Page 19 of Bear Naked Truth
The energy cracked like lightning. The room snapped back into place. The pressure eased.
And the Hollow Man was gone.
No warning. No parting threat. Just the echo of cold and grief in his wake.
Autumn collapsed to her knees, shaking.
Footsteps thundered down the hall, and then Dorian burst through the door, eyes wide, shirt clinging to his chest like he’d run straight through the rising summer heat.
“Autumn—”
“I’m okay,” she said, though her voice shook.
He dropped beside her, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other cradling her face like she might disappear if he blinked.
“What happened?”
“I saw him.” Her eyes filled with tears she wouldn’t let fall. “The true one haunting this place. The Hollow Man. All of him.”
His breath hitched.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not like that.” She leaned into him, needing his steadiness. “He came afteryou. Through me.”
Dorian’s jaw tensed. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” She swallowed hard. “But he’s tied to this house in ways we haven’t seen yet. And I think… I think he sees you as a threat.”
“To what?”
She finally looked up at him, pupils wide with the last traces of fear.
“To whatever kept him here.”
Dorian exhaled through his nose, the sound low and steady. His arms wrapped around her without question, pulling her against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She didn’t resist. Autumn finally just let herself be held.
10
DORIAN
Dorian stood outside Autumn’s bedroom door, the mug in his hands gently steaming, scent of chamomile curling into the air like a quiet promise.
The inn was hushed around him, a different kind of quiet than usual. Not the haunted stillness, not the expectant hush that crept along the baseboards and windowsills, but something gentler. Like the house itself was holding its breath, watching, maybe listening.
He shifted on his feet. His boots made no sound on the floorboards he’d reinforced last week. The new coat of polish hadn’t dulled the creak; it had just deepened it, made it richer. Every part of Briar Hollow had personality. Most of it was haunted. Some of it was just damn stubborn.
He knocked once, knuckles soft on wood. “Hey. It’s me.”
A beat. Then her voice—soft, raw. “It’s open.”
He nudged the door open with his foot and stepped into the low light of her room. The single lamp on the dresser gave off a faint amber glow, casting flickering shadows along the walls. She sat curled up against the headboard in one of her knit seaters, sleeves too long, collar loose. Her eyes were tired but alert, herfingers wrapped around her knees like she might fly apart if she didn’t hold herself together.
“Brought you this.” He handed her the tea, fingers brushing hers deliberately as she took it.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Still trying to get the cold out of my bones.”
