Page 62 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

Because I have to.

Because there is no way in hell I’m letting Carina hit the floor.

I see it the moment her eyes roll backward, the instant her knees start to buckle.

She’s going down.

And she’s going down hard.

Fuck.

A low growl rumbles in my chest—Grrrr—a primal, panicked sound I can’t suppress.

Fear claws at me, trying to distract me, trying to slow me down, but I push through it.

I ignore the screaming female who just joined us.

I ignore Uncle Uzzi’s calm, soothing words.

I ignore everything except for her.

My mate.

I push through the pain, through the impossible strain of forcing my body back into human form faster than it should be able to go.

My bones snap, shift, reform.

My fur recedes.

And just as my hands become hands again, I catch her.

She lands against me, soft and warm and utterly unconscious, and my entire body locks down, wrapping around her protectively.

Everything else fades away.

I don’t give a single damn about the shouting, the chaos, or the fact that my own head is spinning from shifting so fast.

All that matters is Carina.

I cradle her against me, tucking her closer to my chest as I stride toward the bedroom. Her scent fills my lungs—sweet basil, warm sunshine.

It is intoxicating, uniquely her—and it soothes something deep inside me.

I set her down gently, so gently, as if she might break.

Then, reality hits me like a freight train.

I’m still naked.

Shit.

Grumbling to myself, I yank a pair of sweats from the dresser and shove them on. I don’t think it’s a good idea to be naked when she wakes up.

I mean, on one hand, yeah—of course I want to be naked with my mate when she wakes up. That would be ideal.

But on the other hand, the last thing I want is to put her in an uncomfortable or compromising position.

She’s already overwhelmed. Already teetering on the edge of freaking the fuck out.

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