Stolen By Her Bear by Felicity Heaton

Chapter 10

Saint would have found the horrified look on Holly’s beautiful face amusing had it not been for the awareness that beat in his veins, warning him that she found his home wanting, that it wasn’t good enough for her. He braced himself, but was sure it would do nothing to deflect the anger he was about to feel.

Or was that hurt?

She cast another wide-eyed glance around her, checking every inch of his cabin, and then threw him another shocked look. “You’re not kidding. You don’t even have an indoor toilet!”

And there it was.

His pride took a direct hit and he growled at her, bared short fangs as she looked ready to launch another salvo at him. Her lips compressed and he sensed the fight in her, how fiercely she had to battle herself to stop herself from uttering another insult.

So his home was a little more basic than what they had at Cougar Creek. Who cared?

He turned his cheek to her as it hit him that she did. She cared.

And for some godsdamned reason that made him care too.

“The cabin is old,” he grumbled, anger towards her swift to morph into anger towards himself. He didn’t need to explain why his cabin lacked one of the most basic of facilities. He didn’t have to explain anything to her.

Wasn’t as if he wanted her approval after all.

“I can’t pee out there in the freezing cold!” She tossed another disgruntled look at the open door, at the white-washed world beyond it.

Saint opened the cupboard to his left, close to the stairs, and pulled out a chamber pot. He regretted it the moment he offered it to her, as her wide eyes leaped between him and it, going back and forth so many times he was sure she was going to make herself dizzy.

“Good gods, no.” She turned her nose up at it, and then some of her bravado slipped as she cast a glance at the outside world and her voice dropped to a hushed murmur. “I’ll go outside because I’m not having you standing over me.”

Saint shoved the pot back in the cupboard and kicked the door closed. “You’ll have me standing over you either way. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She glared at him, fire igniting in her eyes, bringing out the green. “Not a chance. I’m not peeing with you anywhere near me.”

“It’s the chamber pot or a sixty-foot trek through the snow. Be thankful Lowe cleared a path to the outhouse. Only other option is crouching in three feet of snow…” He looked out at the grey morning, at the snow whipping past the cabin. “Might be more by now. Might not even have a path to follow to the outhouse.”

She pressed her thighs harder together, and he couldn’t believe how seriously she was debating this, or how big a problem it was for her. All she had to do was cop a squat on the chamber pot or brave the weather. She was acting as if he was asking her to scale Mount Everest to reach a toilet.

“Sooner or later, Holly, you’re going to have to go. You’re not going to have a choice in the matter either. You really have so much pride that you would rather wet yourself?”

Her eyes widened again and she looked ready to hit him as a blush burned her cheeks.

She turned her profile to him and folded her arms across her chest, pulling her purple coat tight across her shoulders.

“Fine.” She huffed and slid him a sideways glance. “Is there at least toilet paper in the outhouse?”

He frowned at her and went for his shirt, plucking it off the back of the couch. “We’re not that uncivilised. Plenty of paper for your delicate parts.”

He stilled with his arm halfway into his left sleeve and looked at her, suddenly aware of her again, of those feminine curves she hid beneath thick layers of protective clothing. Her gaze scalded his chest, heat back in it that said he wasn’t the only one whose thoughts were rolling down dangerous routes.

Wicked routes.

When she looked ready to bolt out into the storm to escape him, he quickly pulled his shirt on and buttoned it, and closed the distance between them again. He reached over her, every fibre of him aware of how close she was to him, how she didn’t move to distance herself, just stood there and let him be near her. He breathed deep as he grabbed his coat, savouring her scent of sweet berries, his mouth watering at the thought of dropping his head and tasting her lips.

He hadn’t been born yesterday, knew that her complaint about the fire being too hot had been a flimsy excuse to cover what had really been happening to her. She wanted him. She wanted him with the same ferocity as he wanted her, only it frightened her.

Hell, maybe it frightened him a little too.

He had never felt like this around anyone before her—torn, confused, unsure what the hell he was doing, craving the feel of her eyes on him.

Hungry and wild for her.

She swallowed hard and twisted away from him, kept her gaze fixed on the storm as he pulled his coat on.

