Page 65 of Grin and Bear It

In one fluid motion, Thora ripped a slit up the side of her gown, freeing her legs for combat. The elegant heiress vanished,replaced by the lethal bounty hunter. She kicked off the stiletto heels, her bare feet silent on the marble floor.

The transformation fascinated him even in the midst of danger—how quickly she shifted personas, moving from sophistication to lethality without hesitation. Both versions were authentic parts of her, each compelling in its own way.

The first attacker charged, and they moved in perfect synchronization. Artair blocked a dart gun aimed at his chest, using his superior strength to wrench the weapon away. Beside him, Thora executed a flawless roundhouse kick that sent another assailant crashing into a display case.

Their movements complemented each other instinctively—his powerful strikes creating openings for her lightning-fast attacks, her agility drawing attention away from his calculated advances. Despite the forced tether being long gone, they remained connected, anticipating each other’s needs without words.

An attacker lunged at Thora with an electrified baton. Artair’s bear roared within him, protective rage surging through his veins. His partial shift emerged as bear claws extended from his human hands. He caught the man’s wrist, squeezing until bones cracked and the weapon clattered to the floor.

“Behind you!” Thora called, and Artair ducked as she vaulted over his back, taking down an opponent who’d tried to flank them.

The gallery had become a battlefield, priceless artifacts at risk from the chaos. Artair caught sight of Thora’s face, flushed with exertion but alive with focus. Her amber eyes glowed with sabertooth intensity, her movements a deadly dance that stirred his bear’s admiration.

There was beauty in her combat style—efficient, graceful, without wasted motion or hesitation. She fought not with brute strength but with precision and timing, using her opponents’momentum against them. His bear appreciated her prowess on a primal level, recognizing her as a worthy partner—not because she needed protection but because she could stand as his equal.

When the last attacker fell, they stood amid the carnage, breathing hard but relatively unharmed. The sound of a slow clap echoed from the service corridor.

“Impressive,” a voice called out. “The famous Thora Halliwell and the alpha. Quite the partnership.”

“Show yourself,” Thora demanded.

The figure stepped from the shadows. She recognized the face from images: Ajax Blackwater.

“Well, I’ll be,” Ajax said, staring at Artair. “He does look like you. Mostly.”

Artair sucked in a gasp of air. “Calan,” he murmured.

Ajax laughed. “Thanks for your prompt attention.”

A flash of light blinded them momentarily, and when their vision cleared, the service door stood open but empty. The distinctive scent of magical transportation lingered in the air—Ajax had used a rare and expensive teleportation charm.

From outside the gallery, alarms began to blare.

“The vault,” Artair realized, a cold weight settling in his stomach. “This was a diversion.”

They raced through the building toward the underground vault, but arrived too late. Security guards lay unconscious, and the display case that had held the Maxen Black Diamond stood empty, its magical protections neutralized.

One guard regained consciousness as they approached. “Black van... east entrance,” he managed before slumping back.

Without hesitation, they sprinted toward the parking area, emerging into the cool night air just in time to see a sleek black vehicle accelerating away.

“Keys,” Thora demanded, holding out her hand.

Artair tossed her the keys to his Aston Martin, parked in the VIP section.

Her smile was fierce as they slid into the luxury car. The engine roared to life, and within seconds, they were in pursuit, tires squealing on the pavement.

Thora handled the powerful vehicle with the same confidence she showed in combat, taking corners at speeds that would terrify most passengers. Artair found himself admiring her skill even as he scanned the darkness for signs of their quarry.

The chase led them away from town, up winding mountain roads where the Aston Martin’s powerful engine gave them an advantage on the steep inclines. The moonlight illuminated sections of the road ahead, then plunged them into shadow as they passed beneath the forest canopy.

“They’re at the next curve,” Thora warned, her night vision clearly superior to his. “Slowing down.”

As they rounded the bend, Artair spotted the danger too late—caltrops scattered across the narrow road, designed to puncture tires. “Brake!”

Thora reacted instantly, swerving to avoid the trap, but the mountain road offered little room for maneuver. The car fishtailed, tires scrabbling for purchase on the gravel shoulder. She fought for control as they skidded toward the guardrail.

With a sickening crunch of metal, they smashed through the barrier. For one suspended moment, they hung in midair—then gravity took hold, and the car tumbled down the wooded slope.

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