Chapter 3
If he’d had the breath Gary would have screamed too, but the flash-flow of lava started in his head then rolled lightning-fast down the rest of his body.
His back arched, and strength pulsed through his arms, which levered him upright. He felt his body lift off the couch, and then the pain hit. Bursts through his mind and body. His mouth—agony. Arms throbbing. Legs on fire.
Hard to breathe. Hard to move.
Another scream. A high-pitched wail of terror.
He looked at Margaret. Her eyes bulged, and her skin was white. Her mouth opened in a scream he didn’t process. There was only agony.
New sounds filled his ears: An animal yowl harsh with pain and terror. A crash. Furniture? Fabric ripped. But he could only focus Margaret’s fear.
What nightmare weapon had hit him? What was attacking them?
He didn’t know, but he would stand between it and Margaret.
He twisted, intending to do just that. His agony was lessening, but his mind was still sluggish.
It was hard to focus on anything but the bursts of stabbing pain in his hips and legs.
Unpredictable. Unrelenting. He convulsed.
He gathered his strength, which was an impossible task, but he did it. And yet, he didn’t see any threat, just his loft and destroyed furniture at his feet. At his… Wait. What the hell was he seeing?
Massive paws. Fur. Claws, each the length of his phone. All right there, inches away.
He jumped backward—actually jumped—then half scrambled, half crawled until the couch got in the way. It toppled beneath him. Unfortunately, the paws moved too. Frantically flapping, they were a bizarre flurry of motion.
What the hell? The paws were faced outward. As if…
He looked down, feeling his head about to explode. The claws were definitely where his hands were supposed to be. And his arms were massive, with coarse fur of brown and tan.
Another animalistic sound cut through the air. It held panic and terror, and the smells… God, there were a thousand of them: The food they’d eaten. Chocolate. Margaret’s perfume. And the acrid scent of her fear.
He heard her soft whimper. She wasn’t behind him anymore. She was to the side, plastered against the wall, caught between his desk and the window. She was shaking and pale, her hands outstretched as if to ward him off.
He opened his mouth to reassure her, but when he spoke he didn’t hear words. He heard a kind of bark. Not like a dog. Deeper. Weirder. And the sound rose on the end, a yip of surprise.
What the hell? He couldn’t talk? His mouth felt weird, and he reached up to touch it but a paw came at his face with huge, sharp claws.
He jerked backwards, his body thick and clumsy, like he had double his weight in muscle.
Each movement had immense power, but nothing felt right. Nothing was right.
Then he saw the mirror to his right, a large one hung beside the loft door. In it, he saw fur and a body. A bear. But—
He swallowed and heard another plaintive whimper. Had he made that sound? He couldn’t have. It was the anguish of a terrified animal. He took a step forward, closer to the mirror.
No!
He felt the physical urge to close his eyes.
He didn’t want to see, but he needed to know.
So he stepped right up to the mirror and stared at the bear who looked right back.
Full grown, brown and tan, with a grizzly bear hump.
Dark, wide-set eyes and a long muzzle. Full ruff, and two rounded ears. Fur that made the face look huge.
He opened his mouth to speak then froze. Sharp, white teeth. A long dark tongue. A gullet the size of a Volvo.
Gary jerked back, and the reflection did, too. The mouth shut with an audible snap.
“Oh God.” Margaret’s voice cracked with strain.
He turned, his mind fighting itself. He knew the truth, but he couldn’t process it. So he turned to Margaret instead. Help me, he thought. At the very same second, he tried to say, Stay back. Stay safe. All that came out was a sharp bark.
Margaret cried out. She was still plastered in terror against the wall, looking like she wanted to climb right up to the rafters. Anything to get away.
He didn’t want her afraid, but he didn’t know how to help. Not when—his gaze turned back to the mirror—he was a bear. He’d turned into a freaking bear.
He dropped down on his haunches, a heavy animal giving up the last of its strength.
The plop thudded through both his body and the loft.
His gaze caught on his wheelchair, tucked in its spot beside the couch, the only thing in the room that was still in place.
It sat there waiting for a crippled man.
But he wasn’t that. He wasn’t even a man anymore. He was a bear.
His mind reeled. How many times had he wished for a new body?
Thousands. But never in a million years had he thought of this.
A grizzly bear? What did grizzly bears even eat?
And where would he shit? In the woods, like the joke?
After three years of fighting to understand the requirements of his broken human body, suddenly he was faced with a whole new set of questions. Crazy ones.
One question rose above the others: What happened? It echoed over and over in his brain. He didn’t have an answer, though, only emotions. Terror, horror, and vague revulsion.
