The Bear Prince: A BBW Bear Shifter Billionaire Paranormal Romance Novella (Seattle's Billionaire Bears Book 3) Read online

  The Bear Prince: A BBW Bear Shifter Billionaire Paranormal Romance Novella

  Seattle's Billionaire Bears, Volume 3

  Sable Sylvan

  Published by Sable Sylvan, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE BEAR PRINCE: A BBW BEAR SHIFTER BILLIONAIRE PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVELLA

  First edition. August 25, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Sable Sylvan.

  Written by Sable Sylvan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: The Little Bear Maid

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Walking through the Asher Manor garden, Crystal Wordsworth became very self-conscious. The woman guiding her through the grounds was tall, blonde, and above all else, perfectly composed, in a grey blazer and matching pencil skirt, with a navy blouse, and navy heels that made the already statuesque shifter woman even taller. Of course, it was because the woman’s cat shifter side gave her a natural grace, but compared to the shifter woman, Delaina, Crystal seemed far more, well...plain, from a fashion standpoint. She was wearing what she always wore to work: plain black jeans, a loose black t-shirt style knit tunic top, and comfortable walking shoes, as well as a black messenger bag. Absolutely nothing was designer, although the items were meant to last her far longer than a single season. Inside the bag were all her essentials: her phone, her digital camera, chargers, a tape recorder, all the tools a journalist needed, except her trusty notepad and pen, which were in her hands as she took copious notes as Delaina gave the same tour she’d given hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

  “And to your right, you’ll see the famous Asher Labyrinth,” said Delaina. “To the left, the Asher Manor’s historic well, imported from Salem, Massachusetts, from the original House of Seven Gables. Usually, the tour includes the interior of the mansion, which is where guests enter, at the front steps of the Manor, but the whole Manor is undergoing renovations for the ball.”

  “Interesting, very interesting,” said Crystal. “And this is where the Golden Ball is held?”

  Delaina stifled a laugh. “Oh, you’re serious. No. The ball’s held inside,” said Delaina. “Up those two curved stairways, there’s a large ballroom, and that’s where the ball is held. Of course, I don’t have to tell you what a big deal the ball is...”

  “But, for the record, how would the Asher family describe the ball? I need a quote for the article,” said Crystal, pulling out her miniature tape recorder.

  “Of course,” said Delaina, taking the recorder to speak directly into the mic. “The Golden Ball is one of the oldest, most esteemed traditions in Seattle’s shifter society. The ball has been held for over a hundred years, always in the Asher Manor, always by the Asher Clan, and of course, it’s always been invitation only. It’s where not only Seattle’s society elite, but the most elite shifters from around the globe, come to start their social season, because the event has always been exceedingly private and closed to the press...at least, until this year.” Delaina winked at Crystal.

  “Thanks, that’s perfect,” said Crystal, testing the recording before pocketing the recorder. “So...what areas will I be allowed to access?”

  “Well, follow me, and I’ll show you,” said Delaina, leading the way up the two staircases into the empty ballroom. Even though the ballroom was empty, it seemed more luxurious than Crystal expected, because empty, every last architectural detail, every last inch that had been designed to death, was visible. This wasn’t some large empty room with white walls. No; there were tall pillars that were as wide as three of her and as tall as at least ten of her, reaching up to the ceiling, where the pillars were topped with ornate Doric caps, the ceiling decorated with a simple dark blue that seemed almost black, save for a few spots where stars seemed to glisten.

  “Those are real diamonds up there, you know,” said Delaina. “When you see this place at night, well, it’ll really be something.” Crystal looked to Delaina, who had a small smile on her face, and all of a sudden, felt herself blushing. She was here for work, not to ogle as if she was at a museum, but every part of the manor really was like a work of art.

  “Over here is where you might be interviewing people, for instance,” said Delaina, motioning to a space between two pillars. “We’ll set up a table for you, and if people want to be interviewed, they’ll come to you. The rest of the press, well...the photographers, really, will be at the front, by the red carpet, taking pictures. Of course, you are free to wander the ball, but we request that you don’t enter the labyrinth, or the private areas of the house. May I speak off the record?”

  “Of course,” said Crystal.

  “The labyrinth and the rest of the house...well, they’re used for certain...activities that are intended to be private, and that need to stay private,” said Delaina. “If you catch my drift. The ballroom, and any public areas, are yours to explore as you like, but the rest of the house and the grounds are off limits, and of course, don’t eavesdrop, don’t publish what you may accidentally hear or spread it past these walls, and only write what people explicitly tell you for the purposes of your article. This is all covered in the NDA you signed this morning.”

  This morning...the activities of the morning seemed a lifetime away. She’d gone to the office, same as usual, and been called into her editor’s office. She was shaking, nervous she was about to get sacked for an expose she’d written on chemical dumping into the Puget Sound by a funeral home, but she ended up getting told she’d been personally selected for a special job by a certain member of the social elite that her editor was not at liberty to disclose. That special job? Covering the Golden Ball, a ball that had never been accessible to reporters before, even though paparazzi seemed to come up with crazier and crazier ways to try and break into the Asher Manor each year. She’d been sent to the Asher Manor to meet with Delaina, who gave her the tour of the grounds and mansion, and now, the tour was coming to its end.

