Page 13 of Goldie's Grumpy Grizzly
I swing my head around, casting one last look at the outline of my cabin that I can just make out. My mate is in my house, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about that.
Just leave her alone.
No, my bear answers.
I sniff the air, still catching traces of sweetened coffee and honey and all those goddamn baked goods she stockpiled. When I get back, I’m going to lock them all up in airtight containers and stress the importance of keeping her food locked away.
After I eat another one or two.
Moving through the brush, I trudge over the trails I’ve walked and run over a thousand times before, each paw pressing hard into the dirt as I climb up the mountain, clawing at the rock.
I never wanted to find a mate. Didn’t see the need for one. Not when I know exactly how devastating it would be if I had her and lost her.
Nothing is forever.
And facing that loss, in whatever way it comes, just might end me. I already lost my dad in the worst way possible. He was killed by the mad sorceress Magen when she was trying to complete some harebrained dark ritual that called for the blood of one who’d tasted true love. After he died, I nearly lost my mom in the aftermath.
The evil witch’s words still haunt me.
Love is the strongest magic there is.
And it was the one thing she’d never had.
I can’t give that much of myself to someone else, opening myself up to go through the kind of heartbreak I watched my mom weather.
No. I won’t allow it.
But I fucked up. I kissed her and deepened the mating bond even further.
Already, I can sense her confusion and scattered thoughts from here. I know she’s in my house, pacing, thinking about how that kiss played out and how fucking good she felt in my arms.
The strength of the mating bond between us shimmers like an indestructible golden thread.
I can feel her.
My bear wants to turn back, explain everything. Comfort her.
But I pad off the trail and claw my way up a steep hill, noticing for the first time that my hip doesn’t ache as much as it has the last few days. That it feels oddly limber, nearly as good as new. Maybe those two days I’d spent holed up in one of my dens sleeping off the effects of the accident really helped supercharge my healing powers.
Once I’m on a lower incline less traveled by tourists, I decide to test it and break into a run. Power ripples in my muscles as I push myself to the limit. Mile after mile, I try to outrun the memory of her in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue.
There’s no forgetting the way she clung to me, all her perfect soft curves rubbing against my body. I can’t scrub away the memory of her response to me, how her fingers bit into my shoulders, or how the scent of her arousal spurned me on to lose control.
I wasn’t sure I possessed the strength it required to rip myself off her while my bear urged me to mark her as mine. It was next to impossible to pull away, but if I hadn’t…
Not an option, Osborne.
I remind myself that there is no reason for me to even have a mate. I barely find myself attracted to any woman, and the few times I’ve been interested enough to initiate something, it’s been nothing but an unmitigated disaster.
No connection, no vibes. Just an awkward meeting of mouths, clashing of heads, and wandering hands trying to find a rhythm that seemed foreign to us both.
But it’d be different with my mate.
It is different with my mate.
It doesn’t matter. Having a mate means having a weakness. It means risking my heart, my soul, my very being if that mate was ever taken away.
Besides, my girl is nothing like me. A big-time city dweller from a famous family with a huge career and a whole other life far away from here.
