Chapter 59
FIFTY-NINE
A rtair’s bear took over, his body moving without conscious thought. He threw himself across the console, wrapping his much larger frame around Thora as the vehicle rolled. Glass shattered, metal screamed, and the world became a chaotic blur of impact and noise.
When the car finally came to rest against a massive pine tree, he was still curled protectively around her. His bear refused to release her even as his human side regained control.
“Thora?” Panic edged his voice. “Are you hurt?”
She stirred beneath him, and relief flooded through him. “I’m okay. You?”
He quickly assessed himself—cuts, bruises, possibly a cracked rib, but his shifter healing would handle those quickly. “Nothing serious. We need to move. The car might not be stable.”
They extracted themselves from the wreckage, Thora wincing as her bare feet touched the forest floor. Her elegant gown hung in tatters, blood staining the once-pristine fabric.
“Bryn’s going to kill me,” she muttered, looking down at herself. “This dress probably cost more than my first motorcycle.”
The fact that she could joke, even now, stirred something warm in his chest. “I think she’ll forgive you. Especially when I explain how you saved us both with that quick steering.”
Thunder rumbled overhead, and the first heavy raindrops began to fall. Within seconds, the drizzle became a downpour, soaking them both.
“We need shelter,” Artair called over the storm. “There’s a system of caves in these mountains. One should be nearby.”
Thora nodded, already scanning their surroundings with her superior night vision. “This way.”
They made their way through the darkened forest, the rain intensifying with each step. Lightning flashed, illuminating the steep terrain in harsh relief. Despite her injured feet, Thora moved with remarkable sureness, leading them toward a dark opening in the mountainside.
The cave was shallow but dry, offering protection from the storm’s fury. Water streamed from their clothing, forming puddles on the stone floor. In the close confines, her scent surrounded him—adrenaline, rain, a hint of blood from minor cuts, and beneath it all, the complex notes that were uniquely Thora.
She stood with arms wrapped around herself, her body trembling slightly—from cold or delayed shock, he couldn’t tell. Her ruined gown clung to her curves, her hair had come loose to frame her face in wild disarray. The sophisticated socialite had been stripped away, leaving only the woman beneath—resilient, fierce, and undeniably beautiful.
Artair shrugged out of his sodden tuxedo jacket, draping it around her shoulders. “Here.”
“You need it more than I do,” she protested, but made no move to return it.
“Bear shifter,” he reminded her gently. “My body temperature runs several degrees hotter than yours.”
“Of course, it does,” she muttered, but gratitude flickered in her eyes as she pulled the jacket tighter.
Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and that now-familiar electric current sparked between them. In the confined space, with rain drumming at the entrance and darkness enfolding them, the moment felt suspended outside normal time—a private world where only the two of them existed.
“You’re still shivering,” he observed, his voice low.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve endured worse conditions during stakeouts.”
“There’s no need to endure when there’s an alternative.” He moved closer, his natural heat radiating outward. “Body heat. Practical. No agenda.”
She studied him for a long moment, her amber eyes luminous in the darkness. Then, with a small nod, she stepped into his embrace. Her breath caught audibly as his arms encircled her, the sound sending a different kind of heat through his veins.
“Practical,” she agreed, though the slight tremor in her voice suggested she felt the same awareness that coursed through him.
They stood like that, neither speaking, as the storm raged outside. Gradually, her shivering subsided, but neither made any move to break the contact. Her head rested against his chest, exactly the right height to tuck beneath his chin. The fit of their bodies—like puzzle pieces designed for each other—struck him as another piece of evidence that perhaps this connection wasn’t merely coincidence.
“I can’t believe he’s alive,” Artair finally whispered, the truth he’d been holding inside spilling out in the darkness. “All these years...”
“What happened between you?” Her question vibrated against his chest, gentle but direct.
“We were twenty. Had a massive fight about clan responsibilities.” The old pain resurged, sharp and fresh. “He wanted freedom, adventure, a life beyond Enchanted Falls. I wanted to honor our parents’ memory by upholding tradition, strengthening the clan.”
“And then?”
“Words were said that couldn’t be taken back. He called me a mindless puppet of tradition. I called him selfish, said he was betraying everything our parents had built.” His throat tightened at the memory. “When our parents’ private plane went down the next day, Calan was supposedly with them.”
The grief he’d carried resurfaced, raw and unhealed. “The crash site was so devastating that we couldn’t recover complete remains. We held a funeral for all three of them—mother, father, and my twin. I’ve spent fifteen years thinking he’d died alongside them.”
Thora pulled back slightly to look up at him, her face illuminated by a flash of lightning from outside the cave. “And all this time he’s been alive. Watching you. Planning.”
“Planning what, though? Revenge? For what?” The questions that had been haunting him since he’d first glimpsed his brother spilled out. “I lost our parents too. I was the one who had to step up and take over everything when I was barely twenty, believing I was completely alone.”
“Maybe that’s exactly it,” Thora said softly. “You inherited everything—the responsibility, but also the recognition, the position in society.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” Artair countered, frustration edging his voice. “I would have given anything to have had more time, more guidance from our father. To have shared the burden with my brother instead of shouldering it alone.”
Her hand came up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the tense line of his jaw. The gesture was so unexpected, so gentle, that it momentarily stunned him into silence.
“Some people see only what others have, not what they’ve lost to get it,” she murmured. “I’ve tracked enough fugitives to recognize the patterns. Resentment ferments into something toxic when left to grow in isolation.”
The compassion in her eyes undid him. His bear surged forward, protective and possessive in equal measure. Before he could second-guess himself, Artair lowered his head and captured her lips with his.