Page 16 of Claimed By the Grumpy Shifter

"Why would you want to find out? You could have anyone, Christine. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who could give you that white picket fence without bringing a world of baggage along with it."

Because you make me feel alive, I think. Because you look at me like I'm something precious. Because every instinct I have is screaming that you're important, that this is important, in ways I can't even begin to understand.

But what I say is: "Because baggage doesn't scare me as much as being bored for the rest of my life."

Chapter 7 - Marcus

“Because baggage doesn't scare me as much as being bored for the rest of my life.”

She has no idea what she's saying, no concept of the kind of darkness she's inviting into her sunshine-filled world. But the way she's looking at me, like I'm something worth fighting for instead of something to run from, makes me want to believe her.

"You say that now," I murmur, my thumb still stroking across her knuckles because I can't seem to stop touching her. "But you don't know what my baggage looks like."

"Show me."

She's serious. This woman who arranges flowers and makes babies stop crying, who dreams of white picket fences and Sunday morning pancakes, is sitting across from me asking to see the worst parts of me.

And Christ help me, I want to show her. I want to lay every broken piece of myself at her feet and see if she still thinks I'm worth salvaging.

"You sure about that?" I ask. "Because once you see it, you can't unsee it."

"I'm sure."

The waiter appears with our food, and I must force myself to release her hand so he can set down our plates. The interruption gives me a moment to collect myself, to remember where we are and what's appropriate for a first date. But the moment he's gone, Christine leans forward, those blue eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that rivals my own.

"Tell me about Afghanistan," she says quietly.

"That's not first-date conversation."

"What is, then? The weather? Our favorite movies?" She picks up her fork but doesn't actually eat anything, just watches me with that steady gaze that makes me feel stripped bare. "I don't want to talk about the weather, Marc. I want to know what put those shadows in your eyes."

Shadows. Is that what she sees when she looks at me? Not the monster I've been telling myself I am, but just a man with shadows?

"It's not a pretty story," I warn her, cutting into my steak with more force than necessary. The meat is perfectly rare, bloody in the center, and my bear approves even as my human side feels vaguely barbaric eating it in front of her.

"I'm not looking for pretty. I'm looking for real."

Real. When's the last time anyone wanted real from me? The military certainly didn't. They wanted efficient, brutal, unquestioning. My commanding officers wanted results, not truth. My teammates wanted someone who could watch their backs, not someone who could share his feelings.

But Christine is asking for something different. Something I'm not sure I know how to give.

"Two tours," I say finally, taking a bite of steak to buy myself time. "First one was standard infantry stuff. Patrol, security, keeping the peace. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"And the second?"

"Special operations. More dangerous missions, higher stakes." I pause, remembering the weight of gear, the taste of dust and fear, the way everything could go to hell in a heartbeat. "We lost men. Good men. And sometimes..."

I trail off, because how do I explain that sometimes I lost control? That sometimes the bear took over and I did things that kept me awake at night, even when they were necessary for survival?

"Sometimes what?" she prompts gently.

"Sometimes I became something I didn't recognize." The confession tastes like ash in my mouth. "Something that scared the men who were supposed to trust me to have their backs."

She's quiet for a long moment, and I brace myself for the inevitable questions. For her to ask what I did, what I became, what made me so dangerous that my own team feared me.

Instead, she says, "Is that why you left the military?"

"Among other reasons." I take another bite of steak, chewing slowly to avoid having to elaborate. "I wasn't fit for service anymore."

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