Bad Boy Bears Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Bad Boy Bears Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:47 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Bad Boy Bears Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Alpha’s Mate (Bad Boy Bears #2) Read Online Renee Rose, Lee Savino http://www.books2020.com/alphas-mate-bad-boy-bears-2-read-online-renee-rose-lee-savino Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:47 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/alphas-mate-bad-boy-bears-2-read-online-renee-rose-lee-savino Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Authors: Lee Savino, Renee Rose Series: Bad Boy Bears Series by Renee Rose
Series: Lee Savino
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Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)

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Fate brought my fated mate right to Bad Bear Mountain…and made her untouchable.
F*&% me.
Maisy is human. Too young. Too sweet. Too breakable.
I’m a Bad Bear. Ten years older. And I play rough. I’m an animal–in bed and out.
She walks into my clinic, and my bear growls mine.
But I can’t claim her.
So I take Moon Cure to keep my beast caged. Tell myself I’ll wait.
Then her scheming father tries to sell her future,
F*&% that.
I marry her on the spot—a fake wedding to save her from a real nightmare.
To protect her, I can handle sleeping in the same bed without touching her.
But she’s looking at me like she wants to learn every filthy thing I can teach her.
My control is cracking. The Moon Cure isn’t working anymore.
And this Bad Bear is done pretending he doesn’t want to devour his wife.
She might be innocent. But she’s mine.
And I won’t share

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Matthias

There are worse ways to torture a man than making him a doctor in a small town where his fated mate is off-limits.

I just haven't found one yet.

It’s five thirty-two on a Monday night, and the mayor of Bad Bear Mountain’s blowing up my phone. Daisy’s called six times in the past two hours, probably to pick my brain about the Bad Bear Winterfest.

Fates, I need to avoid her. Not because I don’t want to get pulled into planning a small town festival–although I don’t. But because of Daisy’s delectable granddaughter.

Maisy. My sweet mate.

No, don’t think about her.

On long days like these, it’s hard to keep my thoughts from straying to her. I just did a double shift at the hospital in Santa Fe, and drove home only to swing by here to cover the rest of the nurse practitioner’s shift here at the clinic. I’m not tired; my shifter side has too much stamina for that. I mean, I could sleep. But I really need to go outside. My bear wants some forest time, and keeping him from going feral is a constant pressure.

Sometimes, I think I work all the time just so that when I finally go to sleep, I’m too tired to dream of her.

I run my hand over my face.

The scent of mulled cider and caramel apples wafts through the door, and my bear instantly surges to the surface.

At first, I think I’m imagining it because when I let my mind wander, all I think of is her. Her hair, her scent, her smile, the delicious curves she hides under slightly too-baggy clothes.

But then, I realize…

She’s here.

Fuck.

I can’t stop myself from sucking the scent in through my nostrils, savoring the notes of caramel and cinnamon and delectable young female.

I groan. The smell makes my mouth water. My dick gets hard. My fangs try to punch through my gums, lengthening and ready to sink into something sweet.

Nope.

Not happening.

That can never happen.

I yank open the drawer of my desk where I keep the vials of Moon Cure. It’s a special formulation I came up with to deal with my…unique situation. I rip open a fresh syringe and fill it. I don’t even bother to sanitize the top of the bottle or my skin. I jab it into my biceps and press the plunger down.

The cooling sensation spreads through my arm. Sweet relief, just in time. In a few seconds, it’ll bring a dullness to my senses. Like bringing a curtain up between my rational brain and my desires. My logical self and my feral one.

My bear doesn’t like it, but he understands.

There’s a knock on my office door.

I withdraw the needle as I shove my desk drawer closed, then drop the needle in the trash can. I’ll put it in the biohazard box later. “Yes, Sara?”

Sara opens the door. “Dr. Matthias? We have a walk-in.”

Yes. I’m well aware. And I know exactly who it is.

“The patient hoped to see Nancy, but she just left.”

I stand. “It’s okay. Nancy left early to see her son in the school play. I’m covering her patients ‘til closing.” I straighten my glasses and give her a smile. “Show the patient to room two and let her know I’ll be there in a moment.”

Them. I should’ve said them, not her. I shouldn’t know her gender when all Sara said was patient. I need to get my bear under control because I’m making mistakes.

“Right away, Doctor.” Before Sara leaves, she whips out a cloth and polishes away an invisible speck of something from the doorknob. There’s no dust in the entire clinic–everything is spic and span after the renovation, but it doesn’t stop Sara from buffing doorknobs with a smile. She’s proud of this place.

Residents of Bad Bear Mountain used to have to drive to Santa Fe for all healthcare needs until Bad Bear’s formidable old mayor, Daisy, and I helped found this place. She badgered someone to donate this drafty old house, and I volunteered my hours along with a part-time nurse.

Now the newly renovated clinic is staffed with a full-time manager and nurse practitioner, all made possible by generous donations from Lana Langmeyer and Paloma Castillo, our resident billionaires.

I lean against my desk and draw in a steadying breath as I wait for the Moon Cure to flood my system. My bear sends me a flood of fast-motion images–me rushing into the exam room, throwing my beautiful young patient on the table, and feasting between her legs. Me holding her down and marking her savagely with my teeth. Me shifting to bear form, picking her up, and carrying her off to my den for an undisturbed ravishment.

