Michael Afton Bear Mask Novels & Stories

Soren's hand in mine, anchor in the storm. After an eternity, the worst of the pain began to dull. Not disappear—it still burned like fire in my chest—but it became bearable. Manageable. I could function. Could think. Could be the Phantom they needed. Through the trees ahead, I caught glimpses of buildings. Cultivated land. The outer edges of pack territory. "We're close," Marcus said quietly. I straightened my spine despite the pain. Pulled my hand from Soren's and reached for my mask—the leather and silver one that would hide my face. Make me unrecognizable.

He looked at me wide-eyed and swallowed hard before holding the door open for me. The parking lot was full and TJ handed me another beautiful white mask. He had a very similar one only in black and I beamed with joy. I thanked TJ again for his action. "...Thanks again! It's really crazy what we're doing here!... Do you think anyone recognizes us?"

But I don't know what she wanted, so I brought one. Now I know why she wanted to lose her precious virginity. And that was the main purpose of the mask. No strings attached. Just sex. Just a fucking sex. Five hours later, she eased off. She stopped talking. She stopped dancing. And good thing she stopped sobbing like a three-year-old kid. My job was supposed to have sex with her. But it so happened that I was babysitting someone who just turned eighteen. When she leaned her exhausted back against my shoulder, that was the time for me to go. So, I gently lifted her from the floor and put her profound sleepiness on the bed.

I wanted to rip the mask off, to let him see the monster and the woman, and to lose myself in the heat of his embrace. But as his fingers moved toward the silk ribbons at the back of my head, a cold splash of reality hit me. I am a murderer, I reminded myself. I am an impostor in a dead girl's palace. He is a man of the South, a man of secrets. If I let him see me—truly see me—I would lose the only armor I had left. The power of my eyes was my greatest weapon, but my mask was my greatest shield. Just as his fingers brushed the knot of the ribbon, I grabbed his wrist. My grip was unnaturally strong, fueled by the desperation of a cornered animal.

At a corner beside the bed was the warthog mask. I shook visibly, turning to face Zara as I point to the mask. “Wha—” POW! A hard baseball bat hit my face. I saw darkness.

“Do you remember anything? Who did this?” He shook his head slowly. “Didn’t see their face. They were fast and professional.” Greg pulled something from the attacker’s body and tossed it to the floor between us. A mask. Black. Worn leather. “We got one of them,” he said. “And you’re gonna want to see who it is.” My stomach turned. Michael bent down, yanked the hood off the corpse. The man’s face rolled to the side. Colton. I recoiled, breath catching in my throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I’m not going to hurt you. His words were bizarre, but I had no time to think them over. No matter what he said, I wasn’t about to trust him. Still, I nodded in agreement, signaling that I would comply. Once he seemed convinced I wouldn’t resist, he relaxed a little and guided me toward the bedroom. He must have known I was pregnant because he kept his hand protectively near my stomach, careful not to harm me. As we moved, the dim light of the moon filtered through the window, and I finally got a clearer look at him. He wore a black mask that covered his entire face, leaving only his eyes visible. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell who he was at all.

The deep voice startled her. Honey looked up to see a tall man in an elegant black mask that covered the upper half of his face. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit with no tie, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of tanned skin. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, trying to sound more confident than she felt. He smiled, a flash of straight white teeth that contrasted with his dark mask. "You have that look of someone taking mental notes rather than simply experiencing it."

It was elegant and terrifying. We approached a woman seated behind a sleek glass desk. Her face was expressionless. When she saw Mr. Everhart, she stood quickly and bowed, deeply, reverently, before sliding something across the counter: a mask. Without hesitation, Mr. Everhart took it. The mask was white porcelain, etched with subtle obsidian lines. He placed it over his face and pinned a silver tag to his lapel. The name engraved on it was, Alpha. He turned to me “You won’t be needing this yet,” he said quietly, though his eyes behind the mask were unreadable.

Jonathan could pretend nothing had happened, living with one arm around each woman, but I would never let him have his way. … When Jonathan came to get me the next morning, he was holding a mask. "I know you care about how you look. The doctor won't be here for a few more days, so use this for now." He adjusted it carefully, his expression tender, as if the scar had nothing to do with him. The mask covered the scar perfectly. He ruffled my hair lightly. "Nat, you're still so beautiful."