  “What marks the end of the party and the start of the labyrinth?” asked Crystal. “Just, you know, so I don’t make a mistake.”

  “If you’re in the hedges, you’re in the labyrinth,” said Delaina. “But you know, we can check it out right now while there’s nobody inside it.” Crystal followed Delaina outside. She’d been surprised they got along so well: Delaina was a cat shifter, after all, and cat shifters (male or female) had a reputation of being, well, catty, and Delaina had seemed super mellow. Even in high heels, she was able to out walk Crystal, who practically had to run to keep up with her.

  “Oh, and before I forget, here,” said Delaina, slipping a golden ball out of her bag and tossing it to Crystal, who almost missed catching it. “That’s your invitation.”

  “I don’t get a press pass?” asked Crystal.

  “No, you get a full invitation, just like everyone else,” said Delaina. “The ball opens with a click, and inside, you’ll find all the details about the Ball. Don’t lose the invitation: you only get one, for security reasons. It doesn’t matter who you are, exceptions aren’t made...and trust me, that’s p
issed off more than a few important people.”

  Crystal slipped the ball into her bag and followed Delaina down the stairs into the labyrinth, which was full of tall, dark hedges, some with flowers, some without, including some hedges that had roses growing out of them. Delaina got a call on her phone. “Just a moment,” said Delaina. “It seems I’m needed elsewhere. Can I trust you out here on your own? You can leave whenever you get enough notes, sorry sugar.”

  “Of course,” said Crystal. “I’ll take some snaps for you to go over later.”

  Delaina walked off with her phone, and Crystal set her bag down so she could get her camera out to take pictures, which would then be sent to Delaina to approve of, before they were published in the final article. Although at first, the party seemed like a bit of a joke to Crystal, she was actually becoming a bit excited to attend. Even though large formal parties weren’t really her scene, it was still going to be a big moment for her career, and the fact she’d been specially selected by someone associated with the Manor to visit the party as a member of the press was a great honor.

  Crystal snapped pics of the staircases leading to the ballroom, of the historic well, and of course, of the garden and the labyrinth and the large hunk of man meat that was pruning the hedges. One of the items on that list wasn’t exactly supposed to be captured on film. Crystal went through the pics: the tall, shirtless man with shears wasn’t going to be easy to edit out.

  As she looked at the picture to try and figure out how to edit it, Crystal’s camera was covered by a shadow, and she looked up: the man from the picture was in front of her, and up close and personal, was taller, handsomer, and downright grizzlier than she expected. He was now wearing a shirt, which had been on the grass beside him, and his eyes were deep green but seemed to be filled with fire.

  “What in the Hell do you think you’re doing?” asked the man, looking over the woman who was wearing all black. Maybe it was intended to make her blend into the shadows at events, but in the garden, the void of color filled by her clothes attracted his eye, and her bountiful curves kept it. The bear in him roared: they hadn’t met a woman this attractive before, and there was something about her that made her seem different than every other woman they’d ever met, and it wasn’t just her absolutely delectable jasmine scent.

  “I’m here as a member of the press,” said Crystal, looking over the man. He was handsome, even though all he was wearing was a plain black shirt and some khaki shorts with pockets, but something about him seemed different. Maybe it was just that he was a shifter, but Crystal had a feeling there was more to him than met the eye.

  “Of course you are,” said the man.

  “Huh?” asked Crystal, confused. “I’m here to cover the Golden Ball. I’m Crystal Wordsworth, Delaina was giving me the tour, and she said I could take some pictures out here.”

  That name: Crystal. There was no frikkin’ way that after all this time, a girl named Crystal would just find him, but fate worked in mysterious ways. The man looked for any sign that Crystal knew who he was. She was talking to him like someone that had no clue who he was, but of course, he couldn’t be sure of that. “Take enough pictures?” asked the man, pointing at the picture on the viewfinder.

  “No, actually,” said Crystal. Two things happened. First, Crystal saw dark marks on his hands, marks that certain species of shifters had, and realized that this man was most definitely a shifter. Then, she did something the man didn’t expect. She deleted the picture without prompting, lifted the camera, and took another shot of where he’d been. “But now I have.”

  There was no way she was for real: why would a journalist delete a picture that could net her thousands, if not millions, of dollars from any tabloid? “What are the pictures for?” asked the man.

  “I’m writing an article about the Golden Ball,” said Crystal. “I like to take pictures of places because I don’t have a photographic memory, so if I don’t have time to write down or dictate every thought about a place, I take a picture. They’re not museum quality or anything, but, they help me write really rich articles.”

  “The Golden Ball...that’s impossible, press never gets invited,” said the man.

