Page 60 of Grin and Bear It

“What’s the catch?” Thora asked, recognizing magical conditions when she saw them.

Willow’s lips quirked. “The protection requires a dominant shifter’s mark—one bound to this territory.”

Before Thora could object, Artair stepped forward, rubbing his wrist along the token, leaving his scent—a bear shifter’s traditional way of marking protection.

“The bear’s instinct is to protect,” Elder Willow observed with quiet satisfaction, “even before he knows precisely what needs protecting.”

The implication hit Thora with startling clarity. The protection spell meant she was now magically bound to this cabin—and by extension, to Artair—until the threat passed.

Her sabertooth purred with such obvious pleasure that both Willow and Artair turned to look at her. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she crossed her arms defensively.

“That wasn’t—I didn’t—” she sputtered.

“Your inner cat seems pleased with the arrangement,” Willow noted, gathering her supplies.

“She’s easily impressed,” Thora replied, but the usual bite was missing from her tone. She caught Artair watching her with a soft expression that made her heart beat faster.

“The charity gala is tomorrow night at the Maxen mansion,” Willow said over her shoulder. “I think it’s important you both attend. Expect the unexpected.”

As Willow departed with her cryptic message, leaving them alone in the cabin, Thora felt the weight of the day’s revelations settling around her. Calan’s possible appearance, the Tiikeri connection, the magical binding to Artair’s territory—any one would have sent her running a week ago.

Now, as she watched Artair move around the kitchen, preparing tea with the ease of routine, she realized somethinghad fundamentally changed within her. The cabin felt warm, welcoming—safe in a way no place had ever been.

FIFTY-FIVE

Artair stood in the doorway of the guest suite, one shoulder propped against the frame as he watched his sister work her magic. The room resembled the aftermath of a fashion hurricane—glittering accessories strewn across the duvet, shoes of various heights scattered on the plush carpet, and enough makeup products to start a small business crowding the marble-topped vanity.

The scent of Bryn’s excitement mixed with Thora’s reluctance created an interesting combination in the air. His enhanced senses picked up everything: the subtle perfume Bryn had convinced Thora to wear, the champagne his sister had been sipping while they prepared, and beneath it all, the distinctive aroma that was uniquely Thora—wild and independent, like mountain air and sun-warmed earth.

“If you wiggle one more time, I swear I’ll use shifter-strength adhesive to keep this dress in place,” Bryn threatened, adjusting the midnight-blue fabric that draped elegantly around Thora’s hips.

“How do women walk in these contraptions?” Thora wobbled slightly, her usually confident stance undermined by the stilettoheels. “It’s like balancing on twigs with your toes pointed down a cliff.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Artair’s mouth. The sabertooth shifter who had tackled him in the town square, who had fought beside him against armed thieves, was being defeated by a pair of shoes. There was something endearing about seeing this side of her—the vulnerability beneath the fierce exterior.

Bryn stood back, hands on her hips, to survey her handiwork. “They’re Louboutins, and they make your legs look incredible. Stop complaining.” She caught sight of Artair in the doorway and grinned. “Perfect timing! Tell Thora she looks amazing.”

Both women turned toward him, and Artair felt his breath catch.

The transformation was striking. The elegant gown hugged curves usually hidden beneath practical clothing, the deep blue fabric shimmering like water under moonlight. Her dark hair had been swept up in an intricate style that exposed the graceful line of her neck, with a few strategic tendrils left loose to frame her face. A single teardrop sapphire pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat, drawing attention to smooth skin and delicate collarbones above the gown’s sweetheart neckline.

His bear stirred, rumbling with appreciation and a possessive instinct he couldn’t entirely suppress. This wasn’t merely physical attraction—it had evolved into something deeper with each day spent in her company. Every layer of her personality he discovered only increased his fascination: her fierce independence, her surprising humor, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her.

“Well?” Bryn prompted, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Artair realized he’d been staring silently for too long. He cleared his throat. “You look...” He paused, searching for words that wouldn’t sound trite. “Transcendent.”

A soft flush spread across Thora’s cheeks, and her amber eyes dropped momentarily before meeting his again with characteristic directness. “Is that CEO-speak for ‘acceptable for public display’?”

“No,” he replied simply, holding her gaze. “It’s bear-shifter for ‘I can’t look away.’“

The blush deepened, and he cataloged the reaction with quiet pleasure. These small victories—moments when her carefully constructed walls lowered just enough to let him glimpse the woman beneath—had become increasingly precious to him.

Bryn looked between them with unconcealed delight. “And on that note, I’ll leave you two alone. The car will be ready in ten minutes.” She squeezed past Artair with a whispered, “You’re welcome” before disappearing down the hallway.

Alone now, Thora attempted a step forward and winced. “This disguise better be worth it. I can’t believe people voluntarily torture themselves with these shoes.”

“They serve a purpose,” Artair said, pushing away from the doorframe and moving toward her with deliberate steps. “Height advantage in crowded rooms. Social signaling. Changing one’s center of gravity to create a specific silhouette.”

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