Illuminating His Bear by Charlie Richards

Chapter Nine

Zhaul took Congo’s hand and led his mate from the bedroom. As much as he would have loved to stay holed up in their room for the duration of the afternoon, when he’d heard his mate’s stomach growling, he’d known it was time to come out. His lover was already underweight. He needed feeding.

Heading downstairs, Zhaul turned away from the front door and moved deeper into the home. He pushed open a sliding door on the right to reveal a large dining room. A quick glance showed eight people at the table, including four that were Congo’s bears, now in human form. They appeared to have taken showers, and three of them were now clean-shaven. The fourth, who looked an awful lot like Congo, sported a goatee.

That man lifted his focus away from his heaping plate of food and grinned broadly at them. “Congo, congratulations!” He rose from his chair and crossed to them, his arms wide. “What a fantastic day, huh?”

Congo wrapped the man in his arms and returned his back-slapping hug. “That it is, Mads. That it is.”

Due to Congo swiftly unwinding one arm, Zhaul managed to fight back his bear’s growl.

As if understanding, Congo moved one hand to Mads’ nape while wrapping his other around Zhaul. He hauled him close and stated, “Zhaul, this is my brother, Madagascar.”

Oh, right. His brother. I’ve seen him before.

Then Congo grinned at Madagascar. “Mads, this is my mate, Zhaul.” As if extremely proud, Congo released Madagascar’s neck in order to tug aside the top of his t-shirt. “He claimed me.”

Madagascar roared with obvious pleasure, a wide grin splitting his features. “My big brother’s been claimed,” he cried joyously. Wrapping his arms around them both, Madagascar declared, “I have a new brother. Welcome to the sleuth, Zhaul.”

Shocked at the male’s exuberance, Zhaul struggled to find his tongue. “Th-Thanks,” he squeaked, knowing his eyes had to be as big as saucers.

Releasing them, Madagascar turned to the others at the table. “Did you hear that, guys? Our alpha has been claimed!”

The three still sitting leaped to their feet, tipped their heads back, and roared their pleasure to the ceiling.

Zhaul gaped, having never seen anything like it.

Then all three of them hurried forward to offer congratulations and hugs. They introduced themselves as Valentine, Zion, and Eurik.

“Where’s Shannon?” Congo asked, glancing between his men.

“He was finishing up his shower when I headed down here,” Zion told him. “I’ll go get him.” Then he rushed from the room.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal, guys.” Congo pointed at the table. “Sit back down and finish.” He focused on Zhaul and asked, “Should we go in the kitchen and make ourselves something?”

“No need,” a black man at the table called—Mutegi, if Zhaul remembered correctly. There were a lot of gang members. “Ben and I”—he rested his hand over that of the dark-haired human’s sitting next to him—”as well as Caleb and Emmett”—he indicated the other pair at the table—”have been cooking up a storm.” Touching his chest with his free hand, he claimed, “I am Mutegi. If you need anything, please feel free to ask.” He smiled, showing off even white teeth in his black face. “There is plenty.”

“And more where that came from,” Caleb assured with a grin. “We’re just sitting here taking a break while we wait for you guys to eat some of what we’ve already made.” With a laugh, he added, “Then we’ll make even more and start taking plates out to the others. It’s an army out there.”

Zhaul had noticed that, too. The gang was huge. When he’d been stuck in animal form, waiting for the scientists’ drugs to wear off, Yuma had told him all about the gang.

Originally, there had been only a dozen guys, all single, driving around the country as a motorcycle gang. One by one, they’d begun finding their mates. Some of the guys had settled with their other half, but many more of them had stayed on the road with Kontra.

Even the ones left behind were still considered family. Occasionally, they dropped by to ride with them for a week or two before returning home.

“Thanks, Caleb.” Grabbing Congo’s hand again, Zhaul led them through the archway to the kitchen. He spotted huge warming trays spread across a much smaller table. They were full of many different types of food, from tuna pasta casserole to funeral potatoes to grilled chicken strips.

“Oh, damn,” Congo rumbled, drifting toward the food. “That all looks and smells so good.”

His stomach rumbled again, and Zhaul saw the longing in his mate’s eyes. Turning to the left, he opened a cupboard and grabbed two plates. “Here.” He handed both to the other man, then snagged a couple more plates for himself. With a grin, Zhaul started toward the feast. “Dig in.”

Zhaul led by example and started filling his plates. He took two large pieces of fried chicken, a scoop of tuna pasta salad, and a few other things. He heaped a salad onto his other plate, then topped it with several strips of grilled chicken. Finally, Zhaul doused that in creamy Caesar dressing.

When Zhaul was done, he noticed with pleasure that Congo had filled both his plates, too. They were near to overflowing, and if Zhaul had to guess, his mate had taken some of just about everything.

“We’ll put these in the dining room, then come back for drinks,” Zhaul told him.

“They don’t stand on ceremony here, huh?” Congo whispered as he followed Zhaul.

Zhaul shook his head. He’d only eaten a few meals with the gang, but everyone had always been really laid back. They shared everything and worked as a team.

Except—

“Just don’t touch any of the motorcycles without permission,” Zhaul counseled with a smirk. “That’s the only thing they’re pretty possessive about.”

Congo chuckled. “Understandable. Used to ride one myself, but I sold it when me and a few guys opened up the compound in the mountains.” He shrugged, but his expression appeared a little wistful. “Just no use for it, and we needed the money for building supplies.”

Zhaul bumped his shoulder into Congo’s. “Maybe we’ll buy a couple someday,” he told him with a smile. “I’ve never ridden one before.”

“You’ve never ridden a motorcycle?” Congo sounded surprised.

Setting his plates on the table, Zhaul shook his head. “Nope.”

