He frowned, irritated. I regretted bringing up the topic in the first place. Why had I mentioned Celeste's blessing like it was a plausible option for Bear? It was a one-in-a-billion opportunity, one that would never happen again.
Besides, was it worth dealing with Animus, the malicious spirit? Even if he did bless Celeste, he was still the one who hurt Nautilus and threatened Mistral. He wasn't one of the good guys.
"I don't fully trust the spirits, Bear," I said. "And I don't think you should, either."
He met my gaze evenly, though his eyes blazed. "I can handle myself."
Why was he being so adamant about this?
"Not even the strongest alpha grizzly can 'handle' a spirit. Seriously, Bear, it's not worth it to mess with them. I've seen enough of my family get into trouble with spirits already. I don't want it to happen to you, too."
But my words slipped off him like water on oil. He shook his head and kept walking. He obviously didn't take my concerns seriously, which pissed me off.
I wasn't about to let him walk away. I ran in front of him, cutting him off, and glared up at him. Being up in his face like this was a painful reminder of our size difference. He was taller, broader, and way more muscular than me. He could snap me like a twig if he wanted to.
"Listen, this would be a lot easier if you just told me why you need a spirit so badly," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
Bear worked his jaw. "I can't tell you."
"Why?"
His hands were raised to reply, but he hesitated as if mulling over his answer. After a long moment, he signed, "It's shameful."
"Huh?"
He exhaled through his nose. The irritation melted off his expression. Now he looked disappointed and weary. "Only a spirit can fix me."
What the hell was he talking about? My brows knitted together.
"I don't understand," I said.
Bear’s mouth turned into a thin line and he signed in a rigid way. "You wouldn't."
Before I could respond, he turned around, shifted and skulked off. I watched him go with a mix of shock and irritation. This time I had no idea what I'd said to bother him. Why wouldn't he just communicate with me?
Annoyed, I shifted into my buck form and caught up with him.
"I wasn't done talking to you," I said.
Bear didn't reply. Was it because he had to stop walking to sign? Or was he ignoring me on purpose? The silence stretched on and Bear made no attempt to sign in reply.
Oh, hell no. The number one way to piss me off was for an alpha to ignore me when I was talking to him.
"Bear!" I snapped.
As my exclamation echoed across the plain, Bear suddenly lurched. He grunted in surprise. His front paw had landed in a hidden crevice embedded into the ground, shaking his balance. With a scowl, he tried to pull out his paw but it didn't budge. His scowl faded, turning into slow worry. He wrenched his shoulder back, putting more force into it, but still his paw didn't move.
"Oh no. Is it stuck?" I asked.
Bear raised his other paw to sign an answer, but instinctively put it back down to keep himself balanced. We both quickly realized there was a huge problem. Bear couldn't sign with only one paw and his other one was trapped in the ground.
He swung around to face me, his eyes wide. There was a flicker of helplessness I'd never seen in them before. It broke my heart.
"It's okay, don't worry," I said. "I'll get you out of there."
I peered down into the crevice. It was a dark gouge in the earth, almost too big to be natural. But why would someone dig a hole like this on purpose?
When Bear shuffled uncomfortably next to me, I realized getting him free was more important than wondering about this weird hole.
