The polar bear shifter was here. In this café. Looking like he’d just ordered something bold and strong based on the size of the guy.
Sonny pushed open the café door before he could talk himself out of it. The smell of coffee hit him immediately, rich and dark and so normal it made his eyes sting. Conversations continued around him, ignoring the scrawny guy who’d just stumbled in.
The polar bear stood near the pickup counter, his back to the door. He was even larger than Sonny remembered, six-five at least, with shoulders that could probably support a small aircraft. His pale hair was pulled back from his face, revealing a profile that belonged on a Viking or a movie star or possibly both.
Sonny walked forward, each step feeling like wading through concrete. His bunny was screaming at him to run, to hide, to do anything except approach a predator this powerful.
But the dogs needed help. That was more important than Sonny’s survival instincts.
“Excuse me,” he said, voice timid. “I need to ask you something.”
The polar bear turned. Sonny drew in a quick breath. His eyes were the washed-out blue of winter sky, like they could pick apart every hidden secret.
They swept over Sonny in one assessing glance, taking in his dirty clothes and desperate expression and the fear he knew he couldn’t hide.
Then something happened. Something that made Sonny’s entire world tilt sideways and reassemble itself in a completely different configuration.
The air between them thickened. The café sounds faded to background noise. Sonny’s bunny went completely still, recognition firing through every cell in his body.
This wasn’t just a powerful shifter.
This wasn’t just someone who could help.
This was his mate.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. His knees went weak. His breathing stuttered. His entire body seemed to lean toward this stranger without his permission, drawn by something more fundamental than conscious thought.
The polar bear’s eyes widened slightly. A low growl rumbled from his throat, so quiet that only another shifter would hear it. The sound went straight through Sonny and made his bunny want to either run or submit or possibly both at the same time.
“You,” the shifter said. His voice was deep, rough around the edges. “You were at the fighting ring.”
Sonny’s mouth opened. No words came out. His brain had apparently decided to take a vacation, leaving him standing there staring up at this massive predator who was apparently his destined mate.
The universe had a strange sense of humor.
“I need help,” Sonny managed, his words tumbling out. “The dogs. I have the dogs from the ring. They’re hurt and I don’t know where else to go and the hyenas are looking for me and I just need someone who can help them.”
The polar bear set his coffee down on the counter, his eyes never leaving Sonny’s face. “You took the dogs?”
“They were going to die there.” He wrung his hands. “I couldn’t just leave them. I know it was stupid and dangerous and probably illegal, but I couldn’t watch them suffer anymore.”
The growl was deeper this time. The polar bear took a step closer. Sonny’s animal screamed at him to back up, to maintain distance, but his feet stayed planted. His mate was approaching, and running seemed impossible even though every survival instinct he possessed insisted he should be halfway across town by now.
“Where are they?” The question came out like a command. Not aggressive, just naturally authoritative in a way that made Sonny want to answer immediately.
“Behind a house with a for-rent sign. About four blocks from here.” Sonny gestured vaguely toward the entrance to Cyril’s. “They need water and food and medical attention. The female has an infection starting in her leg wound. The male possibly has broken ribs that might not have healed properly. They’re both malnourished and traumatized. I’ve done everything I can, but it’s just not enough.”
The guy studied him for a long moment. Sonny could feel the assessment, the way those ice-blue eyes took in every detail. His dirty clothes. His exhaustion. The desperation that probably radiated off him in visible currents. His mate was deciding whether to help, whether Sonny was worth the risk.
“I’m Reese,” the bear said finally. “You’ll show me.”
Not a request. Just a statement of fact delivered in that deep voice that made Sonny’s bunny want to agree to anything. His mate had a name. Reese. It fit somehow, solid and strong and unmovable.
“Sonny,” he heard himself say. “I’m Sonny.”
Reese’s expression softened. Not much, just enough that Sonny caught it. “The dogs are your priority.”
“Yes.” The word came out fiercer than Sonny meant it to. “They’ve been through enough. They deserve better than what those hyenas did to them.”