There was a tremble in her voice as she said, “Is it day?”

“It’s day. Late morning maybe. Not going to get much lighter than this.” He stepped up behind her, unable to deny the ache to be closer to her, to see how close she would allow him to get.

When he inched a little closer, she tensed, and then hurried forwards.

“Round the back, right?” She was quick to rush for the steps, and he chuckled as the wind caught her and she was forced to brace herself, was almost toppled into the deep snow.

Saint closed the door behind him and took hold of her arm, his grip firm. “Let me show you the way, my lady.”

She huffed at him, but didn’t make him release her, just accepted his hand on her. He kept her close to him as the wind battered them, as snow bit into his face and hands. She bent her head, muttering things beneath her breath he couldn’t make out over the howl of the storm. Reaching the outhouse was slow going, and his fingers were numb by the time he spied it through the snow.

“That’s a big toilet,” she muttered, teeth chattering in a way he didn’t like. She was getting cold too.

“It’s a few things in one building. Larder. Storage. Bathroom.” He tried to pick up the pace to stop her from freezing, only she didn’t match his speed and he almost ended up dragging her along behind him.

“Gods!” she bit out as a particularly brutal gust of wind picked snow up and hurled it at both of them, plastering her front.

“Come on. Not far now.” He pushed himself forwards, determined to get to the outhouse, because she wasn’t the only one who needed to go to the toilet now. The cold had tipped him over the edge too.

“Lovely weather we’re having.” Her breezy tone made him smile.

“And now you know why I hate winter.” He tucked her behind him as wind scoured the Ridge again, shielding her from the worst of it. He had to release her to keep her there, but any fear she would make a break for it disappeared as she fisted the back of his jacket, clinging to him.

“You make a good wind blocker.” She nestled a little closer to him and muttered something about how warm he was.

She had to be freezing if she thought he was warm, because he was so cold that he was sure his balls were about to fall off.

“Why, thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the wooden hut and tugged the door open. “Here you go. Door to door service.”

He lifted his left arm and looked under it, wanted to smile again as she poked her head around him, but his face was frozen. She was quick to dash for the cover of the bathroom and even quicker to slam the door in his face.

Saint remained behind the cover of the building and relieved himself, made fast work of it as the cold chilled him. He tucked himself away and zipped up, moved back to the door and waited. When more than a few minutes had passed, he rapped his knuckles on it.

“What’s the hold-up?” he grumbled. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

Her soft voice came through the door. “I can’t go… you’ll hear me.”

He scoffed at that. “I’m standing in a roaring blizzard. I’ll hear nothing.”

She muttered, “You will.”

Saint rolled his eyes and searched for a solution, something other than offering to move away from the door because he wasn’t going to leave her unguarded. “I can sing, then I won’t hear you.”

Not that he would hear her even if he didn’t sing, but maybe it would set her at ease.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Her voice was louder now as another blast of wind cut across the flat valley bottom. “It might be more off-putting.”

He chuckled at that. Humour. It was out of place, but it made him feel she was growing more comfortable around him now.

When he remained silent, she softly said, “Saint? Could you sing?”

He leaned his back to the wall, jammed his hands in his pockets and did as she had asked, singing an old country song she was sure to take the piss out of him over, pointing out how uncultured he was because he didn’t know any modern tunes.

He hadn’t made it far into the song before the door to his left opened. He stopped and looked at Holly, caught the awkward edge to her gaze as she lowered it to the snow and then lifted it again, meeting his.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

That soft admission took him aback, had him standing there staring at her like an idiot. It was the first time someone had told him that.

Rather than trying to think of what to say in response, he muttered, “We should get back, before we both freeze.”

She nodded and stepped down from the hut, closed the door behind her and started along the path ahead of him. He drifted along behind her, a strange sensation growing inside him, one that warmed him. Because she had admired his singing voice?

Pride swelled inside him, had him walking a little taller.

They were halfway to the cabin when a gust of wind came out of nowhere, making him almost lose his footing on the compacted snow.

Holly lost hers.

