed." Sawyer reached into his pack and pulled out a small, clear bag.
Roscoe watched him calmly pull out a roll of gauze, wrapping it around his head and covering the spot where he'd hit his head. He ripped open a pack of painkillers and swallowed them down without water. His movements were quick, and something about them made Roscoe believe it wasn't the first time he'd applied first aid to himself.
Roscoe didn't like the implications of that one bit.
"Hey, you don't have to go now. Maybe rest a bit more? I can...I can be a lookout while you sleep...if you are worried?" What the hell was he saying? This guy was on his way out of his forest. And no matter how good he smelled, out was the only direction this boy could go when it came to Roscoe's forest.
"Hmm, let me see. Should I let a huge, random hot dude watch over me while I am physically weakened by an injury or should I try to get the hell out of here and to safety?" Sawyer tapped his chin as if thinking his question over. "Tough one...tough one..."
Despite himself, Roscoe laughed. "Okay, put that way, I get how dumb I sounded." He glowered at Sawyer from under his eyelashes. "You didn't have to point it out so succinctly, you whippersnapper."
"Again, with the age thing. I'm twenty if that makes you feel any better."
It shouldn't, but knowing his age didn't have the word teen at the end kind of did.
"You can't be much older." Sawyer evaluated him, letting his gaze sweep over Roscoe's body with an intensity that made Roscoe hard. "Maybe twenty-eight? Tops thirty."
Roscoe snorted. "Now I know you hit your head hard. Forty-two," he declared, waiting for the interested glimmer in Sawyer's eye to dim.
It didn't.
"Experienced. I like it."
If he'd been drinking anything, Roscoe would have choked on it. Irrational anger soon followed shock. Where did Sawyer get off saying something like that to a person he had recently called random? "Experienced? Is that like calling me wise? All nice ways of saying I'm old, but the end is the same." He attempted to redirect the conversation.
"Experienced isn't like wise. And it certainly isn't like old. It's like, if I gave you a piece of meat, you'd probably know how to butcher it. You'd have the proper knives for the job, and you would have the knowledge. Not like some younger guy who'd likely give it a shot but do a botched job with the one knife he owned that he uses for everything."
"A piece of meat?" Roscoe was determined to ignore the innuendo. "Are you a butcher or something?"
"My dad is. Was." Sawyer's voice caught when he corrected himself and when he looked back over to Roscoe, it was with a bewildered expression. His face cleared, and he flashed Roscoe a cheeky smile. "As I was saying, at your age, I could trust my meat in your hands."
Roscoe wasn't sure whether it was his own domineering arousal or anger at Sawyer coming on to a complete stranger in the forest that propelled him over where he lifted the young man to his feet, holding him by the throat. His grip was firm, but he wasn't even restricting Sawyer's air flow. He just wanted to get the boy's attention. "Do you have a death wish or are you just that easy?"
"Do I have to choose?" Sawyer replied flippantly, but he wasn't fooling Roscoe. His voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke.
"I could be a murderer. I could be anyone, and you wouldn't know. I'm not asking you to run and hide from every person you meet but have some caution. Don't get them thinking about something if they weren't already."
Sawyer took a deep breath as if he was proving he could. "If you were a psycho and wanted to hurt me, nothing I said or didn't say would change that."
Roscoe couldn't decide if he was angrier that Sawyer was right or that he knew that in the first place.
He let go, waiting for Sawyer to have his balance before stepping away. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."
"It's okay. You did it for a good reason. It was actually kind of hot, all disapproving daddy and all."
This time, when Roscoe invaded Sawyer's personal space, he was gentle and soft. "It is never okay for someone to hurt or scare you without your permission. No matter what their supposed reasons are."
"Whatever you say, Dad."
Roscoe wrinkled his nose. "There is definitely a difference between Dad and daddy."
"Ha. I guess there is. Which do you want to be?" Sawyer asked, his tone going husky and alluring…
Bearly Legal: Bear Brothers Mpreg Romance Book One