He took that as a no.
Also, he had to open a window, because, damn — stressed bear farts.
Thank God there was a balcony.
He wandered out into the fading sunlight to suck in fresh air.
The balcony was huge, big enough for all three grizzlies to stand on it, and the furniture was all solid wood and metal, wrapped together.
It was fascinating and so complicated. There was mixed-media art and twisted metal sculptures all over, wild colors and strange angles that had been made into small nooks and bathrooms and…
It was weird for him, because he’d be honest, he didn’t have much. Everything he owned was all in a bag in his saddlebags on his bike. He had a storage unit, but that was for work gear.
He didn’t even have a pillow of his own.
Mate, come lie down with me. We’ll eat later. Nolan and Rye will bring food.
Race grinned. Even sound asleep, Con was talking to him. It was like he couldn’t help himself. He was just a chatterbox.
God knew, he’d never expected to have a chatterbox as a mate. Race valued his privacy and his silence, or at least he had.
Now, he just wanted Con. Race wanted to be around him. He wanted Con to feel good with him. He wanted Con to make him smile, because he always did.
So instead of hunting for food, Race stripped off, sniffing his bits to make sure he didn’t have adrenaline and stress sweat going on, and then he crawled into bed with Con. His big grizzly immediately wrapped around him, his heavy fur a tiny bit stifling, but it didn’t matter. It felt good.
The bed is strong enough for both of us to be bears, Con told him.So is the floor. I had all the beams reinforced.
“Perfect.” He let his bear come. Race knew he was a lot smaller than Con as a black bear, and he tended to be lean and wiry no matter what form he was in, but it felt good to snuggle this way. In fact it felt like nothing else ever.
I understand. You smell like mine, like heaven, and I want you, but this? This is magic.
Race vocalized softly, nuzzling into Con, being gentle as he could. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
Con groaned a little, paws stretching out, the injured side less flexible, but he could tell it was better than it had been when Con was first shot.
I’m sorry you got hurt.
Me too, but it happened. I can’t believe someone would hunt a bunny.
They were really working it for sure. But I think you’re right. It was a trap. For me.And Race was fucking tired of being tranqued and droned and baited into traps. He just wanted to close his eyes for a minute and rest.
Of course, he’d gotten his grizzly shot.
Mmmm. Nope. I got me shot. I was slow. I do this for a living too.Con snorted into his neck, tickling him.
You fix motorcycles, you dork. He chuffed softly though, his toes curling.
That too. But we do a lot of helping Quin.
Okay, okay. You’re good Samaritans.He was humoring the injured lunatic.
Don’t make me bite you.
He shivered and nudged Con with his head.Don’t tease.
I’ll do plenty of biting as soon as I’m able, baby. Trust me.
I do trust you.Wasn’t that a revelation? Race didn’t trust easily. He wasn’t even sure he completely trusted War and Rye yet, especially not with Nolan, but Connal somehow had not only gotten his trust by being his mate but earned it by being there for him, by taking that bullet.
