Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
CHARLOTTE
Iopened my eyes to purple pre-dawn light filling my bedroom. Immediately, a crushing wave of embarrassment followed.
For once, do as you’re told.
Beck’s words from the previous night echoed in my skull, the memory of his harsh growl making me groan as I tugged the quilt over my face.
I’d thrown myself at him…and he’d walked away.
Well, first, he’d ordered me to bed like a disobedient child. But he’d been plenty interested there for a second.
I shoved the quilt down, anger building. Where did he get off sticking his tongue down my throat and then acting like I was some kind of sex-starved harlot?
Rolling onto my side, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.
6:32 a.m.
Could I really face him over breakfast like nothing happened? Let him serve me eggs and toast while my face tried to start a fire in the kitchen?
Floorboards creaked, making me freeze in place. Other sounds drifted through the bedroom door. The clink of dishes. A cabinet shutting. Beck was in the kitchen going about his business like normal.
Like he hadn’t pressed me down on the bed, his erection hot and hard against the most intimate part of me.
I stayed put, straining for other sounds. And they came, the scrape of the dining chair followed by the soft thump of his mug on the table. He was eating breakfast without me.
Good. The last thing I wanted was him knocking on my door with a plate of food. I didn’t want his room service.
Tossing back the quilt, I stalked to the bathroom and pulled on my glasses before brushing my teeth. The amber bottle caught my eye, and I picked it up and examined the label. I hadn’t taken the pills since my first night in Bear Cove.
Maybe I should have. The thought trembled in my head, memories of waking in the snow rushing back. Beck had looked so worried. Then he’d swept me into his arms like the hero in a Hallmark movie.
Then he’d run away like I was poisoned.
Slamming the bottle on the sink, I returned to the bedroom and pulled on clothes. As I tugged my sweater into place, movement outside made me go to the window.
Beck crossed the parking lot, his steps leaving deep gouges in the snow.
A heavy-looking coat descended halfway down his thighs, and his boots rose to his knees.
The blizzard had stopped, but the snow was deep.
He didn’t appear to have any trouble getting through it, his long legs carrying him quickly to the edge of the forest. He entered the trees and disappeared.
Where was he going this early in the morning?
My hand was on the doorknob before I caught myself. I stared at the weathered wooden panel, my heart thumping hard against my ribs. Slowly, I released the knob and stepped back.
No. I wasn’t chasing after Beck like some lovesick teenager. If he wanted space, I’d give it to him. Besides, that snow looked every inch of the three feet the weather report had promised. Maybe Beck could handle it, but I couldn’t.
I turned to the desk, determination coursing through me as I sat and opened my laptop. Work was the best distraction—a safe distraction. If I was buried in data, I couldn’t think about surly bed and breakfast owners who were clearly avoiding me.
Two hours later, morning sunlight filled the room, and I stared at my screen with my chin in my hand and familiar frustration brewing in my gut.
I pulled off my glasses and ran the frame absently over my lips as I reread the data for the hundredth time.
The numbers and graphs confirmed what I already knew: Beck had guided me away from the areas where the anomalies were the most compelling.
The heat maps and electromagnetic reading data all indicated something inexplicable in a zone that spread in a circle around Bear Cove. The town registered flickers of data, but the real numbers lay in the forest.
In places Beck had refused to take me. Readings showed scant animal life around the bed and breakfast. Beyond it, the forest was like a tomb…
except for random heat signatures too big to explain away.
And they weren’t elk or wolves or any of the other types of wildlife common to Alaska. They were too large to be grizzlies…
Straightening, I slid my glasses back on and leaned forward, my fingers hovering over the keys. Only half-aware what I was doing, I quickly typed “Bigfoot sightings in Alaska.”
Dozens of results filled the page.
“This is stupid,” I muttered even as I scrolled down the articles and websites. Clicking on one that billed itself as a “research society,” I read through the main page’s predictable mix of conspiracy theories and pseudoscience.
I backtracked and clicked on another link, landing on an article about UFO sightings.
Another link talked about sasquatch encounters in the forests outside Anchorage.
Dark humor drifted through me. This was what I’d been reduced to, combing questionable websites with ads selling Bigfoot hats and T-shirts.
A link caught my eye. Ancient Legends of the Bear People: One of the North’s Greatest Unsolved Mysteries.
Snorting, I clicked on it. Unlike the others, the article was authored by a professor at the University of Alaska Anchorage.
It described folklore that appeared across multiple cultures in Russia, Scandinavia, and North America.
Oral traditions had passed down stories of humans who could shift into bears.
Beings of immense power, they served as protectors of the forests.
Unlike other legends, the common elements varied little from culture to culture.
Everywhere they lived, the bear people disrupted nature, driving out other species.
The land thrived, but predators and prey alike gave the bears a wide berth.
Ancient navigators had spoken of compasses acting strangely when they ventured too close to areas where the forest guardians were known to dwell.
My heart rate picked up, a curious tingling starting at the base of my spine.
The bear people lived in isolated communities, avoiding human contact.
They were difficult to kill, and they possessed healing capabilities that gave them immunity to most diseases.
Some cultures described them as a tightknit “brotherhood” typically led by one bear shifter larger and stronger than the others.
The tingling spread up my spine. Beck had carried me so effortlessly, racing over the snow like I weighed nothing.
He knew the forest like a map was imprinted in his mind.
He’d been evasive from the start, guiding me away from areas where my equipment showed a total absence of wildlife… except for the heat signatures.
I slammed shut my laptop. This was absurd. I was a scientist, not a folklorist. I dealt in evidence and peer-reviewed studies, not oral traditions. Those things were important, but they weren’t science.
Bears didn’t turn into humans, and magic wasn’t real. Standing, I drifted to the window. Science always offered a rational explanation for unexplained phenomena. Sometimes, it just took longer to find it.
Fatigue tugged at me. Outside, sunlight sparkled on Beck’s snowy footprints. More snow covered the branches of the evergreens around the bed and breakfast. I couldn’t venture out today. But the sun was bright. It would melt the snow enough to let me set out first thing tomorrow.
Exhaustion tugged harder, and I stretched my arms above my head, a yawn threatening.
Turning away from the window, I looked from my laptop to the bed.
For a minute, I considered slipping downstairs and grabbing breakfast. But the bed beckoned, the rumpled blankets glowing in the soft sunlight.
How long had it been since I took a nap?
Too long.
Crossing to the bed, I removed my glasses and set them on the nightstand before climbing in and curling on my side. The pillow was like a cloud under my cheek, the quilt a heavy, reassuring weight. Drowsiness swept me, and I let it close my lids.