She slipped and her arms flailed, a shriek ripping from her as she started to go down. Saint lunged for her, grabbed her arm before she hit the deck and kept her on her feet. Barely. He pulled her up and she stumbled into him, slid again and braced her hand against his chest. Her grey-green eyes darted to his.

Hunger rolled through him, had him close to growling as his gaze fell to her lips, as a need to kiss her crashed over him. He stared at her mouth, wanted to groan as her lips parted in response, as his heart pounded a frantic beat against his ribs—against her palm.

The temptation to kiss her was great, but before he could muster the courage to bend his head and capture her lips, he noticed how badly she was trembling.

“You shaking because of the cold or because you’re scared of me?” he husked, praying to the gods it was the former, even when he didn’t like the thought of her being cold. It was better than the thought that she feared him.

Holly eased closer to him, openly seeking his warmth in a way that made him want to growl. “I’m freezing.”

It was strange but addictive to have her this close to him, pressed up against him, even if she was only trying to steal his heat. He dialled back his need, caged his urges, and placed his arm around her. He tucked her against him, waiting for the inevitable protest.

She said nothing, just nestled closer to him, sinking into his side as they walked. Her steps were too slow for his liking, her breathing too shaky. He faced her, bent his knees, and scooped her up into his arms. She didn’t even protest then. She sighed and snuggled up to him, her breath warm on his neck.

Gods, it felt good to hold her like this.

To take care of her.

It felt right.

He carried her the rest of the way to his cabin, didn’t set her down until he had reached the couch. He placed her on it and looked her over, frowned at how pink her fingers were and her face. She didn’t make him stop when he removed her boots, or when he rubbed her toes through her socks to get some warmth into them. She didn’t even push him away when he removed her damp coat, revealing a basic red long-sleeved T-shirt that wasn’t at all suitable for the weather conditions.

No wonder she was cold.

He rose to his feet and went to the door, closed it and hung her coat up and then stripped his off. He kicked his boots off and went back to her as she tried to lean forwards, stretching her hands out towards the fire.

Saint crossed the span of fur between her and it, grabbed the end of the couch nearest her and pulled it towards the log burner, moving her closer to it.

He cast a glance at her as she looked at him, gratitude in her eyes.

He sank to his knees in front of her again and rubbed her arms, quickly at first but the strokes slowed as he grew aware of her watching him, her eyes on his face. He lifted his to meet them, stilled as he lost himself in the look she was giving him, one that made him want to kiss her.

She had accepted his warmth. Would she accept his kiss?

Saint didn’t think so, and he didn’t want to frighten her, so he forced himself to stand again and went to the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water from a container he kept beside the sink and set it on the stove, and then hunted through the cupboards, looking for the packets of hot chocolate he was sure he had seen somewhere.

He wanted to growl when they eluded him, when he began to worry he would have to disappoint her and make her coffee instead. It wouldn’t do. Her eyes had lit up when he had offered hot chocolate. He wanted to come good on his offer, wanted to see warmth in her eyes like that again when he presented her with the drink. If he had to go back out into the storm to find some in the larder, he would do it.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he moved a packet of pasta aside and spotted the hot chocolate sachets, grabbed them just as the kettle whistled.

Saint glanced at Holly from time to time as he prepared the drink for her, and one for him. She looked brighter now, the deep flush of cold gone from her skin, and it was a relief to see it. He picked up both drinks and carried them to her, set his down on the small table at the end of the couch and held hers out to her. She was quick to take it, to hug it in both hands, tucking it close to her chest as if it were precious and drawing a deep breath of the steam.

She sighed, the sound holding a hint of bliss.

Apparently, she liked hot chocolate. He made a mental note of that and then shook his head, because once the storm had cleared, he had to do the right thing.

He had to give her back to the cougars.

He stomped away from her as the thought of doing that soured his mood, ignored the heat of her gaze on his back as he walked to the cupboards at the far end of the room. He picked through his shirts, trying to find one that wouldn’t swamp her frame. She needed something warmer to wear, something that wasn’t as revealing as the figure-hugging T-shirt she wore. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to resist the urge to touch her again if he left her in just that flimsy garment.