“You’re totally missing out,” Caleb told him as he rose to his feet. “You guys sit and get started. What would you like to drink? We have just about everything from juice to spirits.”

Congo groaned from next to him, licking his lips. “Damn, I’d love a beer.” His expression appeared so hopeful. “I couldn’t even give a shit what kind.”

Chuckling, Caleb gave him a thumbs up. “You got it.” He focused on Zhaul as he asked, “What about you, Zhaul? Want iced tea again or to try something different?”

Having spotted the wine rack while getting food, Zhaul asked, “Is there any white wine open?” He grinned as he looked Congo’s way. “We’re celebrating.”

“That you are,” Caleb agreed, heading into the kitchen. “A cold beer and a glass of white coming right up.”

It wasn’t until Zhaul had taken his first bite of food that he realized Caleb hadn’t answered the question about the wine already being open.

Oh well.

Zhaul scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy, slipped it into his mouth, and hummed appreciatively.

At some point during the meal, Shannon had arrived, Zion returning with him. The bear shifter had exclaimed just as jovially, pulling each of them into a hug. Then he’d grabbed a plate of food and joined them.

As they ate, they explained how each of them had found their way to Congo and Madagascar’s secluded mountain compound. The conversation grew a bit subdued when Zion shared how his parents had died, so he’d grown up with his mother’s family. When the sleuth had been found by hunters targeting paranormals, many of them had been slaughtered. Zion and his cousin, Acadia, had fled into the woods. They’d stumbled upon Congo’s compound by accident but were forever grateful that he’d taken them in.

Zhaul took a sip of his wine, trying to come up with some way to lift the mood.

Alpha Kontra’s appearance caught everyone’s attention. The huge bear shifter swept his gaze over them. Smiling, he pinned his attention on Zhaul and Congo.

“Congratulations on completing your mating, guys.” Leaning against the wall, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m very happy for you.” Then he paused, his brows furrowing, as if working through how to bring something up. Kontra clicked his tongue once before shaking his head. “This is hard because I don’t want anything I say to sound like an order.”

Understanding his predicament, Zhaul offered, “What if you spoke directly to me?” Seeing the way Kontra arched his brow in silent question, he quickly explained his idea. “That way, they could hear but won’t be compelled to follow your words as if they were a command.”

Kontra nodded once. “Sounds like a good plan.” Crooking his finger, he motioned for Zhaul to come to him. Once Zhaul stood before him, Kontra told him, “If this doesn’t work, Zhaul, I’ll need to know.”

Zhaul knew that the comment wasn’t meant for him alone, even if he was the only one being addressed. Still, he dutifully responded, “Yes, Alpha.”

“Good.”

Even though Zhaul found it a little unnerving, he continued to stand before the alpha, waiting for whatever he had to say.

Resting a hand on Zhaul’s nape, Kontra once again massaged lightly, soothing him. “Famine passed on Zion’s request to his brothers, Death and War. Both are coming here soon.” His brown-eyed gaze stared at him steadily. “Death is bringing one prisoner. War is bringing two. If your mate’s sleuth would like a hand in the restitution, then they’ll need to be outside in thirty minutes.”

Zion’s growl caught everyone’s attention. His nearly black eyes were narrowed, and anger glittered within their depths. “Thank you, Alpha Kontra,” he rumbled. “I’ll be there.”

“As will I,” Congo stated, rising to his feet. He peered around at the others. “Know this. There is no shame if you decide you don’t want to face your persecutors. You can tell me privately your thoughts on restitution.”

One by one, each bear shifter declared that they would be there, ready and willing to face those who’d tortured and subjugated them.

Zhaul could see the pride in Congo’s eyes, smell it in his scent, as he smiled at each of those who remained of his sleuth. Returning to his mate’s side, he slipped his hand into his mate’s. When Congo turned his attention on him, Zhaul grinned at him.

“I’ll be there, too,” Zhaul whispered.

Congo wrapped him in his arms and hugged him tightly. Dipping his head, he whispered, “I don’t want you anywhere near those bitches.” Before Zhaul could growl his annoyance at all but being ordered to stay away, Congo continued, “But I would be honored to have you at my side, my mate.”

Squeezing Congo tightly, Zhaul murmured back, “I’ll always be at your side.”

After inhaling deeply, letting it out just as slowly, then kissing the claiming mark he’d left on Zhaul’s neck, Congo lifted his head and nodded. “Okay, then.” He turned his attention to Alpha Kontra. “We’ll be right out.”

“Finish your—” Kontra snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. Then he forced a smile and amended, “It would be perfectly acceptable for you to finish your meal before joining us outside.” Then Kontra grinned broadly at Mutegi. “You know what, Mutegi. I think we need to make this look like a celebration. Let those bitches know they don’t scare us.”

“I’ll tap the keg!” Payson yelled, running through the room. “Come on, Land.”

Zhaul watched as Payson’s human mate—he didn’t know where either had been hiding, having so obviously been eavesdropping—giggled as he sprinted after his crazy hyena shifter.

Mutegi chuckled even as he shook his head. The others laughed, and even Kontra rumbled a snort of amusement.

“Come on, guys,” Emmett encouraged, rising from his seat. “Let’s get some tables set up outside, the barbeque started, and a bonfire lit.”

Caleb snickered. “We could pretend that we plan to burn the witches at the stake.”

“Not a bad restitution, come to think of it,” Zion grumbled.

As the others snorted, obviously amused, Zhaul noticed Shannon looked a little pale at the idea.

Zhaul couldn’t say he was too interested in learning what the smell of burning flesh was, either.

As they all took their plates outside to finish their meal, Zhaul wondered if he was the only one who’d lost his appetite.