Chapter 8
Gunnar
For a moment I lie still, staring up at the dark ceiling of my room while the old lodge creaks softly around me. Wind moves through the trees outside, brushing the roof with a long, low whisper. Somewhere down the hallway Orson snores like a chainsaw chewing through timber.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing that should have woken me.
I let out a growl of annoyance.
Of course, I know what woke me.
My beast.
Again.
For the third damn time tonight.
It has spent the entire night pacing beneath my ribs, nudging me awake every hour or so with the same relentless demand.
Mate.
Go check on mate.
Make sure she is safe.
“She’s fine,” I mutter into the darkness.
My beast is unimpressed.
Mate is alone.
“Yes,” I whisper irritably. “In a closed room. In the middle of a mountain. Inside a lodge full of grizzly shifters.”
That should be more than enough security to satisfy anyone.
But my beast continues to prowl beneath my skin, claws scraping against my patience.
Mate.
With a sigh I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards are cold beneath my feet as I drag on a pair of jeans and shove open the door.
The hallway is shadowed, faint gray light leaking through the window at the far end.
Her door is still closed—as it was the time before, and the time before that.
I force myself to walk on light feet as I go along the hallway to her room, burning to be near her.
When I reach her door I pause, listening.
I hear the slow breathing of deep sleep. Quiet, like an angel.
Good.
My mate is safe.
I close my eyes briefly and press my palm against the wall beside the door.
Mine.
Not mine like that—mine to protect.
My beast doesn’t care.
It presses forward eagerly, urging me closer. My hand drifts toward the doorknob before I catch myself and yank it back.
“No,” I murmur. Not going in there.
Just to see.
No, she’s fine. She’s asleep.
The image flashes through my mind anyway.
Her dark hair spread across the pillow. Long lashes against her cheeks. Warm under the blankets.
The scent of her skin.
The memory of her standing in the firelight downstairs, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, those tight black leggings—
I grind my teeth.
This is not helping.
I step back from the door before I do something I’ll regret.
The beast grumbles in disappointment.
“She’s human,” I remind it.
It huffs.
Mate.
“Yes, I know she’s my mate—” The word still feels strange on my tongue, in my brain.
I never expected one.
And definitely not like this.
She’s human.
She’s got the Russian mafia after her.
All I can do is protect her, keep her safe.
And one day, when she’s not in danger anymore, she’ll leave.
I drag myself away from her door and hurry down the hall.
The lodge door groans when I push it open.
Cold air rushes in immediately, full of pine and frost.
I need that.
The clearing lies quiet beneath the fading stars. The horizon is beginning to soften, the black sky slowly thinning toward gray.
My beast stirs again.
Run.
I strip my shirt off and kick my boots aside before the pressure inside my bones becomes unbearable.
The shift tears through me in a familiar rush. Bones stretch, muscles swell.
The world explodes outward as my senses sharpen and the forest opens around me in a thousand living details.
Then I am running.
The cold air chills my muzzle as I charge down the slope beyond the lodge, claws digging into the damp earth. Branches whip past. Stones scatter under my weight.
Faster.
The forest rushes toward me and breaks around my shoulders.
Every nerve in my body is alive now.
Cold air flooding my lungs. Wet soil. Pine sap.
Deer. Not far away.
The scent slices through my skull like lightning.
I veer instinctively, charging downhill toward it. The ground thunders beneath my paws as I barrel through brush and fallen timber, massive shoulders smashing aside anything too slow to move.
Prey.
The word echoes through me like a drumbeat.
For a moment the hunt takes over completely. Every muscle locks into the rhythm of pursuit, body low and powerful as I surge through the dark.
But another scent cuts through the frenzy.
Softer.
Warmer.
Human.
I slow, skidding as I dig my claws into the earth.
Mate.
The word rolls through my chest like distant thunder.
Even miles from the lodge I can still feel her.
A pull. A certainty in my bones.
My mate is up there on the mountain.
Under my roof.
Sleeping in my bed.
I huff and pace in a tight circle among the trees, energy surging through my limbs with nowhere to go. Restless and electric.
Protect.
Claim.
“Not happening,” I growl, the sound rough even inside my bear’s throat.
She’s human.
She didn’t ask for this.
My beast doesn’t care.
Mine.
With a violent shake of my head, I turn back toward the ridge and launch forward again, running hard now, burning the excess heat out of my blood as the forest blurs past.
