Chapter 16 Tolin #2
My bear huffs indignantly.
She laughs, actually laughs, and my bear wants to make her do it again and again just so we can hear that sound.
“Can you understand me?” she asks. “Like, is Tolin in there?”
My bear nods his massive head.
“That’s so weird.” She’s grinning now, her fear completely gone. “So you can hear everything I say but you can’t talk back?”
Another nod.
“That must be frustrating.” She strokes along his jaw, her fingers gentle over the scar. “But I kind of like having you at a disadvantage for once. You can’t interrupt me or say something grumpy.”
My bear snorts, and it comes out like a gust of warm air against her face. She giggles.
“Your eyes are gorgeous,” she tells him, staring into them without fear. “So bright. I can see why people talk about shifter eyes. They’re not human at all, are they? But they’re still you. I can see you in there.”
My bear is gone for this woman. Completely and utterly gone. The man in me feels the same.
My bear nudges her with his head, pushing gently against her stomach.
“What?” She laughs as he nudges her again. “What do you want?”
He lowers himself to the ground, settling into the snow, and looks back at her meaningfully.
Her eyes go wide. “You want me to... ride you?”
My bear huffs in confirmation.
“Like, actually get on your back and ride you through the forest?”
Another huff.
“That’s insane.” But she’s grinning, her whole face open with excitement. “That’s absolutely insane and I’m definitely doing it.”
She approaches his side, studying the logistics. He’s huge. His back is level with her collarbone even lying down. But he’s made himself as low as possible, and after a moment she finds her footing.
Her leg swings over his back. Her thighs grip his sides. Her fingers tangle in the thick fur at his neck.
“Oh my God.” She’s breathless, half-laughing. “This is actually happening. I’m sitting on a bear.”
My bear rises slowly, carefully, making sure she’s secure. She squeaks and grips him harder, her body pressing against his back.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’m good. I’m totally good. This is fine. Everything is fine.”
My bear turns his head to look at her, making sure she’s ready.
She meets his golden eyes and grins. “Let’s go, big guy.”
My bear takes off.
Not too fast at first. He doesn’t want to throw her. But once he feels her settle into the rhythm, her body moving with his, he picks up speed.
The forest opens up around us as my bear runs, his massive paws eating up the ground with easy, loping strides. Powder sprays behind him with each step. The trees loom on either side, their branches heavy with fresh snow—nothing but the soft thump of his paws and her breathing.
She laughs.
The sound rings through the quiet forest, bouncing off the trees. My bear pushes faster, weaving between the thick trunks of old pines, ducking under low branches, leaping over a fallen log just to feel her clutch him and hear her squeal.
“Show off!” she yells, but she’s laughing when she says it.
He is showing off. He can’t help it. Our mate is on our back, her thighs warm against his sides, her fingers buried in his fur, and he wants to impress her. Wants to show her what we can do.
The forest floor dips and my bear follows it, racing down into a shallow gully where a frozen stream cuts through the snow. Ice glitters under the sun, and he slows so she can see it, the way the light catches and fractures into tiny rainbows along the surface.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, her cheek pressed against his fur. “Tolin, it’s so beautiful.”
My bear rumbles in agreement and keeps moving.
He takes her deeper into the territory, through groves of birch trees with white bark peeling like paper, past boulders that jut up from the snow like sleeping giants. A hawk circles overhead and she tips her head back to watch it, her grip loosening as she relaxes into the ride.
She trusts us. She’s not afraid anymore.
My bear runs along a ridge where the trees thin out and the whole valley spreads below us. Smoke rises from chimneys in the distance, the clan’s territory nestled in the valley. The mountains stretch out on all sides, white peaks sharp against the blue sky. She gasps when she sees it.
“I can see everything from up here,” she whispers. “The whole world.”
My bear slows to a walk, letting her take it in. She strokes his fur absently, her fingers working through the thick coat, and he practically melts under her touch.
“Thank you for showing me this.” Her voice is quiet, reverent. “Thank you for trusting me with this part of you.”
If I could speak, I’d tell her she can have every part of me. That I’d carve out my own heart and hand it to her if she asked.
My bear just rumbles softly, pressing back against her touch.
We stay there for a while, looking out over the white landscape. The sun climbs higher, warming our backs. A light wind stirs the snow off the branches, sending it drifting down like glitter. She’s quiet, but it’s a good quiet. A peaceful quiet.
Eventually my bear turns and carries her back toward the cabin.
He takes a different route this time, through a meadow where the snow lies smooth and unbroken. He runs in wide circles just to hear her laugh, kicks up powder with his paws, stops to sniff at a rabbit’s tracks and then pretends to sneeze when she teases him about it.
She’s happy. I can feel it in the way she holds on, relaxed and easy. I can hear it in her voice when she talks to him, calling him “big guy” and “softie” and “you ridiculous animal.”
No one has ever talked to my bear like this. Like he’s something to be adored instead of feared.
By the time the cabin comes into view, my bear is reluctant to stop. He wants to keep running, keep showing off, keep feeling her weight on his back and her fingers in his fur.
But I need to be human again. Need to hold her with hands instead of paws, speak to her with words instead of rumbles.
My bear slows and stops near the porch. She slides off his back, her legs a little unsteady, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the wind.
“That was incredible,” she breathes. “Tolin, that was... I don’t even have words.”
My bear presses close, breathing in her scent one last time. She wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him. Actually hugs him, her face buried in his fur, her body pressed against him.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Thank you, big guy.”
My bear makes a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a whine.
Then I pull him back and let the shift take me.
The change rolls through me again, my body reshaping, fur receding, bones reforming. I drop to my knees in the snow, naked and breathing hard. The shift always leaves me tired, wrung out, but it’s worth it. It was worth it.
She doesn’t panic. She grabs a blanket from the porch, one I keep there for exactly this reason, and rushes to my side.
“I’ve got you.” Her voice is steady as she wraps the blanket around my shoulders. “I’ve got you, Tolin. Just breathe.”
I lean into her, letting her take some of my weight. She’s so small compared to me, but she doesn’t buckle. Just holds me steady while I catch my breath.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for showing me.”
I look up at her, bare in every way that matters, her warmth drawing me in.
She’s looking at me like I’m something worth keeping. Like she sees the man and the bear and wants both of them.
“Come inside,” she says, tugging gently at the blanket. “Let me take care of you.”
I let her lead me into the cabin.
She sits me down by the hearth, brings me water, gathers my discarded clothes. She moves through my space like she belongs here, and my bear settles with a satisfied rumble.
We showed her. She didn’t run.
She accepted us. All of us.
Now we just have to make her stay.