He needed to cover her up.

Not too much though.

Just enough to shut down that urge that kept coming over him, one that was growing fiercer every time he felt it, that was slowly transforming into a need that was new to him—a desire to bend her to his will.

He fished out a blue checked shirt, sniffed it to make sure it was clean enough for her, and then carried it over to her. When he held it out to her, she scowled at it.

“I’m not wearing that.” She sipped her hot chocolate, not taking her eyes off the fleece shirt, as if it might leap and attack her if she didn’t watch it closely.

“Why not? You’ll be cold in what you’re wearing, and you can’t wear your coat all the time. You’ll be too warm.” He held it closer to her.

She recoiled and glared at it, and then tipped her head back and hit him with a hard look. “You just want me to smell like you and I don’t want that.”

Saint arched an eyebrow at her. It hadn’t been his intent, but good gods, he found it appealing. He was tempted to make her wear it now, wanted to stamp his scent all over her as Cobalt had, as Knox had, but reined it in, aware that if he pushed her, she would push back, and he was enjoying the calm between them.

He tossed it on the arm of the brown couch near her. If she got cold, it was there, an option she could choose to take. That primal part of him liked that idea even more. The thought of her choosing to wear something of his, intentionally rubbing his scent on her, had him on the verge of growling.

So he strode to the kitchen and busied himself again, grabbed the pasta from the cupboard and a pot, and focused on cooking it for her. He stared at the bubbling pot of pasta, deeply aware that she was probably going to find it basic too. If she mentioned his offering of pasta and sauce was subpar, he wouldn’t take offence. Getting her to eat something was more important than avoiding another hit to his pride.

He strained the pasta and divided it onto two blue plates, added sauce from the other pan to both of them and then grabbed two forks and carried them to Holly. She was quick to take the plate from him, and even quicker to tuck into the food.

Not one complaint left her lips as she devoured it, and he enjoyed the comfortable silence as they both ate. When she was done, he took the plate from her and set it on his, and placed them both on the floor.

He sat back and stared at the fire. It would be good for a while, had enough logs to keep it going. He tried not to be hyper-aware of Holly where she sat beside him, close to him, but it was impossible. Her scent of berries teased him, her warmth made him hotter than the fire did, and nerves trickled through his veins, had him glancing sideways at her to see if she was as on edge as he was.

“That was nice,” Holly murmured, no trace of nerves or fear in her voice. “Thank you.”

He glanced at her, lingered as he found her looking at him, as their eyes locked for a moment before hers darted away, settling on the log burner. Maybe she was as nervous as he was about sitting together like this. It seemed crazy to him. It wasn’t as if anything was going to happen, but he couldn’t shake his nerves, couldn’t stop his palms from dampening or his heart from racing.

Gods, he felt like a kid again.

Scared witless by a female, by the feelings she stirred in him, and the thought she might reject him if he dared to act on his impulses.

Holly tucked her legs up beside her and leaned back into the couch, and he sat with her, listening to the fire popping and the wind rattling the panes, debating what he was going to do. He wasn’t talking about whether or not to kiss her either. This was bigger than that, something that had been on his mind from the moment he had realised she wasn’t Ember.

Actually, it had been on his mind from the moment he had cooled down and realised what he had done. Kidnapping really wasn’t his style. He blamed his bear side, blamed the cougars too for riling him when he was tired. Blamed himself. He should have had more control over himself. Should never have resorted to stealing one of the cougars as revenge.

It hadn’t been his finest moment.

And it was unbefitting of an alpha.

He chuckled low as he thought about how reckless he had been back before he had been alpha. That part of him clearly hadn’t changed. Sometimes, he still did stupid things.

“What’s so funny?” Holly sounded sleepy.

He glanced at her, met her gaze again and saw in her eyes that she was tired, that everything was catching up with her now. He wanted to set her at ease so she would sleep, and maybe he could do that by opening up to her a little. Besides, he wanted her to know more about him.

“Thinking about when I took over the pride. I was… not really cut out for it.”

