Chapter Eighteen – Sorcha
What did he want to show her? Was she making a mistake in putting her trust in him?
No. She knew with absolute certainty that Christopher was the best of men and would never intentionally hurt her. But unintentionally…wasn’t that exactly what her father had done to her mother?
But Sorcha was not her mother. And Christopher was not her father.
“Show me,” she urged.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand to her, and she took it.
Christopher led her outside into the cold night air. The stars glittered overhead like diamonds scattered across black velvet as he guided her toward the forest edge behind the cabins. Sorcha’s heart hammered against her ribs, curiosity and anticipation making her breath catch in her throat.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Just a little farther,” Christopher replied. “I need privacy for this.”
The words should have alarmed her, but instead they sent a thrill of excitement through her. Whatever secret he was about to share, she sensed it was monumental.
They reached a small clearing bathed in moonlight. Christopher stopped and turned to face her, his expression so vulnerable it made her heart ache.
“What I’m about to show you might frighten you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But please know I would never hurt you, Sorcha. Not ever.”
“I trust you,” she said, and realized with startling clarity that she meant it completely.
Christopher nodded, then stepped back. “Don’t run,” he whispered. “Please don’t run.”
Before she could respond, the air around him popped and crackled as if filled with static electricity. Then he seemed to shiver as if surrounded by a heat haze. Then he was gone!
Sorcha’s hand flew to her mouth. Where was he? What kind of elaborate trick was this?
Had he been playing her all along, leading to this moment, hoping to gain exposure for Bear Creek Cabins from her article?
No, he wouldn’t do that to her. Would he?
But then a shadow loomed large, its outline becoming less opaque until where Christopher had stood moments before, there stood an enormous brown bear.
Her legs went weak, and she sank to her knees in the snow, too shocked to feel the cold seeping through her jeans. The bear—Christopher—watched her with the same intelligent eyes she’d come to know, though now they gazed at her from a face that was decidedly not human.
“Christopher?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The bear huffed softly and took a careful step toward her, then another, moving slowly as if afraid of startling her. Sorcha remained frozen, her mind racing to process what she’d just witnessed.
When the bear reached her, it…he…lowered his massive head and gently nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. The gesture was so tender, so unmistakably Christopher, that tears sprang to Sorcha’s eyes.
“It’s really you in there, isn’t it?” she asked, raising a shaking hand.
The bear rumbled low in his throat and pressed his head against her palm. His fur was thick and surprisingly soft beneath her fingers. Sorcha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and began to stroke his head, running her fingers through the dense brown coat.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, awe replacing fear as she explored this new form of the man she’d come to care for so deeply.
Christopher the bear sat back on his haunches, allowing her to move closer.
Sorcha ran her hands over his massive shoulders, marveling at the power she could feel beneath his fur.
She scratched behind his ears, and to her surprise, the enormous creature made a sound that could only be described as a purr of contentment.
“This is why you feel so at home here,” she said softly. “This is why you run so hot. This is what you meant when you said Bear Creek called to something deep inside you.”
The bear nodded his massive head, his eyes never leaving hers. Sorcha continued to stroke his fur, finding comfort in the rhythmic motion as her mind struggled to reconcile what she now knew about Christopher.
“Can you change back?” she asked after several minutes had passed. “I have so many questions.”
The bear huffed again and moved away from her, and Sorcha watched, fascinated, as the air popped and fizzed once more and the bear vanished. A moment later, Christopher stood in its place, human once more.
“You’re not running away,” he said, his voice filled with relief. “I was so afraid you would.”
“I’m still processing,” Sorcha admitted, rising to her feet. “But no, I’m not running. I want to understand.”
Christopher moved toward her, his eyes searching her face. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she said simply. “What are you? How is this possible?”
Christopher took her hands in his, his touch grounding her as her mind still reeled from what she’d witnessed.
“I’m a shifter,” he explained. “I inherited the gene from my father.”
“Are there others like you here in Bear Creek?” Sorcha asked, trying to imagine an entire community of people who could transform into bears.
Christopher nodded. “Yes, and in the surrounding towns. But not just bears. There are wolves and cougars. Even lions.”
“Lions?” Sorcha’s eyes widened. “That’s…” She had no words.
“Yes,” Christopher said with a small smile. “Different family lines shift into different animals.”
Sorcha shook her head, amazed. “And all this time, I had no idea. I’ve been writing travel articles about places all over the world, and I never knew something this extraordinary existed right here.”
“There’s more,” Christopher said, his expression growing serious again. “Something about us—about you and me specifically.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”
“Shifters have mates,” he said softly. “One person they’re destined for. We recognize them instantly. There’s a connection that can’t be explained, a pull that’s impossible to ignore.” He squeezed her hands gently. “I felt it the moment I sensed you, Sorcha. You’re my mate.”