Not. Happening. I tell him firmly, as I do every time I catch Maisy’s sweet scent.

She’s my greatest torture. My longest trial. Lately I’ve been allowing myself to stop into the cafe to get coffee before the drive to Santa Fe for a morning shift. That’s when my willpower is at peak strength.

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Advertisement Alpha’s Claim (Bad Boy Bears #1) Read Online Renee Rose, Lee Savino http://www.books2020.com/alphas-claim-bad-boy-bears-1-read-online-renee-rose-lee-savino Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:36:37 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/alphas-claim-bad-boy-bears-1-read-online-renee-rose-lee-savino Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love, Paranormal, Suspense, Virgin Authors: Lee Savino, Renee Rose Series: Bad Boy Bears Series by Renee Rose
Series: Lee Savino
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Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)

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My bear is wild. Totally uncivilized. Savage.
I’m not the nice bear. That’s my twin, Teddy.
I keep my bear caged.
Until I meet Paloma and my bear goes wild.
She’s beautiful and talented, but something’s rotten in this mansion in the Hamptons.
Her foster father keeps her locked in a tower, surrounded by guards.
There are whispers of an auction–a virgin auction.
My bear’s about to break free and go on a rampage.
But I can’t let him out.
Even if I can save Paloma, I can never claim her.
Not even when she smells like wild orchids,
Not even when she feels like freedom,
Not when she is my future, and my fated mate.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Paloma

The moment the deadbolt to my bedroom door clicks into place, I dash for the closet.

Black clothes, so I won’t be seen against the building at night. Flexible toe socks, so my toes can grip the rough-hewn stone of the mansion.

I quickly strip out of my “work” dress and into my escape gear.

I have an estimated three to eight minutes until they figure out how to get power back up, and in that time, I need to be out to the balcony, down the wall, and into the ocean where the security cameras won’t pick me up, and thermoscans won’t see my heat signature.

“You got this, you got this, you got this,” I whisper-chant to myself as my trembling fingers draw the lock-picking tools out of the pouch. I’d stowed them in the pocket of these black yoga pants weeks ago after I caught the gardener’s thirteen-year-old son picking a lock to the garage during one of my rare unguarded moments in the garden. Thom had sent me out for a walk after telling me I was overweight and needed more exercise. I’d been thrilled to be allowed outside.

The boy told me he hadn’t meant any harm and was just practicing his lock-picking skills. He’d shown me the instruction book and tool kit he ordered online. I said I would keep it between us, but I had to confiscate his instruction book and tools. Mean of me but necessary. I’ll leave them in the flowerbed below my window. Maybe he’ll find them someday.

I drop to my knees in front of the French doors to the balcony.

Slipping the slender tension wrench into the lock, I apply pressure to its plug. Then I slide in the pin. I close my eyes to concentrate. I’ve practiced this at least a hundred times. I already know how to find and set each pin, one at a time, until the lock fully disengages. With a little more pressure on the tension wrench, I turn the plug.

Click.

This is as far as I’ve ever gotten. I couldn’t open the doors before because the electronic monitor at the top would notify Thom’s security team that a door had been breached. Now, with the power cut to the property, I have a moment.

I let out an exhale, stow the tools in my pocket, and use both hands to pull the doors open.

They don’t budge.

I scan the door frame. Did I miss something? A second lock? A physical bar or barrier? I don’t see anything.

“Come on,” I growl in an undertone. I pull harder.

It’s not moving.

“Juepucha,” I mutter. “Come on, you bitch.” I yank with all my strength. The doors fly open, and a gust of ocean breeze fills the room, making the curtains flap.

Yes!

My days as the girl in the tower are over. I slip out and silently shut the doors behind me.

You’ve heard the stories about girls in towers, right? Some of them are supposedly fair maidens. Some are princesses. Some have long hair that princes use as a climbing rope to save them.

Me? I guess I’m a mage of sorts. I can see the future of a company just by looking at its numbers.

Hence, my usefulness as a day trader.

I am also technically a maiden if that means virgin. The jury’s out on the fair part. Does that mean good-looking or pale-skinned? I was never sure. Whatever. I’m Latinx, so I identify as BIPOC if anyone is wondering. And I’m not a size four. Not even close.

I throw a leg over the carved marble railing that brackets the balcony to straddle it, then the other, balancing my weight on the one-inch ledge that rims the outside.

Don’t look down, I whisper.

My particular fairytale lacks the trellis for me to climb down, but metal wires run horizontally along the building to support the ivy. I lean out, wrap my toes around one of them, and test it with my weight. It holds.

Holding my breath, I transfer one hand to another wire. It cuts into my hands but serves. I leave the safety of the ledge and feel with my free foot for a wire below. It’s farther than I expect, but I eventually catch it. Then I realize some of the ivy boughs might be thick enough to hold me.

That works better. I scale down, seeking the wires with my feet but sliding my hands along the thicker ivy cords. I’m three floors up, a distance that feels far higher and longer to scale now that I’m doing it. And I’ve already wasted too much time.

The lights could come back on any second now.

The branch I’m holding is too thin, and it breaks. I plunge downward, my fingers grasping for something else to hold and finally catching. My skin tears, and my fingers burn, but I barely notice. All my focus is on getting down.

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