Page 37 of Bear Naked Truth
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered into the cotton.
He rested his cheek on top of her head. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re okay. You’re allowed to let yourself feel.”
She wanted to argue. Say that wasn’t it. But it was. Right now, in this moment, it was more than enough.
They moved together to the couch, slow and careful. He sat first, then guided her gently down beside him, his arm curled around her shoulders, her legs tucked underneath her like she was trying to take up less space than she occupied.
The storm outside had long passed, but the windows still glistened with lingering rain. The quiet crackle from the fireplace offered a steady rhythm, grounding her in the hush between her breaths.
Her voice came out in pieces.
“I left home when I was nineteen. Couldn’t stand the way they looked at me… like I was broken. My mom—she tried to understand. But she was scared of what I could see. What I couldn’t unsee.”
Dorian didn’t move. Just kept that steady weight beside her, anchoring.
“I used to talk to ghosts in my sleep,” she continued. “Said things I didn’t remember. My brother used to cry about it. Said I was haunted. That I’d bring something into the house that’d take us all.”
His fingers brushed gently over her arm.
“So I ran. Figured being alone would make it quieter. But it never got quiet.”
A long breath escaped her, like she was letting go of something ancient.
“I thought if I kept everything locked down, if I never let anyone close, it would be safer. Simpler. Less messy.” She laughed, bitter and soft. “Then you showed up with your dumb jokes and your warm hands and your stupid cinnamon rolls and made me think maybe—maybe—there was something better.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Slow. No pressure.
“You don’t have to do anything, Autumn,” he murmured. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
“I know,” she said, voice cracking again. “But I want to.”
That admission felt like falling off a cliff. But he didn’t let her fall. He just pulled her in closer.
They stayed there, curled against each other like puzzle pieces half-figured out. No kisses. No whispered promises. Just breathing. Just being.
Autumn finally felt something near peace after what had seemed like forever.
She wasn’t fixed. Wasn’t ready. But she wasn’t alone and maybe that was the beginning of something real.
20
DORIAN
The morning sun slanted through the tall windows, casting soft amber light across the floorboards of the sitting room. Dorian hadn’t moved much since Autumn had fallen asleep beside him, curled up as if still protecting herself.
She was still there now, tucked under the throw blanket he’d pulled over her during the quiet hours of dawn, one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Her breathing was slow, steady. Finally peaceful after a night that had nearly torn him in half to witness.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek once more, careful not to wake her.
She needed the rest. Needed the space.
And he would give her that.
Even if everything in him—the bear, the man, the mate—wanted to hold her and never let go.
So he let go first.
Gently, slowly, he slid from beneath her, replacing his warmth with a second blanket and the pillow from the arm of the couch. She murmured something soft in her sleep but didn’t stir.
