Page 41 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
Jerry gives her some serious side-eye.
“Maybe it’s just been way too long since I’ve gotten laid.”
Fuck.
I grab another log from the pile, positioning it carefully on the block. The sun catches the blade as I raise the axe overhead, imagining it’s the last man who touched her, as I split the wood wide open in one angry blow.
She’s still watching. I can feel the weight of her gaze over my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I’m determined to ignore her presence.
She has me feeling out of control and reckless, and I don’t like it.
So, I purposefully don’t look when she stands up and stretches, my pants riding low on her hips, so low, I’d bet money her clean panties are still sitting folded on her bed.
She’s definitely going commando.
Fuckity FUCK.
I pretend to be completely engrossed in what I’m doing as she pads down the steps and wanders around the porch, looking at the flowers. When I miss a log completely, I give my head a shake, and my bear a telling off.
I’ll lose a finger if I keep this up. Enhanced healing powers can only do so much. Regrowing severed limbs is probably a step too far. I need to pay attention.
After another few minutes, I glance up between swings and find the porch empty. And the garden is empty, too, except for Jerry, who’s sprawled out on his back in a patch of sunlight, his white belly almost glowing.
“Where’d she go?”
Jerry opens one eye, ice blue and knowing, then closes it again. His tail gives one lazy thump. Useless.
I set the axe down, leaning it against the chopping block, and listen. Nothing.
Scanning the tree-line, I look for any sign of movement among the shadows between the pines. She couldn’t have gone far. Wouldn’t have, not after what happened to her. But she’s not in my line of sight, and I don’t like it.
“You were supposed to watch her,” I tell Jerry, who yawns in response, showing all his teeth.
My skin crawls with a feeling of wrongness. It’s strange here without her voice filling the silence, and her presence in the background. I wait, but there’s still nothing more than the rustle of the trees on a breeze, and the distant call of a crow.
“Zara?” I call out, trying to keep the concern out of my voice. No response. Just the echo of my voice.
I curse. My bear doesn’t like not knowing where she is, and he’s pissed off at me now that we’ve lost her.
“Go find her,” I tell Jerry, nudging his haunches with my boot as I glance inside the cabin, already knowing from her scent that she hasn’t gone inside. He finally bothers to stand, stretching lazily, spine arching like a cat. “Go on.”
He trots off toward the treeline, nose to the ground and tail high.
I follow, sniffing the air, agreeing with his choice of direction. My boots crunch over pine needles and dried leaves as I walk faster, pretending I’m not worried. She’s fine, probably just needed a walk and some space from my crabby ass.
But my bear is getting more and more agitated, pacing inside me like a caged animal.
She shouldn’t wander off, not when someone’s after her. I can scent her and track her and tell which way she meandered through the dense forest, but she’s still too far away for my liking.
I find her by the creek, sitting on a fallen log that’s worn smooth by years of weather. She’s tossing pebbles into the water then watching the ripples spread before disappearing in the current.
Jerry’s already there, his bulk leaning against her leg, getting her trousers muddy. She doesn’t seem to care.
“You shouldn’t wander off.”
She jumps slightly when she hears my voice, hand going to her chest, then looks up at me. The dappled sunlight through the canopy plays across her face, highlighting the gold in her hair. The cut to my tone would be enough to scare most people, but she just smiles up at me, skin glowing, looking like she hasn’t got a care in the world.
“I didn’t go far.” With one eye closed against the glare, she tilts her head, confused.
