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Summer's Lease

On his first night renting a cottage on the Cornish coast, widower John Tennant comes face to face with, of all things, a grizzly bear. Fearing for his life, John tries to convince the animal he isn't worth eating, and is relieved when the bear ambles away.<br><br>Maintenance man Mitch Benjamin is two hundred years old but doesn’t look a day over forty. As a werebear, he needs to stay under the radar. The new renter is making that difficult. Not only is John attractive, but his vulnerability triggers all of Mitch’s protective instincts. If that wasn’t trouble enough, Mitch is struggling with his inner bear’s desire to befriend John. He knows what his bear is up to, but Mitch doesn’t want another mate. His last one was murdered ninety years ago, and he’s still grieving.<br><br>John is confused by Mitch’s mixed signals. Physically, Mitch -- with his bulging muscles and hulking frame -- is a gay man’s wet dream come true. But emotionally, he keeps closing down. John discovers more comfort with the magnificent grizzly bear he occasionally meets on his evening walks along the beach.<br><br>In an effort to help, Morwenna, the owner of the cottages, uses her psychic gifts to give John a message from his dead lover, George. Far from helping, it adds another layer of strangeness to what’s already turning out to be the strangest summer John can remember.<br><br>Can a well-meaning medium and a determined grizzly bring John and Mitch together? Will Mitch come clean about his werebear nature? If he does, can John accept that a man and bear exist in the same body?

Drew Hunt · LGBT+
Not enough ratings
90 Chs

Chapter 12

“What are you afraid of?” She returned with a glass, its contents black and mildly sweet-smelling.

“What’s that?”

“Mitch, love.” She put the glass on the table in front of him and laid a hand on his forehead.

“I’m afraid of being hurt. There, satisfied?”

“That you’re hurt and afraid, no. That you trust me enough to tell me what’s hurting you and making you afraid, yes.”

“What’s in the glass?” He asked again, not willing to expose his emotions any further.

“Black liquorice.”

He eyed the glass suspiciously.

“It should help take the edge off, like you wanted.”

He looked up at her. “How?”

She retook her seat. “Black liquorice is supposed to reduce a man’s potency.”

“You mean I won’t be able to get it up?”

“Mitchell Benjamin, don’t be crude.”

“Sorry.” He picked up the glass and gave its contents a sniff. “Doesn’t seem too bad.” He took a sip. It wasn’t bad tasting either, so he took another, larger, drink.