Page 49 of Grin and Bear It

“What are you—” A wave of weakness cut her words short, and she collapsed back against the cushions, breathing labored.

“Easy,” he murmured, steadying her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. The heat of her skin burned through the thin fabric. “I need to clean your wound,” he explained, hearing theroughness in his voice as his bear pushed forward. “Bear healing. It’s... intimate, but effective.”

The partial shift had already begun, fangs elongating, fur rippling beneath his skin. He forced himself to wait, giving her the choice despite his bear’s insistence. “Do you trust me enough for this?”

Thora studied his face, vulnerability and strength warring in her expression. He could almost see the internal debate—her fierce independence battling against physical need. Finally, she gave a single nod.

“Do what you need to.”

Permission granted, Artair let his bear surge forward. Fur rippled along his arms, claws extending as he leaned closer to her wound. His heightened senses caught everything—the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the hint of vanilla in her scent beneath the bitter poison, the almost imperceptible tremor in her muscles as she braced herself.

The first touch of his tongue against her skin sent electricity racing through him.

Bitter poison tang mixed with the sweet warmth of Thora’s blood. His bear rumbled in satisfaction as dark lines visibly receded beneath his ministrations. Each broad stroke drew more poison from her system, her body responding to his healing in ways that surpassed expectation.

When his tongue accidentally brushed the sensitive skin near her navel, Thora made a sound—half-gasp, half-purr—that nearly shattered his concentration. Heat surged through him, primal and intense. The bear in him wanted to explore that reaction further, to draw more of those sounds from her lips.

Artair forced himself to focus on the wound, watching with satisfaction as the angry black lines faded to gray, then disappeared entirely. Her fever cooled beneath his touch, strength visibly returning to her limbs.

“Your heart rate is increasing,” he murmured, trying to focus on medical concerns rather than the taste of her skin. “Are you in pain?”

“Not exactly.” The huskiness in her voice sent a fresh wave of heat through him. Her eyes had darkened, pupils dilated.

A reaction to the healing. Nothing more, he told himself, even as his bear disagreed vehemently.

“Fascinating,” Eira observed from the doorway, startling them both. She balanced a tray of steaming mugs in her weathered hands. “Her body’s accepting bear healing as if she were clan-kin.”

Artair hadn’t even heard her return. He straightened, fighting embarrassment like a teenager caught stealing kisses. Ridiculous—he was thirty-five, not fifteen.

“From a scientific perspective, it’s not entirely unexpected,” a new voice chimed in.

Jash Clancy stood in the doorway, tablet in hand, pushing up his thick-framed glasses with one finger. His leopard-quick eyes darted between Thora and Artair, missing nothing.

“When did you get here?” Artair demanded, still off-balance from the intensity of the healing.

“Twenty minutes ago.” Jash didn’t look up from his tablet. “Grandma Eira texted me.”

Artair shot his grandmother a look. She merely smiled, setting the tea tray on the table.

“There are precedents for cross-species healing compatibility,” Jash continued, swiping through data on his screen. “Kalyna is a fox shifter mated to Rust, who’s a lion shifter. Their physiologies have adapted to complement each other perfectly.”

Artair tried to sound casual. “So a bear and a sabertooth wouldn’t be that unusual?”

“Statistically speaking, predator-to-predator bonding has a 76 percent higher compatibility rate,” Jash responded enthusiastically, glasses glinting in the morning light. “Apex predators like bears and sabertooths share numerous physiological similarities that would facilitate mutual adaptation.”

Jash’s enthusiasm for data never ceased to amaze him. Even now, his best friend’s eyes gleamed with the excitement of scientific discovery rather than any awareness of the emotional undercurrents in the room.

“What my overly analytical young friend means,” Eira interrupted, handing Thora a mug of fragrant tea, “is that perhaps she’s exactly where she belongs.”

Color rose in Thora’s cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or residual fever, Artair couldn’t tell. The wound had healed remarkably, leaving only a faint pink mark where poisoned flesh had been minutes before.

Thora accepted the tea with surprising docility, her hands steadier now. Steam curled around her face as she inhaled, curiosity flickering in her eyes at the unfamiliar scent.

“Pine needle and elderberry,” Eira explained. “Good for after-healing. Balances the energies.”

Thora eyed the mug dubiously, but sipped anyway. Her lips pursed briefly at the bitter taste before smoothing out. “Reminds me of the forests north of Silver Ridge.”

“You know the area?” Artair asked, accepting his own mug.

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