Page 4 of Holly's Grizzly

My thoughts are still slow, scrambled, coated in ice, but in some far-away, rational corner of my brain, I know I’m afraid. It’s deep, instinctual, and, driven by that animal instinct, my body makes a valiant attempt to propel itself upward.

But my mind isn’t cooperating with the rest of me all that well right at the moment.

My limbs twitch uselessly in an effort to… what? Make me appear smaller? Curl up in a defensive little ball? Like that’s going to do anything.

Dimly, I remember I didn’t even bring any bear spray on this trip.

Nevermind that if I did, it would be floating away down the river with the rest of my gear. Bears are supposed to be hibernating right now, and having one approaching me, head down as it chuffs and lumbers its way through the snow, is one last terrible, macabre joke.

Will anyone even find my body, or will I end up as a cautionary tale about a woman who wandered into the woods and never came out again?

The morbid thought rips a whimper from my throat, and I snap my eyes shut.

I can’t move, can’t run. I’m frozen by fear and the ice clinging to my clothes and skin, piercing its way into my bones,and I really don’t want to see my own death coming right toward me.

A few more heavy footsteps echo through the stillness of the forest, and my thoughts careen wildly.

Was any of this worth it? Or have I only been fooling myself?

Did it matter? Did I accomplish anything in my short life, or was it all just a waste? What will they put on my tombstone?

Here lies Holly Petersen. Heartbroken. Lost. Searching and searching for something she couldn’t have explained even if you’d asked her.

I guess I’ll never know.

None of this is going to mean a damn thing when I’m eaten by this—

“Hello?”

My eyes snap open.

There, where the bear had been just a moment ago, is a man.

A tall, broad, hairy,nakedman.

Through the frost clinging to my lashes and my scatter-brained shock, I can only make out little bits and pieces of him.

Thick dark hair and a full bushy beard. Rich brown eyes under a brow furrowed with concern.

And his body.

This bear-man ishuge.

A broad chest and lumberjack arms. A soft layer of padding over his muscled abdomen. Thighs like tree trunks. All covered in coarse, dark brown crinkles of body hair, like even in his human form, he’s still more than a little bit grizzly.

“My name is Irving. I’m not going to hurt you. Is it alright if I come closer?”

I nod.

Or, well, at least I think I nod.

It’s hard to fully wrap my mind around what my body’s doing right now.

Somehow, though, it doesn’t even occur to me to feel surprised or afraid of this man standing in front of me.

Nora is mated to a shifter. Kenna is, too, and having one here, now, makes some sort of sense in my cold-addled brain.

He’ll help me. Yes, of course he’ll help me.

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