“Maybe they give nicknames to everyone.” But he didn’t like it either. The forest shifters were watching themwaytoo closely for comfort.
The creek thundered alongside them, and muddy water swirled around their feet, flowing through the grass and tree roots. Baz placed himself between Arden and the main channel. With water everywhere, it was hard to tell where the deeper places might be. He was confident that he would be fine if he fell in (all he had to do was turn into a bear; he could easily swim out), but Arden wouldn’t be.
She took his hand, her small, chilled fingers sliding into his. Baz found himself reliving the warmth of her lips on his.
“What are you really doing out here?” she asked him. She had to speak up to be heard over the floodwaters, but there was no one else to hear. Just the thunder of the water and the white noise of the rain.
“I don’t know.”
It was strange to be able to admit that out loud. Part of securing his precarious place as clan leader was faking a clarity of thought and purpose that he didn’t feel. There was no place in his life for uncertainty or doubt. Hehadto look like he knew what he was doing, or the others, especially Declan, would step up and fill the perceived leadership void.
“But I was telling the truth about keeping them safe. And you.”You most of all.But that, he couldn’t yet say out loud.
“Oh,” Arden breathed. She moved closer to him, holding his hand more tightly. Then she raised her other hand and pointed through the rain. “Is that the well that River was talking about?”
It was. It had to be.
Baz could see why none of them had been able to find the wishing well before. What had once been a lovely meadow was now a thicket of blackberry canes and young trees. The well was only visible now because most of the brush had been beaten down by the flood waters flowing all around it, revealing a distinctive outline tangled in thorny vines and shrubs.
But that was definitely it. Beneath the blackberry canes, Baz recognized the shape of the wishing well’s old-fashioned roof with the decorative carvings, and the end of its bucket winding handle protruding from what was otherwise a tangle of vines.
If River was telling the truth about finding Fern here, no wonder he’d said she was in danger of being swept into the flood. Baz could see how she might have lost her balance, clambering through the tangled branches and slippery tree roots to get closer to the well. He honestly couldn’t even figure out how River had found her in the first place.
And why the heck was she out here in a storm like this?
He looked down at Arden, who was gazing around curiously, her hand clutching his.
“Arden,” he said, and she looked up at him swiftly. “This would be easier if I could use my shifter senses. Do you mind if I shift?”
ARDEN
Arden should have been terrifiedby the question itself. Knowing that her new friends were all shifters was one thing. Actually seeing them in their huge, bestial animal forms was something else entirely.
But she couldn’t imagine that Baz would ever hurt her. And she was delighted by the possibility of finally seeing him as his other self. Nervous anticipation thrilled through her.
“No, of course not.” Arden released his hand and stepped back. “Go ahead.”
Baz had been looking anywhere but at her. Now, with relief visible in every line of his body, he looked her square in the eyes—and a teasing smile touched the corner of his mouth. He began taking off his jacket, right there, in the rain.
“Wait, what are you doing?” she asked wildly.
“I can’t shift without destroying my clothes. Could you hold these for me?”
Without waiting for a response, he began passing items to her. Jacket, T-shirt—oh no, now she got to appreciate the full view of his naked torso, the rain coursing across the curly chest hair, the rippling of muscles in his pecs and abs.
He began to unfasten his jeans.
“Those too?” Arden squeaked out, and he looked up and flashed her a quick grin.
The jeans joined the rest of the pile in her arms, still body-warm. His low-topped boots were as soaked and muddy as her shoes, so rather than handing her those to hold, he placed them on a low tree branch, with his wet socks stuffed inside.
He was now standing before her almost naked, with nothing but his boxers—and soaked as they were, nothing was left to the imagination. Arden’s face felt hot enough that she could have warmed her cold hands on it.
Where she really wanted to warm her hands was on his gorgeous body. The chest. The shoulders, the flexing muscles?—
He skimmed out of his underwear, putting them in the tree as well, and she had a brief brain-melting glimpse ofallof him, a half-hard cock nestled in light brown curls.
And then he shifted and splashed to all fours as an enormous grizzly.
