Ipace the living room like a caged animal.
Because that’s what I am. An animal. A fucking beast who just tore into the one person who’s shown me kindness in months.
My bear is furious. Not at her. At me. He’s fighting my control, snarling and snapping, demanding to know why we attacked her. Why we drove her away. Why we said those things.
I don’t have an answer. Not one that makes sense.
I had to. That’s what I keep telling myself. I had to push her away because I’ve spent all day watching her. On her hands and knees scrubbing my floors. Bent over the tub in my bathroom. Reaching up to dust shelves, her shirt riding up to reveal a strip of soft brown skin.
I’ve been hard for hours. Fighting it. Hating myself for it. She’s here to work, not to be ogled by a scarred, bitter bear who hasn’t touched a woman in longer than he cares to admit.
So when I saw her touch my chair, I snapped. Used it asan excuse. Let all the frustration and desire and self-loathing pour out of me in the cruelest words I could find.
And now she’s leaving.
Good. That’s good. That’s what needs to happen. She needs to get off this mountain and away from me before I do something I can’t take back.
My bear roars in protest.
Shut up, I tell him.This is for the best.
He doesn’t believe me. Neither do I.
The bathroom door opens.
I freeze mid-pace, turning toward the hallway.
She steps out in a cloud of steam, her body wrapped in a towel. Just a towel. White cotton against brown skin, tucked between her breasts, barely reaching mid-thigh. Her hair is wet, curls heavy and dripping down her shoulders. Water beads on her collarbone, her arms, the swell of her cleavage above the towel’s edge.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Just storms toward the guest room with her chin held high and fury in every line of her body.
And then the steam clears.
And I smell her.
Brown sugar. Warm vanilla. Shea butter and a floral softness that wraps around my brain and squeezes until I can’t think of anything else.
The most perfect scent I’ve ever encountered in my entire life.
My bear goes still. Completely, utterly still. Like the whole world has stopped spinning.
Then he roars.
MATE.
The word explodes through me. My knees buckle. I grabthe back of the couch to keep from hitting the floor, my claws extending without permission, shredding the leather.
Mate mate mate mate MATE.
My bear is trying to shift. I can feel him pushing against my skin, desperate to break free, to chase her down the hallway and claim what’s ours. My bones ache with the effort of holding him back. My vision blurs.
She’s our mate.
She’s our fucking mate.
The woman I just destroyed with my words. The woman who’s packing her bags to leave us forever.
No. No no no no no.
