Page 4 of Goldie's Grumpy Grizzly
It’s just what I need—what my bear needs. Solitude.
With hurried motions, I strip down to my skin before running to the tree line and shifting. My body cracks and expands, my muscles bulking up and bones lengthening. When the shift is complete and that trademark grizzly hump forms between my shoulder blades, I stretch up to my full height and let out a roar of deep satisfaction.
I’m free. Alone, but free.
But as I sit up on my hind legs, feel their strength as I sniff the air, I realize there’s something else. Something new in the air.
What the hell is that scent? It’s like an alluring honeysuckle mixed with some intoxicating sweetness. It draws me forward, one paw in front of the other, my nose twitching as I try to identify the source through the rapidly falling rain.
The wet barely penetrates my thickened fur coat as I pad out to the edge of the road, splashing through puddles in the parking lot and pausing as the scent grows stronger. My bear wants to hunt down the source of the scent, but I turn toward the forest, toward home. Then I step out into the street, and a flash of light catches my attention.
Turning, I expect a crack of lightning to rip across the swirling sky. But I don’t see that.
What I see are the headlights of a slick city car and it’s careening right for me. Its driver jolts at the sight of me, spilling her drink all over her front as she pulls back in her seat and slams on the breaks while I urge my bear to move, fucking move!
She swerves, her tires kicking up a fine spray as my bear tries, and fails, to get out of the way.
Oh, fuck.
Chapter Three
Rae
“Jesus! Shit, shit, shit!”
The bear flies through the air, a whimper sounding over the rain pelting my rental car.
Without thinking, I throw open the door and jump out of the car to check on him.
But the massive beast growls, low and threatening, and I realize with a start that it’s a freakin’ bear I’m trying to run toward.
Bad idea.
I drop back into my seat, slam the door, and pluck uselessly at my soaked blouse. I should’ve been driving slower. Paying more attention. He’s probably mad as all hell and I’m going out there to offer myself up on a dinner platter.
With a wary gaze, I watch as he struggles to stand. He seems to be testing out his limbs, occasionally stopping to showcase a flash of massive, sharp teeth in my direction.
Thank God, he’s still alive.
I clutch at my necklace with a clammy, shaking hand and reach for my phone with the other. Brain racing, I dial 911 to report the accident and see if they’ll be able to send someone to look after the bear who’s swaying on his feet and staring at me curiously through the window.
But when our gazes connect, I feel a shiver roll through me.
Those reflective eyes bore into mine and an odd sensation ricochets inside me. I have the weirdest feeling that he’s assessing me.
He’s seeing me.
But that’s weird.
Click.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello. I’ve hit a bear with my car,” I say in a rush, pressing a hand to my throat and peering at the beast, watching as he snaps his great jaws and studies me through the window. The shock tripping through my veins slows as I gawk at him, awed. He’s majestic. “I’m okay, but I’m worried about the animal’s wellbeing. Are you able to send someone to my location? Maybe a vet?”
“Ma’am, is the bear still alive?”
“Yes.”
