Page 6 of Titan’s Mate

Polar bear shifters didn’t feel the cold, partly because they generated a ridiculous amount of heat. He willed the heat to seep into her, to keep her heart beating, to keep her from slipping away.

After a few minutes, she began to shiver. That was a good sign—her body was beginning to wake up. He rubbed her back, soothing her, murmuring to her like he would to a lost child.

That she was okay. Everything would be okay.

Gradually the shivers subsided, and her body relaxed. He shifted her slightly so he could see her face.

He hadn’t looked closely at it before, only noting she was young—maybe twenty-five or so—and Asian. Now he caught his breath, looking down at her.

It was a perfect face, rounded and soft, with a slight dimple in one cheek and a tiny cleft in a determined-looking chin that suggested maybe she wasn’t as soft as she looked.

Her lips were a normal color now, full and kissable. He found himself staring at them, wanting to touch that little divot in her upper lip with his fingertip, trace the line of that perfect shape.

He tore his eyes away from her mouth, only to notice her long lashes resting on her cheeks, and find himself wondering what her eyes looked like. The strands of dark hair that had escaped from her hat were soft and silky, sliding across his arm and chest like satin.

She took a deep breath and shifted slightly, without opening her eyes. She was sleeping now, he realized. A normal sleep.

His bear began to settle inside him, panic mode shutting down. He was relieved, until he realized that gave him too much room to focus on how she felt in his arms. Her body was full and soft and rounded like her face, with generous curves that fit against his chest and felt perfect in his arms. A wave of protectiveness washed over him, followed by a wave of desire.

Titan froze. This was wrong. She was helpless and alone, and he could do nothing but hurt her. She shouldn’t even be around him. No one should.

Carefully, like he was handling a bomb that could explode any minute, he rose to his feet and laid her down on the couch, her head on a throw pillow. She sighed deeply and turned on her side. The comforter slipped off her.

Her clothes looked worn, and needed a good washing. To be truthful, she needed a bit of a washing herself. Not that she smelled bad—she smelled delicious. But a bath would probably be good for her.

There was something… sad about her, despite the silly duck hat. He wondered if she were homeless, and was surprised at how angry that made him.

Someone should be taking care of her. Protecting her.

Not him, because he sucked at taking care of people and he knew nothing about women and how to be soft for them.

But someone.

He should check and make sure her extremities had warmed up. She hadn’t been wearing any gloves. He reached for her hand, then pulled back.

He saw things, about people. Past, present, future. He could sometimes see their animals, even when they weren’t manifested. And he saw the spirits that stayed around them—lost loved ones, protectors, even enemies.

It was how his clan had known he was a shaman.

But ever since he’d failed the gods, the things he saw got worse and worse. He didn’t know if he was seeing his own fears, or if turning away from his gods meant he brought evil wherever he went.

He didn’t know if he could stop any of it.

He hadn’t seen anything yet, about her. But if he took her hand, he knew he would. Somehow, though, he couldn’t stop himself from touching her.

Slowly, he reached out and took her hands.

For a second he saw demons, clawing at her, but he managed to block those visions. They were his demons, not hers, and he didn’t want to put them in her mind.

Her hands were warm. Good. They were strong and comforting. Not good. He wanted to twine his fingers with hers and stay like that for a long time.

Very, very not good.

He was about to let go of her when other images began to fill his mind. Hot chocolate. He could smell it, rich and dark. A little girl with a big mug in her hands, and an elderly Chinese couple smiling down at her. The air filled with the scent of cinnamon buns, so strong that his stomach rumbled.

The sound brought him back to the present. To the fact that she was lying here, on his couch, needing… something.

Hot drinks. That’s what she needed. For when she woke, to warm her from the inside out.