I snatch up a rabbit in my teeth, and a second one, both without breaking stride.
Dawn is starting to bleed into the sky by the time the lodge comes back into view through the trees.
It sits hunched among the trees like an old animal that refuses to die. Smoke curls faintly from the chimney.
Someone’s up.
I slow to a trot as I cross the clearing, the cold morning air steaming off my fur. The bear is calmer now, the worst of the restless energy burned out of my blood, but the pull toward the lodge—the woman sleeping inside it—hasn’t faded.
If anything, it’s sharper.
Get to mate.
“Quit with that,” I mutter under my breath.
I shift back just short of the tree line. Bones compress, muscles tightening as the bear folds back into me. A few seconds later I’m standing in the frost with bare feet and a lungful of cold air, dragging my jeans back on.
The lodge door creaks open.
Torin stands in the doorway, a mug in his hand. His hair sticks up in all directions like he fought a pillow and lost.
He looks to the rabbits and back again.
Then he grins. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Huh?”
“They like to bring their owners little gifts.” He nods toward the rabbits. “You gonna prep them or just leave them outside her door?”
I ignore him and shove past into the house.
The smell of coffee hits me. Torin follows me inside, shutting the door behind us with his heel.
“You run the whole mountain?” he asks.
“Just the lower ridge.”
“Shame,” he says. “You might’ve worn yourself out if you’d gone farther.”
I shoot him a look, but his grin just widens.
He lifts the mug and takes a lazy sip, watching me over the rim.
“So,” he says casually. “How many times did you get up?”
I pause halfway to the sink. “…What?”
“Last night,” he says. “Let me guess. Three? Four?”
I glare at him.
Torin nods knowingly. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He strolls across the kitchen and sets the coffee pot on the table. “Because around two in the morning I heard someone pacing holes in the floorboards outside a certain bedroom.”
I say nothing.
Torin pours another mug and slides it across the table toward me.
His voice drops. “Relax,” he says. “I’m not judging.”
I pick up the mug and take a long drink.
The coffee is strong enough to strip paint.
Good.
“Sleep’s the first thing to go when you lose your mind over a woman.”
“I’m not losing my mind.”
Torin leans against the counter, studying me with open amusement. “Sure you’re not.”
He gestures toward the door behind me.
“You just ran the mountain before dawn for the first time in about a year.”
“That’s not true.”
Torin tilts his head thoughtfully.
“Two years, then.”
I say nothing.
He watches me for another second, then chuckles quietly to himself.
“Man,” he says. “You are in trouble.”
The kitchen door smashes open.
Orson shuffles in barefoot, hair tied in a greasy knot on top of his head and beard all matted.
He heads straight for the coffee pot without saying a word.
“Morning, sunshine,” Torin says.
Orson ignores him. Only after draining half his mug does his gaze land on the counter.
On the rabbits.
His eyes lift to me.
“You been out already.”
I take another drink of coffee. “Yeah.”
Torin leans back against the counter, watching with open enjoyment. “Went for a little jog,” he says.
Orson looks between the two of us, unimpressed.
Then his gaze lands back on me. “You been acting weird since she showed up.”
Torin snorts. “Weird is generous.”
I ignore them both and open the fridge.
Orson crosses his arms.
“What’s the plan today?”
“Pretty sure the plan was rabbits and coffee,” Torin says.
“I mean with her.”
“Keep your voice down, she’s still asleep,” I snap.
Orson bares his teeth. “Then she should wake up. This isn’t a damn guesthouse.”
Torin barks a short laugh. “That’s funny,” he says. “Because someone paid us five grand to keep her here.”
“I wonder how much more it’s gonna cost us when we’re done.”
“Enough,” I growl. “Alexandria staying here is non-negotiable.”
Orson’s lip curls. “Yeah, because she’s your mate. And you believe in all that fated crap. But what about us?”
Torin whistles under his breath. “Easy.”
Orson doesn’t take his eyes off me. “You didn’t ask us.”
I fold my arms. “She stays.”
Orson holds my gaze another second. Then he exhales through his nose. “Your call. Just remember who else it puts in the crosshairs.”
I let off a growl. “I’m Alpha, and you’re all my responsibility.”
Orson studies me for another moment. Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “You really think she’s going to sit tight here?”
A creak down the hallway—the sound of an old doorknob being turned.
All three of us go still.