But my sculptor’s eye wouldn’t let me stop cataloging the shift of muscle, the line of his spine, the warm gray curls on his chest. His tight, dimpled butt.
At least he didn’t know I was up here, ogling him like a first-year Anatomy 101 student?—
But then he stopped and raised his head. To look directly at me.
Oh God! Oh, God! Oh, God!
My freeze response went off before I could think to duck out of sight.
“In case I’m needed in the night, you should know…” Zion held my gaze like the professor vampire on thatSorority Slayersshow Noelle loved so much as a teen.
And I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t a hormone-riddled college student with a (questionable in hindsight) on-and-off-againrelationship with her 400-year-old history professor, but I felt totally trapped in his gaze, unable to look away.
“Boone is good with his hands,” Zion told me. “But I am particularly adept with my mouth.”
Before I could process what that meant—before I could breathe or think or respond—he transformed.
The mostly gray black bear that settled onto the floor was massive and solid. It was hard to believe he’d come out of the guy I’d just been speaking to.
He arranged himself carefully, then looked up with gold glowing eyes to where I was peeping down.
Eyes that were definitely laughing at me.
Finally, I managed to retreat from the loft’s edge.
But that didn’t mean I was able to fall asleep anytime soon.
I lay in bed, my heart pounding. And my body thrumming…
In a way that reminded me of the block of wood outside… and the animal inside of it. Waiting to be freed.
22/
i’m not letting you in
BELL
Clack. Clack. Clack.
I woke to something tapping on the back window door. Confused and groggy in Zion’s sage-green shirt, I climbed down from the loft, bare feet hitting the cold floor.
The tapping continued—impatient, and vaguely rhythmic.
I approached the window and froze.
A black bear stood on the other side of the glass, massive in the moonlight. His eyes glowed gold like Zion’s, but somehow I knew it wasn’t the teacher I’d last seen sleeping on my front room floor. This bear’s fur was different—ink black and flecked with silver, not the mostly warm gray of Zion’s beast.
Ravik.
“I’m not letting you in,” I told him through the window glass.
The bear didn’t move. Just waited.
“I’m not letting you in,” I repeated, louder this time.
He looked at me with those gold eyes, unblinking. Like he was staring into my soul.
“Go away!” A rising panic tightened my chest. “I said, just go away!”
