Chapter 13
Alexandria
“Dinner’s ready,” Gunnar calls from the far side of my bedroom door.
The sound of his voice reverberates through me, sending little tingles all over my body.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, absorbed in a copy of Wuthering Heights, the pages yellowed, the spine cracked from decades of use.
“Coming!” I yell back, raising my voice so it passes through the thick oak door.
I’ve spent the past couple of hours hiding out in here. There’s a heater in the corner, I’m wrapped in my comforter, and the room finally feels warm.
Page 132, I note before I close the book. I’m at the part where Catherine tries to explain why she’s going to marry Edgar—even though it’s obvious Heathcliff is the one she belongs with.
The book—and several others—were stacked neatly outside my door when I came indoors earlier, along with an electric heater. Of the two potential candidates, my money’s on the one who didn’t butcher a deer in the kitchen today.
I swing my legs off the bed and go check my reflection in the dusty mirror above the vanity.
For someone who was nearly murdered a day and a half ago, I look… kinda healthy.
My eyes are bright. My cheeks have a warm glow.
Maybe that’s the fresh mountain air…
Or maybe it’s something else.
Like the fact that earlier today I watched a six-foot-something grizzly shifter fix a generator half naked.
I shake my head.
So what if he’s good-looking, and protective, and thoughtful.
And the way he says my name in that growly voice of his lights me up inside.
We’re not even the same species.
I clear my throat.
And there’s no reason I should feel nervous at the thought of seeing him again.
I smooth my hair down, zip up my sweatshirt, and pull the heavy door open.
As I start toward the kitchen, the image of the deer rises up again. It was so surreal, so unexpected that I didn’t fully absorb it in the moment. But darn, there was a lot of blood—
“Not that way!” comes Gunnar’s voice from somewhere.
“Then which way?” I ask, looking around and laughing.
His head appears around a doorway at the far end of the hall.
“This way.” He beckons.
As I approach, he swings the door open wide, and I take a breath.
It’s a formal dining room.
An antique wooden table runs through the center of the space, big enough for a dozen people. A fire crackles in the fireplace. A thick tapestry rug covers the floor, and several oil lamps cast a soft golden light around the room.
“Wow,” I say. “This is… a really nice room.”
“I know, right?” Gunnar says, sounding pleased.
“You didn’t know it was here?”
“We never needed it,” he says with a shrug. “Everything was covered in sheets. Amazing what a quick cleanup and a fire can do.”
I turn slowly, taking it all in.
“This must have been beautiful back in the day.”
His brow furrows. “I’ll fix it up properly. This is just a start.”
I blink at him. Last night I got the distinct impression the bears didn’t care where they lived as long as there was a roof over their heads.
Now Gunnar is talking about restoring antique dining rooms.
There are two places set—one at the head, one beside it.
Gunnar pulls out the chair at the head of the table. “Madame.”
I giggle as I sit down and he pushes my chair in gently. “I’m not used to being called that.”
“I thought you deserved a little sophistication,” he says. “After what happened earlier.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
He shakes his head.
“No. It wasn’t.”
His gaze is steady on mine.
“We bears don’t behave like that. I hope you know that, Alexandria.”
I nod. “I figured Orson was just making a point.”
“I promise you,” Gunnar says quietly, “it won’t happen again.”
“I can handle him.”
Something flickers across his face. “I can see that. But you shouldn’t have to.”
“Right.” He springs to his feet. “Let me go get dinner.”
“I can help—”
“No.”
He gives me one of his firm looks.
“You’re not lifting a finger tonight, Alexandria.”
Before I can argue, he disappears through the door.
I lean back in my chair and glance around the room again.
Alexandria.
Alexandria.
I could listen to him growl my name all night long.
There are odd little ornaments on the mantel—wood carvings, small brass figures, things that look like they’ve been collected over decades. Oil paintings hang on the walls—stags with towering antlers, dark forests, snowy mountains.
As I take them in, it hits me.
I’ve been so freaked out with everything—with the state this place was in—that I hadn’t really stopped to think—they were as unprepared for my arrival as I was.
Their lives have been upended, too.
A moment later Gunnar returns carrying two steaming plates.
He puts one in front of me.
A rich stew, thick with carrots and onions, sits beside a mound of mashed potatoes.
“Venison?” I ask cautiously.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I thought you might be a little over venison today.”
He slides the plate toward me.
“It’s rabbit.”
I inhale.
It smells incredible.
“This looks amazing.”
“Surprised I can cook like this?”
“A little, I guess.”
There are two bottles of beer on the tray as well.
“Sorry,” he says. “Couldn’t find any wine.”
“Beer is perfect.”
I grin.
“Especially if you open it with your teeth again.”
He laughs.
“No teeth tonight.”
He pulls a bottle opener from his pocket, pops the caps, and pours into wine glasses.
Then he sits beside me.
I lift my glass.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
“Orson isn’t joining us?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Oh?”
“He’ll eat later.”
“Where?”
“Probably in the forest.”
I shudder. “You say that like someone stopping at a drive-through.”
Gunnar considers it. “Yeah. I guess it is. Only the food’s still running around.”
He pauses. “And the squirrels don’t do supersize shakes.”
I laugh.
“Go on,” he says. “Eat.”
I do. And it tastes even better than it smells.
