Page 9 of Seducing Sasquatch

“Good boy.”

It’s too late for me to stop as the praise slips from between my lips and I suck in a breath. I can’t remember the last time I’ve said that. Maybe back in college or with a one-night stand? But the words feel comfortable on my tongue, and as I look down at the young man before me, I don’t regret it at all.

Blake’s cheeks glow a pink hue, and a nervous smile spreads across his face. It’s a cute smile. One that I wouldn’t mind getting used to.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking? What am I doing!?

I drop Blake’s hands and hurriedly clear our empty plates from the table, taking them back to the kitchen. I need to do something to distract myself from the way my hands still tingle or the way my eyes beg to turn back to where Blake watches me from the other side of the room.

I can feel his gaze on me; I can tell he’s confused, but I can’t go there. Not when the storm will blow over and he’ll go back down the mountain. When he’ll leave and my life will be left painfully empty. He’s so young, too young. He has his whole life ahead of him, and I can’t take that from him.

The water pouring from the tap finally runs warm, and I rinse off the dishes, but I can’t focus. Not when my skin itches where my fur begins to grow or how my bones ache. I need air.

“I’m getting more firewood.” I growl as I practically sprint for the front door. Ripping it open, I race down the porch stairs and turn toward the forest. My skin bristles as my shift takes over every cell, changing me from human to monster. I only just make it behind the tree line before my shirt is tearing at the seams and my jeans are straining at my joints.

The cold of the storm whips past me as another gust throws itself at the mountain, yet amongst the howls of the wind, I scent Blake. Sure enough, the young man stands at the edge of the patio, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he squints in my direction. He sighs and mutters to himself.

“One week, Blake.”

His voice is like honey to my ears. It’s gentle and filled with warmth, but the way his shoulders drop and his face morphs with misery has a strangled cry slipping from between my lips.

Blake’s head whips up in my direction. Yet with the blankets of snow hailing from the sky, and my dark fur coat matching the forest behind me, I’m well-hidden. But I wish for nothing more than to step forward, to come back to the cabin and pick up my sweet thing. To cuddle him in my arms and protect him from whatever’s bothering him so much.

I watch with my breath held tightly in my chest as Blake turns back to the cabin and slinks inside, shutting the door behind him and sealing me out. His shadow moves across the window, and I follow him, my footsteps crunching beneath me. Blake finds his phone on the coffee table and simply stares at it. There’s no signal up here with the raging storm, but the boy holds it before him. The screen is dark, and his fingers are frozen, so what on earth is he doing?

Another gust of wind barrels into me, and more snow and ice rain across the forest. It would be nice to be back inside, where the fire is roaring, and there’s coffee brewing. I can’t go back. Not while I watch the young man who carries far too much weight on his shoulders slump into my couch, with his knees pulled to his chest and his head dipped.

If I leave the forest, if I go back to him, there’s no telling what I’d do just to make him feel better. My mind immediately plays all the scenarios, from my arms wrapped around his chest, holding him close, to his plump lips bitten between his teeth, and to those dainty fingers running through my fur.

An inferno runs through me, and I shiver against the onslaught of lust that I have no power to fight against. Watching with an unblinking gaze, Blake curls into a ball, pulling a blanket over his body and drops his head to the cushion. For the next hour, I watch silently. Snow piles on my shoulders, ice clings to my fur, but I stand my ground. I can’t look away, even when the wind makes my eyes water and the tips of my ears sting.

I’ve only ever wanted a mate. To find my other half that makes my inner beast howl with happiness. Someone I can share my mountain with and show them the forest and the hidden gems only I know of. Yet the little ball curled under a blanket in my living room doesn’t deserve me as a mate. Little does he know that mate bonds even exist.

He might have a history that weighs heavily behind him, but I can see how bright he is under the layers of self-doubt. I’m nearly forty; I own a climbing equipment shop in a rural town, and I spend my winters holed up in my log cabin. That’s no life for someone so young, who’s only just beginning to grasp life with both hands.

Yet as I watch my cabin with a shiver skirting down my spine, ‌a flicker of hope explodes in my chest.

Maybe that’s what this boy needs. Maybe he needs a calmer environment where I can guide him and build his confidence. Where he can take the day as fast or as slow as he needs.

A smile creeps across my face as I step out from the tree line, keeping my gaze locked on Blake as he rests peacefully.

I have one week before this storm rolls over. One week to show Blake just how much he means to me. And maybe then, he might see for himself, just how wonderful he is.

CHAPTER 6

BLAKE

For the first time in months, ‌my body no longer feels heavy and thick. My shoulders don’t ache from constant tension, and my lungs expand without the tightness in my chest. It’s a wonderful feeling to breathe out a relieved sigh while sinking deeper into plush blankets and cushions.

Cracking an eye open, I find the golden glow of fairy lights lining the window opposite me. Along with a few lamps that illuminate the dim cabin, the sun has set, and darkness fills the world beyond my cozy, warm cocoon.

A smile spreads across my lips as my gaze turns back to the gently twinkling golden orbs lined with a thin wire. Arden is a fairy light man? Who knew?

Yet my thoughts of the mountain man draw me upright, my head swiveling around the cabin. He had run off in haste, his voice a mutter under his breath as he passed me before sprinting into the snow. Was he mad? Had I said something wrong?

The pit in my stomach sinks lower, and my smile falters. Of course, I said something wrong. I cried like a child in front of him. He doesn’t know me, nor does he owe me anything. Despite the way he held my hands in his, or how his eyes filled with a kind of sincerity I’ve never seen before, and the way he forgave me, it’s still my fault.

He left.