He didn’t focus on them. Instead, he thought of Margaret who was still cringing against the wall. For the last two years she’d been the bright spot in his very bleak world, and so he went to her as any animal goes to its most comforting place.
She squeaked in alarm as he lumbered to his feet and crossed to her, and he could smell her terror. She held out a hand, not to him, but palm extended to ward him off.
Part of his mind fought what he was doing.
What if whatever was happening to him was contagious?
What if Margaret turned into a bear, too?
How would she work? How would they live?
How would they get out of this loft when neither of them had fingers to press the remote that opened the lock?
Part of him wanted to laugh at the insanity of every ridiculous question.
He finally made it to her side and rubbed his face against her outstretched palm. She cried out and pulled back, but he pursued. He pressed his face against her wrist where it was clutched tight to her chest, and he inhaled her scent, bitter with fear but floral and sweet. He inhaled it greedily.
She whimpered. Instinctually, he lifted his head and licked her chin—a long wet swipe from chin to ear that didn’t have the intended effect.
Instead, Margaret sank down the wall, her legs giving out, sliding into a crouch.
Gary touched his nose to her hand again, nudging it gently, trying to reassure her.
Heat. He felt her fingers on his…muzzle?
Snout? Whatever it was called, her touch soothed him.
Her breath puffed out in short panicked gasps until he maneuvered his face under her palm.
When she didn’t fight, he rubbed his head upward, and her fingers brushed across his nose, over his eyes, and eventually sank into the thicker ruff behind his ears.
Her breathing eased—at least, the tempo slowed. And then she sank her fingers into the fur behind his right ear and scratched.
Oh yes!
The pleasure was stunning. No wonder dogs loved this. Every part of Gary twitched with happiness, and his eyes drifted closed to appreciate the feel.
That’s right, Margaret. Scratch me.
As he leaned his bulk into her body, her feet went out from under her.
There was an upside: As she slid sideways, she stretched out an arm to catch herself, and the only thing to grip was him.
Which brought them closer. And it was the least he could do.
He could give her all his bulk to keep her from falling down.
He hardly noticed her weight. She landed softly on her bottom, her legs extended, but her arm remained wrapped around him for support. He would have returned that hug if he could. Instead, he closed his eyes and wished he was doing this as a man. A normal-bodied man holding the woman he loved.
They sat like that for a long moment.
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” She sounded like she was reassuring herself as much as him, and he loved her all the more for her courage. His gratitude was a gentle, burning entity; alive and all-consuming. He wanted to kiss her as a man kisses a woman. Sweet yet powerful. Unstoppable.
Heat burned through him. It was like before, lava starting in his head and rolling through his body, all the way to his feet. His back arched, his legs flexed, and his toes spread, all feelings he’d not known for years. And then, suddenly, he was a man—a man pressing his mouth to Margaret’s.
Well, sort of. He connected for a moment, enjoying a brief brush of their lips before he collapsed downward.
His embrace had held firm, but his legs buckled and then he was teetering awkwardly on his hands and knees staring upward, blinking first at her and then back at his naked arms and real hands. Not paws. Not covered in fur.
WTF?
His legs wobbled and he fell sideways. Margaret struggled to catch him, and that arm about his shoulders was the only thing that kept him from completely face-planting.
He was a man again. His body quivered from exhaustion, and his mind scrambled to keep up. Had he really been a bear? Had that really happened? He saw the same startled question in her eyes.
The floor was cool on his bottom, and he welcomed the sensation. He also appreciated the stability so that he could lift an arm to Margaret’s face. Above all, he didn’t want her to be afraid. Whatever was going on, whatever he became, he would never hurt her.
“Gary?” she breathed.
“Margaret,” he replied, his voice rough and weak.
“What do I do? Do you need…a doctor?”
A doctor? Exhaustion pulled at him. Like every cell was depleted, every muscle was dead weight.
Even the effort to breathe was too much.
But Gary frowned as a memory clicked, a joke his father had made to him on his seventeenth birthday about possibly one day changing into a bear.
At the time Gary’d laughed it off. Of course, he had!
But now the words came back crystal-clear.
“It might happen. Don’t call a doctor. Definitely not! Call me.”
“No. No doctor,” he managed to tell Margaret. His arm gave out, dropping him heavily onto her lap.
“Gary—?”
“Stay with me,” he murmured as his eyes closed.
“Gary!” His name was a squeak of confusion and fear.
Gary fought the fog of sleep. “Don’t. Leave me. Alone.”
“I…”
“Please.”
Then he lost the fight against the darkness.