“My mom always said kitchen skills would come in handy someday,” he says.
“Looks like she was right.”
“Never really believed her until now.”
His eyes linger on mine.
I take another bite, but I’m not tasting it anymore.
I glance around the room to distract myself, taking in the soft glow of the lamps and the firelight flickering across the walls.
“Thank you,” I say. “For the electricity.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to thank me.” His gaze holds mine. “Your life just got turned upside down. And you’re probably used to a little more… comfort.”
I sigh. “City girl through and through.”
“Exactly,” he says, but the look he gives me is teasing. “So, I want to make things easier for you if I can. I know you’re probably scared and freaked out and wondering if you’re ever gonna get your old life back.”
I blink rapidly.
“For a giant grizzly bear, you’re awfully perceptive.”
He flashes a grin. “Not always a bear.”
I take a long drink of my beer before my emotions well up. “I appreciate that,” I say softly.
His expression changes, just a little.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then I look down at my glass. “Have you heard from Torin?”
Gunnar shakes his head. “It’s safer if we don’t contact each other.” He reaches for his drink. “He’ll be fine. Torin acts like everything’s a joke, but when it matters, he steps up. He could’ve been Alpha, if he wanted it.”
“Why didn’t he?”
He shrugs. “He’s not aggressive enough. Sometimes, if you want to keep control of your territory…” His voice lowers. “You have to be.”
My breath catches.
I’m two thirds of the way through my beer, and the thought of him like that—more Alpha, more dangerous—does something to me.
And then I realize: they’re powerful shifters. They don’t belong in this broken-down old place.
Gunnar shifts his plate aside and leans a little closer. Firelight catches in his eyes.
“Our clan was negotiating a territory dispute,” he says. “They offered a political solution.”
“What kind?”
“They presented me with a mate.”
My stomach tightens.
“A mate?”
He nods. “It was supposed to bind the clans together. But I refused.”
He exhales slowly.
“Things escalated. One of their Betas attacked. Orson went feral and killed him.”
His hands curl into fists.
“Now we owe a blood debt.”
A shiver runs down my back. “And how would you pay it?” I manage to ask.
“They’ll forgive it if I accept the mating alliance. Or if I hand over Torin or Orson. Or we go to war.”
He meets my eyes.
“So we left.”
“Wow.” I sit back, taking that in.
“You’re going to stay up here forever?” I ask after a pause.
He shrugs. “Until something changes. And it will,” he adds calmly. “Things always do.”
I nod slowly. “That’s how I’ve always felt too.”
He leans in closer and his fingers brush against mine. “How so?”
The contact is light, but electric.
“Oh,” I say quickly, suddenly flustered. “Just that… nothing in my life has ever felt very permanent.” I brush a hand across my forehead.
Gunnar studies me. “Bears don’t like change,” he says. “We’re simple creatures. We like putting down roots. Building big clans.”
He glances around the room.
“This conflict… it’s thrown all of us off balance.”
I sit very still.
His fingers are still resting against mine.
He hasn’t pulled them away.
“Why did you reject the political mate?” I ask.
His gaze lifts to mine again.
“Because she wasn’t the one. We bears have fated mates.”
Something in his voice makes my heart skip.
“Some of our kind deny it,” he says quietly. “But it’s there. In all of us.”
“What does that mean?”
His eyes stay on mine.
“It means there’s one person meant for each of us.”
He pauses, like he’s choosing his words.
“You might never find her.”
Another beat.
“But if you do…”
His thumb shifts against my hand.
“…you know.”
He holds my gaze.
“There’s no one else after that.”
The words hang in the air between us.
The fire crackles softly in the hearth.
“It just hits you?” I ask. “Like some kind of cosmic lightning strike?”
He studies me for a moment.
“Something like that.”
“You believe that?” I ask quietly.
“I do.” His eyes stay locked on mine.
He smiles suddenly.
“Sounds insane, doesn’t it?”
I shrug and take a sip of my beer. “Honestly? It sounds a lot better than endlessly swiping on dating apps.”
He frowns. “That’s how humans do it?”
“Sometimes.” I smile. “Other times we get drunk and meet each other in bars.”
His frown deepens. “That’s how you meet men?”
I laugh. “No. I’ve always been too busy studying and working.”
Something shifts in his expression. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”
“Not really.” I shrug. “I’m not exactly the kind of girl guys like to date.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too serious,” I say. “I don’t giggle about trivial things. And I’m not very good at pretending to be helpless.”
His brow furrows. “Why would you pretend to be helpless?”
“A lot of guys like that,” I say dryly. “Some women make themselves smaller so men can feel bigger.”
Gunnar stares at me. “Why doesn’t the man just be bigger?”
I laugh. “That’s an excellent question.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“You’re strong,” he says finally. “As strong as a she-bear.”
I burst out laughing. “Well, I seriously doubt that.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’ve got balls.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But my friends and I prefer to say we’ve got ovaries.”
He goes still for a beat.
Then he laughs.
A deep, genuine sound that fills the room.
“Right.”
He tilts his head, studying me again.
There’s that crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
Gunnar glances toward the window.
“Come on,” he says.
“Where?”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
He nods toward the dark outside.
“You should see the sky tonight.”
I look at him across the table.
There’s a lifting, tingly feeling inside me.
Then I push my chair back.