She’s close now. I can smell the tender scent of her skin, hear the fast rhythm of her heart.
“Don’t come closer,” I rasp. “Please.”
The wind swallows half the words, but she keeps moving. I can see her through the trees now—hair plastered to her face, eyes wide, searching.
“Holt?”
She’s there—coat flung open, hair wild in the wind. The sight slams into me. The animal surges forward before I can think, and I dig my claws into the frozen ground, anchoring myself there.
I press a paw to my chest, fighting the tremor that threatens to pull me apart again.Go back inside, I will her.
Her gaze catches on me, and for a long moment we just stare at each other through the chaos.
I don’t have to look to know what she sees—the deadly fangs, the eyes that still burn gold, steam rising from my hide.
But her eyes are wide, shining in the half-light. She’s not screaming. Not running.
Just looking.
And God help me, I feel herrecognizeme.
Not the shape I wear now, but what’s underneath it—the part that has never stopped reaching for her.
I lower my head, trying to look less like a threat, the closest thing to an apology I have. A growl vibrates in my chest; it comes out soft, almost broken.
She takes a single step closer. The snow muffles everything but her breath and mine. I can smell her again—warm skin, pine smoke, the faint salt of tears.
Something inside me unclenches. The fury ebbs. The bear’s heartbeat steadies with hers until, for a few stolen seconds, there’s no boundary between us at all.
“This was it?” she breathes, her voice as clear and sweet as an angel’s. “This was what you were hiding from me?”
The bear inside me stills. I lower my head until I’m close enough for her to see her reflection in my eyes. She raises a trembling hand and, against every rule I ever set for myself, lets her fingers rest against my muzzle.
“You’re a bear… a man bear,” she murmurs.
Heat floods between us. Not danger. Recognition. The bond flares—bright, absolute, impossible to hide now.
I close my eyes and lean into her touch, breathing her in. The sound that rumbles from my chest is no longer a warning; it’s relief.
Her other hand finds my fur, tentative at first, then surer.
“You could’ve told me,” she says.
“I needed to keep you safe.” I say the words inside my head.
Her eyes widen in recognition. She heard me. She heard my inner voice.
“You don’t have to anymore,” she whispers, tearing up.
I draw her into my arms. She comes willingly, no fear left, only that fierce, reckless trust. The storm swirls around us, but my beast’s huge forelegs wrap around her and protect her from it.
We makeour way back to the cabin together, Lila walking at my side. The urge to throw her onto my back is overwhelming, but I don’t want to freak her out more than I have already.
When her small hand sinks into my fur and grasps a handful of it, my heart soars.
Inside, the firelight spills across the floor, warm and golden. I stop just inside the doorway, shaking the snow from my coat. She looks up at me, breath catching. For the first time, she really sees me—not as something to fear, but something she already knows.
I lower my head, rumbling softly. “Blanket,” I manage to say, the word rough through the shape of my muzzle.