Her dark eyebrows pinched and then relaxed. “Did you lose your parents?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t the pride alphas. They were killed by hunters shortly after I matured.” He sank a little deeper into the couch. “I’m the last of my line. Was raised here and lived here long enough to see it go from a good, happy pride to one that feared its leader.”

She shuffled to face him, her grey-green eyes serious. “And you decided to do something about that.”

He shrugged, but it came off stiff. “I couldn’t let it continue. Saw too many good folks getting hurt… living their lives in fear. Like I said, I was pretty reckless back then. Guess I still am. Always leaping before I look… letting my bear instincts take the reins too easily.”

He waited for her to pick him up on the fact he had kidnapped her, only she didn’t. She just stared at him, her expression soft, firelight flickering over the right side of her face and bringing out the cougar gold in her eyes.

“I took the position of alpha through combat. Woke up one day in a bad mood and just walked right up to the bastard and challenged him. Caused quite a stir.”

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “I can imagine. You seem to have a habit of doing that.”

“I’m trying to get better. I try to do the right thing.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes I screw up though.”

She didn’t look angry at him because of his screw up this time. In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more comfortable she looked around him.

“How long have you been alpha?” She looked at the fire again, her gaze lingering on it.

“Not sure. Four… five decades maybe.” He studied her profile, wanting to gauge her reaction to that, sure she would piece together his age from the information he had given her.

If she did, it didn’t shock or disgust her, because she continued to gaze at the fire, her eyes growing hooded. Maybe she was too tired to care about his age.

She had told him that she had matured. How recently? Long ago enough to have participated in the spring mating that took place at Cougar Creek every few years?

Hell, the thought of her taking part in it, inviting suitors to fight for the right to her, made him want to roar and kill every male in that pride.

He gripped the back of his neck instead, pressed his claws in and focused on the pain, shutting down his urge to lash out. She wasn’t his. He had no claim to her. He doubted he ever would, and he deserved that lonely fate for what he had done to her.

Was there any way he could right his wrongs with her?

The war inside him reignited as two paths stared him in the face, one that was tempting and one that made him want to growl and rage.

Taking her back was the right thing to do.

But that meant letting her go.

“I think I’m secretly a bear too,” she murmured.

He frowned at her. “What makes you say that?”

She yawned. “All this snow is making me sleepy.”

Her little smile hit him hard, damn near punched a hole in his chest and seized his heart.

She sank against the back of the couch, resting her left arm along the top of it, and her head on that arm. “Tell me about the winter sleep. Cougars don’t sleep through winter.”

“Not all bears do.” He relaxed a little further as he thought about what to tell her. “A couple of the bears in the pride don’t. They head to the city for winter, enjoy the bars and restaurants, and the benefits that civilisation has to offer.”

“You never do that?” She blinked at him, her eyelids heavy, and then opened her eyes wide and sat up a little straighter.

Trying not to fall asleep on him.

He wanted to tease her and ask if he was so boring that he put her to sleep, but didn’t have the courage. “It’s not my style. I need to be here to protect the territory and those who choose to stay here, and I prefer to sleep the winter away. Sometimes I’ll stay awake longer, but once the snow sets in, the furthest I’ve made it is a few weeks before I succumb to the urge to sleep. As soon as Knox and Lowe are sleeping, it rolls up on me pretty fast.”

“You don’t miss being awake?” A small frown formed a wrinkle between her fine eyebrows. “I think I’d miss being awake. If you fall asleep when the snow sets in, how long are you usually sleeping for?”

He chose to answer her second question. “I sleep maybe… early November through to late May most years. Sometimes longer.”

“Gods, that’s what… six months? That’s half the year!” She looked horrified by that, pulled a face that was almost a pout. “I can’t imagine sleeping for six months. You must miss out on so much.”

He grunted and gestured to the window. “Yeah, I’m missing a lot by sleeping through this kind of weather.”

She leaned to her right, towards the log burner, her black hair swaying away from her slender shoulders as she peered past him. “I suppose you’re right. It does make me sleepy. There’s been so much snow that I’ve spent most of my time at the Creek curled up in front of the fire with a book.”

“A book?” Colour him intrigued. “What kind of book?”