The word echoed through her like a bell being struck. Mate. It explained so much. The instant attraction she’d felt when they first met in the office. The sense of recognition, the feeling of rightness when they were together. And yet…
“That’s why you asked me to stay,” she whispered, pieces falling into place.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I wanted it to be your choice. I still do. Being my mate doesn’t obligate you to anything, Sorcha. You have free will. I would never trap you here if it’s not what you want.”
Trap. The word triggered something deep inside her. Memories of her mother’s resentment, of hushed arguments overheard as a child, of dreams deferred and bitterness that had poisoned their family from within.
“But you belong here,” she said, pulling her hands from his. “You’ve found your home. You can’t leave.”
“I would,” Christopher said, his voice fierce with conviction. “For you, I would go anywhere.”
Sorcha turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as panic began to rise in her chest. “You say that now, but what about in five years? Ten? Would you resent me for taking you away from this place that calls to your very nature?”
“Sorcha…”
“Or what if I stayed?” she continued, unable to stop the flood of fears now that they’d been unleashed. “What if I gave up my career, my dreams, everything I’ve worked for, only to wake up one day trapped in a small-town life I never wanted? What if I turned into my mother?”
Christopher reached for her, but Sorcha stepped back, needing space to think.
“My mother gave up her dreams to make a life with my father,” she explained, her voice tight with emotion. “She resented him for it even after he died. I swore I would never make that mistake.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Christopher whispered. “We could find a balance…”
“How?” Sorcha demanded. “You need the forest, the mountains. You need to run as a bear under the stars. And I need…” She trailed off, suddenly uncertain what exactly she did need.
Christopher’s eyes were filled with a pain that made her heart ache. “You need freedom,” he finished for her. “I understand that. It’s part of what I love about you. Your spirit, your independence.”
Love. He’d said it so casually, yet the word hit her like a physical blow. He loved her. And God help her, she loved him too. The realization was terrifying in its intensity.
“I need time,” she said, backing away further. “I need to think.”
Before he could respond, Sorcha turned and ran, tears blurring her vision as she stumbled back toward her cabin. Behind her, she heard a mournful sound—not quite human, not quite animal—that tore at her heart.
Once inside her cabin, she leaned against the door, sliding down until she sat on the floor, her face in her hands.
The enormity of what she’d learned pressed down on her like a physical weight.
Christopher was a shifter. She was his mate.
They were bound by something ancient and powerful that transcended ordinary human connection.
And she was terrified.
Not of him—never of him. But of making the wrong choice. Of regret. Of resentment. Of history repeating itself in the most painful way possible.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. With trembling fingers, Sorcha pulled it out and saw her mother’s name on the screen. The timing was so uncanny it almost felt like fate.
“Mom?” she answered, her voice cracking.
“Sorcha? Are you all right? You sound upset,” her mother’s concerned voice came through the line.
“I’m…” Sorcha hesitated, then let out a shuddering breath. “No, I’m not all right. I’m confused and scared, and I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s happened?” her mother asked gently.
“I’ve met someone,” Sorcha said, the words tumbling out. “He’s incredible, Mom. Kind and strong and…” She swallowed hard. “He wants me to stay here. In Bear Creek.”
There was a long pause before her mother spoke. “And you’re afraid of ending up like me.”
The blunt assessment took Sorcha by surprise. “I…yes,” she admitted. “I know how miserable you were. How trapped you felt.”
Her mother sighed, the sound heavy with regret. “Oh, Sorcha. I’m so sorry…”
“What do you mean?”
“I blamed your father and the town for my unhappiness,” her mother whispered. “It was easier than admitting the truth…that I trapped myself. I chose to be bitter. I chose to focus on what I’d given up instead of what I’d gained.”
Sorcha sat up straighter, stunned by this confession. “But you always said…”
“I know what I said,” her mother interrupted gently. “And I was wrong. Your father would have moved if I’d asked. He offered many times. But I was scared. Scared that if we left, that would be an even bigger mistake. So, I stayed and made us all miserable with my resentment.”
Tears slid down Sorcha’s cheeks as she absorbed these words. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did,” her mother replied. “Not the mistake of settling down—the mistake of blaming others for choices I made myself. The mistake of not being honest about what I truly wanted.”
“But how do I know what I truly want?” Sorcha asked, feeling like a child again, seeking guidance.
“That’s something only you can answer,” her mother said. “But Sorcha, ask yourself this: when you picture your perfect life five years from now, who’s in it? What does it look like?”
Sorcha closed her eyes, and the answer was suddenly clear. It looked like Christopher Stiller.