Page 23 of Snowed in with the Bear Shifter
He perked up, his brows lifting. “You love me?”
“Yes, okay?” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve got all the symptoms — squiggly stomach, warm flushes, thoughts of jumping your bones each and every time I see you. So, yeah, pretty sure I’m a goner.”
“Oh thank god because I don’t want to live without you, El,” Roarke said, setting down his beer and pulling her into his arms. “You’re the brightness in my soul, the honey in my coffee, the light of my life. This time apart nearly broke me.”
“It’s only been twenty-eight hours,” she said with a huff of laughter, even though she felt the same way. She didn’t like being away from him. It felt wrong. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, basking in the scent that was uniquely Roarke.
“Twenty-nine hours and fourteen minutes, to be exact,” he said, his deep voice a comforting rumble in her ear. “But it seemed longer.”
“You could have answered my texts, you know,” she said, lifting her head to look up at him. “Or called. Ignoring me because I had to go home was kind of a dick move.”
He rubbed a large hand over her back in soothing circles. “I realize that, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Good. Better not.” She poked his chest for good measure.
“If it makes you feel any better, Briar came over and read me the riot act.”
She grinned, picturing the scene. Shenanigans were one thing, but Briar wasn’t the type to let those she cared about do stupid shit. “Nice to know she still has my back.”
“She also invited you to dinner with the family tonight. Your mom is invited as well, of course.”
“For Christmas Eve?” She nibbled her bottom lip. “That’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it?”
He nodded, his eyes on her. “Everyone will be there.”
“Mom’s in Charlotte, having some alone time in a fancy hotel with spa services. Her present for surviving a too-long and stressful visit from her sister and nieces,” she said. “Do you want me to come?” It was annoying that she needed this level of reassurance from him. He was here, holding her in his arms. Wasn’t that enough?
No. No, it wasn’t. She needed to hear him say the words.
“Of course I want you to come. I should have asked you to join me before you left yesterday.” He tugged the band holding her ponytail in place and buried his fingers in her hair. “I want you by my side, in my life. Always and forever. You’re my beautiful, amazing mate, and I love you with all my heart.”
Words failed her, so she did the next best thing. She kissed him.
His arm tightened on her waist as his lips parted and his tongue met hers. Familiar heat coiled in her belly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, stroking the silky locks at the base of his skull.
“Roarke.” She pulled back so she could look him in the eyes when she said this next bit. She took a deep breath, the scent of wood shavings and pine surrounding her, and said, “I love you and claim you as my mate.” She didn’t know if that was the proper way to accept the mate bond, but it felt right.
As soon as the words left her mouth, magic swirled through the room, blanketing them in warmth and love. She felt a solid click as the mate bond fell into place, binding their souls together. Forever.
“Do we really have a true mate bond?” she asked in wonder. Tingles of magic prickled over the tips of her fingers and along her spine. She didn’t think it could happen to her. “I’m a witch, not a shifter. How is this possible?” She tipped her head up to look at him.
“It’s shifter magic, love. We rarely talk about it in too much detail with outsiders.” He stroked her hair. “True mate bonds are rare and precious.”
“Lucky me,” she said with a wide grin, her heart and soul filled to overflowing.
“No, love,” he said, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Lucky me.”
And then he did his best to show her exactly how lucky they both were to have found each other.
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
“El, you in here?” Roarke poked his head into the apothecary studio he’d built for her next to his carpentry workshop.
The space wasn’t as large as his, but then she wasn’t constructing sizeable pieces of furniture and didn’t need giant saws and other equipment to do her job. Besides, her studio was so much prettier than his, handcrafted by Roarke to her specifications. French doors and big windows all along the front let in the morning light. The back was steeped in shadows, the better to protect the more delicate and light-sensitive potions. The twelve-foot ceiling was high enough so as not to feel claustrophobic, and he’d added ladder-like frames overhead so she could hang her flowers and herbs to dry. Down the center of the space, he’d built her a long workbench made from an old oak felled by the winter storm that originally brought them together. The back wall had a narrow counter with shelves above and cabinets below. It was perfect.
“There you are,” he said, coming up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. His erection pressed against her ass ashe pulled her close, trapping her between the workbench and his body. “I missed you.”