  “What would you know about the Golden Ball?” asked Crystal, looking over the man. He didn’t look like he’d ever worn shiny shoes or a tuxedo, which was a welcome change from the men that seemed to cover the Asher Manor grounds. “Somebody here sent my editor a message, said that I was personally invited as a member of the press, so it’s not like I can avoid going...And your name is?”

  “Damien,” said the man. The bear inside him roared: what were they doing talking about names when there was mating to be done? The man shut the bear up and hoped with all his heart Crystal didn’t look down and see the evidence of his arousal.

  “Do you have a last name?” asked Crystal.

  There was no frikkin’ way this chick was serious, right? Damien looked into Crystal’s eyes: she didn’t seem to be lying, she wasn’t nervous at all. “Damien...Michaels,” said Damien. “Damien Michaels.”

  “Well, Damien, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to pack up and head out,” said Crystal. “I think Delaina isn’t coming back to walk me out.” Crystal placed her bag on the edge of the well and opened her bag to put her camera away, but as she pushed her camera in, the golden ball, which was already precariously perched and barely inside of her bag, fell out and into the well.

  “No!” shouted Crystal, reaching for the ball, but Damien held her back, his strong, firm arms keeping her in place. Crystal watched as the ball fell down into the well, out of sight, glimmering slightly. She swore she heard a ribbit come from the well, and she squinted, making out the outline of what looked like...a frog? What the heck was a frog doing in a well in the middle of Seattle? It was definitely a frog though, with green skin and all...and it almost looked like it was smiling. To Crystal, it was just another strange event in a day filled with oddities.

  “You can’t reach it,” said Damien. “You’ll drop the rest of your stuff in there.”

  “Can you get it out for me?” asked Crystal. “Or at least show me where a shed is so I can find some tools to fish it out?”

  “Wait, what?” asked Damien.

  “You are one of the gardeners, right? Or groundskeepers or whatever?” asked Crystal, gesturing to the man’s shears which he’d left by one of the hedges. “You know where they keep the tools?”

  “Yeah,” said Damien, playing along. “Uh...I’ll fish it out for you. On one condition.”

  “What is it?” asked Crystal.

  “Three dates,” said Damien. “With me. One a week, for the next three weeks.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Crystal. “You’re asking me to go with you on three dates?”

  “What, you’re too good to date the gardener?” asked Damien.

  “No, I don’t make enough to go on three dates in such a short amount of time,” said Crystal. “How much do you think journalists make?”

  “Who said anything about you paying?” asked Damien.

  “Fine, fine, just get the invitation,” said Crystal.

  “Give me two seconds,” said Damien. He ran off across the property and was back within five minutes, with a fishing rod in hand.

  “Of course you managed to find a fishing rod,” said Crystal. “Of course.”

  “Stand back,” ordered Damien. Crystal walked back and watched as Damien carefully cast a fishing line, both hooked and weighted, down into the depths of the well. He cast it a few times before reeling it back up, ball on the end. “Got it!”

  Crystal walked over. There was the invitation...but it was absolutely busted. The material around the ball had disintegrated like a wafer, and the invitation inside was ruined. There was no way anyone was going to accept that invitation at the door. “Oh nuts,” cursed Crystal. “What am I going to do? Delaina said that this was the only invitation I’d have issued to me.”

  “I know someone with a spare,
” said Damien.

  “You know someone?” asked Crystal.

  “Yeah, a buddy of mine knows someone high up at the Manor,” said Damien. “I can get an invite in my name, and take you.”

  “Really? You’d do that for a stranger?” said Damien.

  “Not just any stranger...a stranger who owes me three dates,” said Damien, pulling out his wallet and giving Crystal a card with his number that had no other text on it. “I’ll pick you up this Friday at seven. Don’t be late, sugar.”

  ***

  “...and so that’s what happened,” said Crystal, finishing up the story of what had transpired at the Manor that afternoon, and finishing up her wine.

  “No frikkin’ way,” said Tangie, Crystal’s best friend.

  “Is this enough proof for you?” asked Crystal, pulling the card out of her wallet and showing it to Tangie. There was the number.

  “Crystal, have you called him yet? Or texted?” asked Tangie.

  “No way,” said Crystal. “I’m hoping he just forgets this even happened. There’s no way that guy is going to be able to get me an invite to the ball. It’s just not possible that a gardener has that kind of connect.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Tangie. “Handsome, employed, and a shifter, that’s all you need in a man.”

  “I don’t like that he’s trying to manipulate the situation to get a date with me,” said Crystal. “If he had just asked me on a date, without strings attached, or I guess, in this case, without a fishing rod and an invitation to the Ball attached, then that’d be one thing. But I don’t like guys playing games. Why would he play games with a girl like me anyway?”

  “You really have no idea,” said Tangie, shaking her head and waving down the bartender to get them two more drinks. “Crystal...you’ve lived in this city for how long, and you still haven’t dated a shifter?”

  “Or any guy,” said Crystal. “I’ve been too busy, you know that, and—”