Page 63 of Grin and Bear It

Without conscious thought, his feet began tracing the pattern of the traditional bear courtship dance—a sequence passed down through generations of his clan. Three steps forward, a gentle turn, then two steps with subtle pressure against his partner’s lower back. The ancient rhythm pulsed through his blood, instinctive and powerful.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Artair realized too late what he was doing. The courtship dance was deeply significant in bear shifter culture—a declaration of serious intent. His bear had taken the lead without his conscious permission, expressing what his human side was still cautious about revealing.

Thora’s eyes widened slightly as she followed the unfamiliar pattern. “This isn’t a standard waltz.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck. “It’s a traditional bear clan dance,” he admitted, careful to keep his tone casual. “Muscle memory.”

Her amber gaze remained fixed on his, too perceptive for comfort. “Your heart rate just increased.”

“The music’s tempo picked up,” he lied smoothly, guiding her through another turn to scan the room. “Third pillar from the left. The man with the gray at his temples has been watching us for the past three minutes.”

She allowed the deflection, shifting seamlessly back to their mission. “The woman in emerald by the champagne fountain keeps touching her earpiece.”

“Good catch. I believe that’s Vivian Stark—expert thief specializing in magical artifacts.”

“And the man is?”

“Marcus Thornfield. Former security specialist, now freelance. His particular talent is disabling magical alarms.”

“Bingo.”

They continued their dance, exchanging observations about potential threats while maintaining their cover as an enamored couple. The ease of their partnership struck him—how naturally they communicated, how their different perspectives combined to create a more complete picture than either would achieve alone.

As they moved around the floor, he became increasingly aware of her body in relation to his—the warmth where his hand rested against her back, the subtle pressure of her fingers against his shoulder, the occasional brush of her thigh against his when they turned. Each point of contact felt magnified, sending pleasant warmth coursing through him.

Her scent had shifted subtly since they began dancing, notes of arousal threading through her natural aroma. The knowledge that she was physically affected by their proximity, despite her composed expression, sent satisfaction rumbling through his bear.

The music ended, and Artair reluctantly released her, though he kept her hand in his as they moved away from the dance floor. A server approached with a tray of champagne flutes, and he took two, handing one to Thora.

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Neither do I,” he replied with a slight smile. “It’s sparkling water with a hint of elderflower. I arranged it in advance.”

Surprise flickered across her features, followed by something warmer that made his chest tighten. “You thought of everything.”

“Not everything.” He guided her toward a relatively quiet corner “But I try to anticipate needs where I can.”

The simple consideration—remembering her preference not to drink alcohol during a mission—seemed to affect her more than grand gestures might have. Another piece of information stored away: Thora valued thoughtfulness over extravagance, competence over showmanship.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen discreetly, his expression remaining neutral despite the alarming message.

Confirmed. Target is Maxen Black Diamond. Tonight.

Thora picked up on his tension immediately, her body subtly shifting closer to his in silent support. “What is it?” she asked, her voice low.

“We’ve confirmed the target,” he said quietly, leaning close as if whispering endearments. “The Maxen Black Diamond.”

“Tell me.” All business now, her eyes scanning the room with renewed purpose.

“Family heirloom, worth billions monetarily, but beyond measure to my clan. It’s been in the Maxen family for twelve generations.” He fought to keep his voice steady, though anger and worry churned beneath the surface. “The diamond is said to hold echoes of every bear shifter who’s worn it during important ceremonies. My father wore it at his mating ceremony. I wore it when I took leadership of the clan.”

Her hand found his, fingers intertwining in a gesture of support that seemed as natural as breathing. “Security measures?”

“State-of-the-art magical barriers, motion sensors, weight plates, and four shifter guards.” His jaw tightened. “But if it’s truly Calan, and he’s involved, he might know the bypass codes. We shared everything.”

“Timeline?”

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