“Well. Books. Multiple. Many, many books. I have them on my phone.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “On your phone?”

She smiled and looked as if she might laugh, so he frowned at her, showing her he wouldn’t like it.

“You can get books on your phone now.” She sagged into the back of the couch on a long sigh. “I think I’ve read five… maybe six… since I arrived.”

“What kind of books do you like?” He was enjoying this, how relaxed she was around him and how she was telling him more about herself. “Any you can recommend?”

“If you like romance novels.” She looked him over. “You could probably pick up some pointers from them.”

She clammed up, turned awkward as she averted her gaze, and he knew why. She feared he was going to pick her up on the fact she thought he needed pointers when it came to being romantic, and that meant she had been thinking about him in a romantic fashion. It was the only reason she could have for bringing up that he wasn’t acting that way or at least he wasn’t living up to the standards she expected from a romantic hero based on what she had read in books.

“How long were you sleeping before we woke you?” Her voice dropped to a murmur and she glanced at him, the look in her eyes telling him she felt bad about the fact her pride had woken his.

“About a month I think.”

“And you just go to bed one night and wake up in spring?” Her eyes searched his.

“Pretty much.”

“Does sleeping affect you physically? Like do you wake up weaker, skinnier?” A blush stained her cheeks.

His too as her gaze dropped to his body and she slowly raked it over him, a leisurely once-over that set his blood on fire.

He cleared his throat. “Not really. Takes a while to shake off the sleepiness and get my muscles working again, but it doesn’t weaken me and I don’t tend to lose much weight.”

“And you could stay awake if you wanted?” She turned awkward again. “Dumb question. You’re awake right now.”

Gods, was he.

No danger of him nodding off when she was near him.

She looked close to falling asleep on him again though. She blinked rapidly, as if that was going to keep her awake.

“Saint?”

“Hmm?” He drifted in watching her as she tried to fend off sleep, enjoying how close to him she was and that she trusted him enough to let her guard down like this, and how calm he felt—both the bear and the man in him. She opened her mouth and closed it again, glanced away from him, and he sighed. “Whatever is on your mind, you can ask it, Holly.”

Her brow furrowed. “When you grabbed Gabi—”

“I was in a foul mood and not thinking straight,” he interjected. “Archangel had been flying around Black Ridge, had attacked Cougar Creek, and then this human female is there just days after it all happened. What was I meant to make of her? I was on edge, feeling protective of my pride, and things got out of hand. I’m not proud of what I did, or what I said. As soon as I cooled off, I… I should have apologised. I still think she’s a hunter though.”

“She isn’t. Her half-brother was. She didn’t know anything about his involvement with Archangel, was shocked to find out about it and about our kind.”

He shrugged. “I’ll apologise to her just as soon as Rath apologises for waking us and Flint apologises for attempting to remove my balls.”

Her sigh said it all, but it didn’t stop her from muttering, “Testosterone runs a little strong in bears, doesn’t it?”

He frowned at her and grunted, not bothering to deny that. He was territorial, and protective, and his bear was quick to anger and take control, and there was nothing he could do about that. He was the way the gods had made him.

But maybe he could try to change for the better.

If he did, would she want him?

He glared at the fire, seeking the answer there as the war erupted inside him again. Taking her back was the right thing to do, but he feared that if he did, he would never see her again.

She made the decision all the harder as she dozed off, as she slumped against his right arm and snuggled into it.

When he tried to move, sure she would be horrified and angry with him if she woke pressed against him, she unleashed a low, vicious growl.

A possessive and commanding snarl.

One he felt all the way to his soul.

She seized his arm and he could only sit there, stunned as she rubbed her face against his muscles.

As if she was marking him.

He was one hundred and ten percent certain no one had ever scent marked him before. He had no right to enjoy it as much as he found he did, knew he should stop her but couldn’t bring himself to do it as a thought formed.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling something.

Saint made his decision as he gazed at her, as she continued rubbing her cheek to his shoulder, a low rumbling growl like a purr rolling from her.

When she woke, he was going to ask her how she felt about him.

And he was going to tell her how he felt about her.