Chapter 15
Gunnar
For a moment I just stand there in the torn-up dirt of the clearing, chest heaving. My beast is still roaring through my blood, every nerve lit up, every muscle tight with the need to fight.
Across from me, Orson backs away a step. Blood streaks his shoulder where my claws caught him.
“You’ve lost your damn mind,” he says.
I barely hear him.
My gaze snaps to the path.
Alexandria.
She ran. Of course she ran.
The trail disappears into black forest. No moonlight reaches the ground under those trees. A human woman alone out there—no night sight, no feel for the ground, no idea what moves through these woods after dark.
I shouldn’t have let her go.
The thought cuts clean through the rage.
I dash toward the path. Orson says something behind me—sharp, angry—but I’m already crashing through the brush toward the trail.
I need to find her.
Her scent is everywhere. Warm. Human. Heady in a way that makes my beast surge with something more dangerous than anger.
She didn’t go far.
I can hear her breathing.
Thirty yards ahead, maybe less.
I slow so I don’t scare her.
The forest presses in around the trail, branches scraping my shoulders.
Then I see her.
She’s standing in the middle of the path, one hand braced against a tree trunk.
For a second she just stares.
Then a small, strangled sound escapes her.
I know what she sees.
An eight-foot grizzly stepping out of the trees.
Blood in his fur.
My fur.
I force the bear down.
Bones grind. Muscles twist. The shift tears through me, dropping me to one knee in the dirt.
By the time I look up again, I’m human again.
And she’s running toward me. “Gunnar!”
My muscles are shaking and the wound along my ribs burns like fire, but I force myself upright.
“I’m sorry, Alexandria,” I say.
“I tried to get back to the lodge, but I couldn’t see—”
She stops a step away, breathing hard. Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the blood.
“Oh, my god, you’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
She steps closer anyway. “That’s not nothing. I thought you were going to kill each other.”
“Bear fight.” I shrug. “Just how we work shit out sometimes.”
“Where is he?”
I jerk my head. “Gone to lick his wounds. He won’t be back for a while.”
She passes a hand across her face. There are tears in her eyes she’s trying to hold back. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”
I go still. Her words are a stab in my chest. “What? No—of course he doesn’t hate you.”
She swipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand, like she’s angry at herself. “Gunnar, we were just kissing—and he came in and attacked you. That was no coincidence. The deer on the table today. Everything.” She shakes her head. “He doesn’t want me here.”
I let out a breath. “Come here.”
I reach for her with both hands.
For a long moment she just looks at them. Then, slowly, she places her hands in mine.
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say, quieter now. “Of course not. Nobody could.”
I want to pull her in.
But I don’t.
Not like this. Not with blood still on my hands.
“He’s been on edge,” I go on. “Ever since that trouble with the other clan. He thinks this is on him. The blood debt. Thinks if he’d handled it differently, we wouldn’t be dealing with any of it now.” I shake my head. “He’s not thinking straight. He’s just… worried you being here brings more risk.”
“He’s right,” she says, shaking her head.
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. I hold her hands more tightly. “Not at all. It’s safe for you to be here. This place is protected. We’ll know if anything is coming.
She studies me for a long moment.
“That’s not all, is it?”
I don’t answer.
“I saw his face when he came into the clearing,” she says. Her voice drops. “He doesn’t…”
She trails off, but I know exactly what she’s trying to say:
He doesn’t want you kissing me.
Her gaze drops to the ground, color rising in her cheeks.
Silence stretches between us.
“He’s not used to you,” I say at last. “You’re human. That’s all.”
It isn’t all. We both know it.
“And it’s none of his business what I do with you.”
I step closer.
She doesn’t move at first.
Then she pulls her hands free.
“I can’t,” she says.
The words land hard.
“I liked kissing you,” she goes on, quieter now. “I really did.” She swallows. “But this is… a lot. Everything is a lot.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I don’t even know what’s happening to me,” she says. “Or what’s going to happen next. I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I can’t add more to it.”
My beast surges, clawing up hard enough to make my vision blur.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
The fight with Orson was bloody. The worst fight we’ve ever had, times ten. Because my beast wasn’t just fighting for me; it was fighting for Alexandria. And now it’s desperate.
I force it down.
“I’m not asking you to,” I say.
The words come out rough.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Something flickers there. Relief. Something else beneath it.
“Okay,” she says softly.
That’s as close as I get.
“Can you help me get back?”
“Of course.”
She has to hold on to me in the dark. There’s no other way.
Her fingers hook into mine as I guide her along the path, my pace slow over the uneven ground.
Every time she stumbles, I steady her—hand at her arm, her side—then let go the second she finds her footing.
Each time, she pulls away faster.
We keep walking like that.
Touch. Release.
Touch. Release.
The lodge lights finally come into view.
I open the door for her and follow her inside.
We stop in the hallway.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” I say. “Try to get some sleep.”
Her gaze drops to my side. The wound is open, dark against my skin. I feel it properly now.
“You need to clean that,” she says.
“It’ll heal,” I tell her. “Shifter wounds close fast.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Let me see it,” she says. “Please.”
I study her for a moment.
She needs this.
“Okay.”
She leads me to the bathroom and flicks on the light.
Under the bright light, she gasps. “Looks like it needs stitches.”
“No, it’s fine, seriously. I’ll show you tomorrow. You’ll see.” I force a smile, but she doesn’t return it.
“Sit down,” she tells me.
“Where?”
She points to the closed toilet lid. “There.”
I lower myself carefully, one hand on the sink. The movement pulls at my ribs again. I keep my face neutral.
She notices anyway.
“Stop pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
“I’m not pretending.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe that for a second, then turns to the sink.
The faucet runs.
I watch her while she wets a cloth, wrings it out with both hands. Her hair is loose around her face. There’s a strand stuck to her cheek.
I reach out before I think about it and brush it away.
She stills.
“Sit still,” she says again, stern.
I drop my hand.
She steps in between my knees. There’s no room not to.
Up close, I hear her breathing change.
The touch of her fingers on my skin is light, but it’s driving my beast crazy.
This is a mistake.
My beast claws up hard.
She leans closer to see what she’s doing, her hair brushing my chest.
I suck in a breath through my teeth.
She glances up. “Does that hurt?”
“It’s fine.”
It’s not.
My hands grip the edge of the seat hard enough to keep them there.
She moves closer, focused on the wound.
I can’t stay here.
I push to my feet.
“That’s enough.”
She blinks. “I haven’t finished.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s already closing.”
Something shifts in her expression.
Before I can change my mind, I step past her, yank the door open, and head into the hallway.
Away from her.
Before my control slips.
I don’t stop walking.