Page 75 of Grin and Bear It

A quick assessment showed four assailants down, but more shapes moved beyond the shattered windows. These weren’t random thieves—they’d come prepared for bear shifter resistance with specialized weapons and tactical formation.

“Ajax’s crew,” Artair confirmed grimly, identifying the distinctive combat style.

Thora spotted an attacker raising what looked like a modified crossbow, its bolt gleaming with a substance that smelled wrong even at a distance. The weapon swung toward Artair’s unprotected back as he grappled with another intruder.

Time slowed as clarity struck her with crystal precision. This man—this stubborn, protective, unexpectedly tender bear shifter—had become essential to her. The thought of him injured or worse sent panic coursing through her veins, followed by fierce determination.

Her body moved without conscious command, sabertooth instincts calculating trajectory and interception point. She heard herself shouting his name as she lunged between him and the weapon. She knew the effects the poison would have on her and she didn’t care.

Pain exploded across her side as the bolt connected. The specialized toxin burned through her system like liquid fire,designed to incapacitate bear shifters but still be devastating to feline physiology. She staggered but remained upright, drawing on reserves of strength she hadn’t known she possessed.

Louisa’s words echoed through her mind:You have your father’s courage and your mother’s protectiveness.

In that crystalline moment of pain and clarity, Thora understood something fundamental—about herself, about the blood that ran in her veins, about the heart she’d kept carefully guarded for so long. Her parents had died protecting each other and their unborn child. Now she stood between danger and someone she... loved.

The realization didn’t come as a shock but as a quiet certainty as if her heart had known long before her mind caught up. She loved Artair—his strength and his vulnerability, his leadership and his kindness, his unwavering support of her independence even as he offered her a place to belong.

The moment of revelation cost her focus. A second bolt struck her shoulder, driving her to her knees. She fought to remain conscious, sabertooth raging against the toxins flooding her system. Through blurring vision, she saw Artair’s face contort with fury and fear. He roared—a sound more bear than human—as he tore through the remaining attackers to reach her. Bodies flew in his wake, his strength magnified by protective rage.

“Thora!” His voice sounded distant despite his proximity.

She tried to respond, to tell him she was okay, to confess what she’d just realized about her feelings for him. But her mouth wouldn’t cooperate, her muscles refusing to obey as the toxin spread through her system.

As darkness crowded the edges of her vision, Thora found herself thinking not of the danger, not of the mission, but of all the things she suddenly wanted—mornings in Artair’s kitchen, nights under the stars behind his cabin, a small office in townwhere she could establish a permanent base for her bounty hunting. A home. A future.

The last thing she registered was the warmth of his arms lifting her, cradling her against his chest as he whispered fierce promises that they would be okay, that he wouldn’t let her go.

Her final coherent thought held none of the panic or resistance she would have expected at such vulnerability. Instead, she felt an unexpected peace—if this was where her journey ended, at least she’d finally found what she’d been searching for all along: somewhere she belonged, someone worth staying for.

And Artair was definitely worth staying for.

SIXTY-SEVEN

The antiseptic smell of the hospital room burned Artair’s nostrils. His massive frame dwarfed the plastic chair beside Thora’s bed, making him look oddly vulnerable despite his size. Two days had passed with barely a change in her condition. Two days of him refusing to leave her side. Two days of his perfectly tailored suits giving way to borrowed T-shirts and stubbled cheeks.

None of that mattered. Only the still form on the bed commanded his attention.

Thora lay motionless, her olive skin pale against the stark white sheets. Tubes snaked from her arms, monitors beeped with mechanical precision, and his bear raged beneath his skin, desperate to protect what it considered theirs. The sight of her—normally so fiercely independent—reduced to this fragile state tore at something deep in his chest.

Artair’s thumb traced gentle circles on her palm, his large hand engulfing hers. When had her clever, calloused fingers become so familiar? So necessary?

“The north ridge waterfall turns the mist golden at sunrise,” he murmured, voice low enough that the nurses couldn’t hear through the half-open door. “No one knows about the hiddenpath except me. Perfect place for a sabertooth to explore.” His voice caught. “I need to show you when you wake up.”

He stroked a strand of dark hair away from her forehead, remembering how it had felt tangled in his fingers during their kiss by the lake. “My grandfather’s hunting cabin has a cave system behind it. The acoustics make your voice echo for miles. You’d laugh at how it amplifies even whispers.”

The door opened with a soft click. Artair didn’t need to look up to recognize the visitor. Elder Willow’s distinctive scent preceded her—earth and herbs and old magic.

“Her aura strengthened overnight,” Willow said, moving to the opposite side of the bed. She placed weathered hands above Thora’s body, not quite touching. Silver light shimmered between her fingertips. “A good sign.”

Artair focused on the rise and fall of Thora’s chest rather than meet Willow’s all-too-perceptive gaze. “The toxin?”

“Designed for bear physiology but it modified when it encountered her biology.” Willow’s lips pinched together. “Clever. Dangerous.”

“Lethal.” The word scraped raw from his throat.

“Yet she stepped in front of it without hesitation.” Willow’s eyes—ancient and knowing—fixed on him. “Such instinct reveals what the heart decides long before the mind catches up.”

Heat climbed Artair’s neck. He couldn’t form a response, his throat tight with emotions he refused to name.

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