Bear Anchor

By Becca Fanning

Secrets can be dangerous.
Irina Vasiliev loved being surrounded by books. Thick volumes brimming with knowledge. Thin magazines full of quips and that day's opinions. Lucky for her, she was a librarian, or as much as you could be in the remote fishing village of Sitka, Alaska. The sad fact was that the tough lifestyle here in the Arctic didn't leave much time for reading. But she took all the time she could. One look at the sexy Bear Shifter fisherman in front of her told her that maybe there were some things you couldn't get in books.
Finn didn't know what to make of the feisty little librarian. He thought he'd be in and out, just grab his book and be on his way. But he could sense something about her. Something different. She had the look of someone either hiding or running, but from what?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gizmo Media
• Release date: May 23, 2021

Book preview

Fanning

Chapter 1

One

A shadow loomed over the circulation desk just as a throat cleared, cutting into the comfortable silence of a slow Tuesday afternoon. Irina Vasiliev looked up from her computer screen into a pair of amber eyes framed by horn-rimmed glasses. Eyes the color of honey, like the stuff her grandmother used to make medovik with: raw and sweet and sticky.

And now she craved the layered honey cake, longed for the familiarity, the comfort of it. Medovik had been Babushka’s favorite recipe. Generations of Vasiliev women had made it, back to the days when her ancestors had lived in a tiny fishing village on the Baltic Sea. Irina’s grandparents had been the first generation in America, and they clung to their traditions with an iron grip. She could remember the old woman standing over the stove time and time again, whisking, whisking, whisking. You must whisk like devil, Irochka, or eggs cook, she’d say in her thickly accented English. Irina hadn’t made the cake in years, not since Babushka had died.

But she thought she’d like to dust off the recipe now. Comfort and security were rare commodities in her life these days. The routine of preparing the cake, as well as eating it, savoring it, would be a balm to soothe her tired soul. She wouldn’t be able to eat the whole thing herself, but perhaps she could bring some in for her co-workers. She took mental stock of the ingredients in her pantry. She would need to stop at the market for sour cream and more flour. Maybe this weekend, she thought.

The large man standing in front of her cleared his throat, and she shook her head, trying to banish the visions of medovik dancing through her head. I’ll add berries this time, was her final thought on the subject. It’s still early in June. Strawberries should be in season.

She looked up at the man again. Can I help you? she asked politely.

I put in a request last week, the man said, holding up a call slip. I got a call earlier that my book is in.

She took the slip from him, along with his library card. She glanced at the title printed neatly on the small scrap of paper, raising her eyebrows. They didn’t get many requests for Kierkegaard at the Sitka Public Library, unless one of the students at the University was writing a last-minute paper.

Let me take a look, she said. She turned from the desk, walking to the back room to retrieve the library’s only copy of Either/Or.

She returned a moment later to see that another man had joined the first. The newcomer seemed younger, rangier, than the man in the glasses, long and lean where his companion was solid, almost stocky. He was turned away from her, facing the first man, but she could just make out a scowl twisting his mouth. You already read all this stuff! He rocked back and forth on his heels, as though standing completely still was beyond his capabilities.

I have, the man in the glasses agreed, calmly and indulgently, like they’d had this argument many times.

So whaddya need to read it again for? You ain’t in school anymore, Sherman. The second man brushed his hair out of his eyes. It was pale, white-blond, like the finest silk. It was beautiful hair, but much too long. It hung in his face and curled over his ears, like he was a mop-topped kid in a boy band. She had the strangest urge to offer to cut it for him. You don’t need philosophy while we’re out on the boat.

I don’t read because it’s useful. I do it because I need it to thrive. ‘Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty,’ the man in the glasses quoted.

‘Anyone who keeps learning stays young.’ Irina finished the quote before she’d even realized she’d spoken.

The younger man turned to her, at last giving her a good look at him. He all but took her breath away, he was so beautiful - but in a contradictory way. A study of opposites. Delicately sculpted cheekbones in a deeply tanned, slightly weather-beaten face. That white-blond hair, but with dark eyebrows and lashes. Full, almost