Page 22 of Dream Weaver

She’d gone from a single-syllable answer to two syllables. Cause to celebrate?

I reached for the ax again, counting on my size advantage for self-defense if necessary. I nabbed it on my second try, earning a glare from Abby.

“You’re the one who took it apart,” I pointed out. “It’s not like I’m going to break it.”

“Anything is possible,” she muttered. “You know, like a bull in a china shop.”

I snorted. “More like a bear in a metal shop.”

Abby froze.

So did I. Oops.

Her hard gaze scraped over my cheeks and beard…down to my chest, then my arms…

“Bear, huh?” she whispered.

I opened my palms to her, showing her human hands and fingers.

“Not at the moment,” I replied quietly.

To my shock and wonder, she reached for my hands.

Her touch was halting. Careful. Her skin — no surprise — was callused.

Warm,my bear hummed.Nice.

My hands dwarfed hers, but somehow, they felt like a perfect fit.

My throat bobbed, the only movement I permitted my body.

Once, on a day off one summer, I’d shifted to bear form to wander a beautiful mountain meadow. Birds sang, and wildflowers danced in the breeze. A butterfly had fluttered by, then landed on my nose. I’d stood perfectly still, barely breathing.

Just like now.

Abby ran her hands over mine, then grasped my fingers, and—

“Ow.” I jerked away when she squeezed hard, ruining the moment.

Was she checking for claws?

“Sorry.” She pulled away quickly.

I rubbed my hands, wishing hers were still clasped in them.

Then I leaned in, seizing the moment. “And what about you?”

Her lips wobbled ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you?”

The color drained from her cheeks.

“A witch?” I tried.

And, whoa. Talk about pulling a trigger. Her eyes flashed, and her hands balled into small sledgehammers. The fire in the forge sparked angrily, and I swear, the color of her tattoos intensified.

“I’m a blacksmith,” she snapped. “Now, let me concentrate.”

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