Page 31 of Holly's Grizzly

“Can I see him? Your grizzly? Or would that not be safe?”

I don’t know all the ins and outs of how shifting works, but from what Nora and Kenna have told me, a shifter’s animal takes over at least a little while they’re in a full shift. I’m not sure what that would mean for Irving, or for me, if I came face to face with his grizzly again, but I’m too curious not to ask.

Irving considers for a moment. “I don’t think you’d be in any danger.”

“Really?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Really. Anyone or anything who tried to hurt you, though, would be a different story. My grizzly, well, he’s a little protective of you.”

“Just him?” I tease, and that growl kicks up again.

“Not just him,” Irving murmurs, kissing me with an unhurried intensity that makes my chest ache.

We finally disentangle from each other a few long minutes later and head downstairs.

Though my deliciously achy muscles protest at leaving the warmth of his bed, I’m spurred on by my excitement and my painful curiosity to get a better look at him in his shifted form.

I start pulling on my winter clothes, but when Irving follows me down from the loft, he’s still completely naked. All burly strength and coarse dark hair, thick cock swinging between his thighs and a knowing, satisfied look on his face when he catches me staring.

“You ready?” he asks, and I give him an enthusiastic nod before following him outside.

Irving paces to the middle of the clearing in front of his cabin before turning to face me. He looks rugged and magickal out here in the snow, completely unbothered by the cold and looking at me with something warm and admiring in his eye as he gives me one last warning before he shifts.

“I’m ready,” I confirm again, a heartbeat before my breath catches in my throat at the sight in front of me.

Irving’s whole body trembles with the magick of his shift, and it happens almost faster than my eyes can process what I’m seeing. One second he’s there, standing in the snow, and the next a massive grizzly has taken his place, even bigger than in my hazy, half-frozen memories.

Despite his assurances I wouldn’t be in any danger, I freeze, feet rooted to the snowy ground as the bear lumbers forward. I fight the very real urge to flee from the danger in front of me, heart leaping into my throat when he reaches me and nudges my hand with his big, furry head.

“Hi,” I whisper, reaching down to remove my glove.

I run my bare fingers through his fur, and a very familiar rumble kicks up in his chest. Huge brown eyes meet mine, the same ones I’ve been so captivated by for the last two days.

With how enormous he is, I barely have to lean down at all to rest my cheek against his soft fur. I move my hand to stroke down the side of his neck, and Irving’s grizzly rumbles again, a soft, contented sound in the crisp winter air.

A bubble of incredulous laughter rises in my throat, more awe at just how impossible all of this is.

We stay that way for a little while, touching and nuzzling and wondering at the magick between us, until he shifts back and swings me up into his arms. A wide, devastatingly handsome grin spreads across his face as he carries me back inside, and it’s just one more tender squeeze in my already aching heart.

The magick between us lasts for the rest of the day.

It’s enough that even the quiet voice of realism in the back of my mind has gone silent. Any doubts, any reservations, any reminders that all of this is going to end sooner rather than later are shut away, tucked behind a door I latch tight and lock firmly.

They can wait for now.

We spend the day lazing and lounging, touching and kissing and basking in the fire’s warmth. The snow has lightened to a few soft flurries, and with temps set to be on the rise through the night and into tomorrow, it’s likely the roads will clear soon.

But I’m not thinking about that right now.

I’m thinking about Irving. I’m thinking about how easy this all feels, how natural, how wonderful. Even when I belatedly remember mid-way through the day that it’s Christmas Eve, and shoot a couple of texts off to family and friends, I still feel like I’m exactly where I need to be.

Here, right here, with him.

My lazing turns into a late afternoon nap on the couch in front of the fire, and when I wake, it’s fully dark outside. I sit up and look around, searching for Irving, and he reappears through the back entryway.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, holding out a hand and helping me up.

I follow him across the room to the big wall of windows.

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