Stolen By Her Bear by Felicity Heaton

Chapter 5

Holly’s eyes popped open and she silently cursed. Falling asleep hadn’t been part of her incredible plan, but the furs beneath her had been so warm, laced with Saint’s smell, and the adrenaline had worn off as he had remained away from her, leaving her exhausted.

She had only meant to close her eyes for a second.

Anger directed at herself curled through her, heating her blood. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. She should have been hyper-aware of the brute who was holding her captive, not letting her guard down by dozing off on his bed.

His bed!

She cast a fearful glance around her, half-expecting to find Saint beside her on it, and breathed a little easier when she found she was alone. Her clothes were as she had left them, her dark purple coat still zipped up all the way and black weatherproof trousers slightly rumpled but still in place. Even her boots were still on her feet.

Saint really hadn’t come up to her.

Maybe he was still in front of the fire. Still awake. For all she knew, she might have been asleep for only a second.

She shuffled to the edge of the bed and quietly stood, crept to the banister at the front of the loft space and peered down into the kitchen below.

Her eyes widened.

Saint was still downstairs, but not in any way she had expected.

This wasn’t good.

She banked left, heading for the spiral staircase that led downwards to the ground floor of the small cabin. Stopped when she reached the final bend and stared past the very rustic and tiny kitchen that consisted of a handful of wooden cupboards and a worn wooden counter, to a major problem.

The six-hundred-plus pounds of massive grizzly bear sleeping in front of the door like a bizarre draught blocker.

Holly glanced at the window above the sink to her left, couldn’t make anything out in the low light. Was it still snowing? How late was it?

Her gaze strayed back to Saint. Was he in a regular sleep or a winter one? She didn’t know much about bear shifters, hadn’t realised before coming to the Creek this winter that some of his kind liked to sleep through the colder months, much the same as their animal counterparts.

She eased down the final steps and edged towards the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. When she reached the cupboards, she peered out of the window, squinting into the darkness. The low light coming from the log burner behind her was enough to catch on the flakes of snow as they fell, dancing past the window as a breeze played with them.

The world was quiet as that snow gently fell. Maybe it was a winter sleep that had welcomed Saint into its waiting arms, had him curled up with his huge lower half wedged between the wall and the final kitchen cupboard, blocking her way to the door.

The warm light of the fire shone on his dense fur, highlighting it with gold. Rounded ears twitched as a log cracked, his long paler muzzle wriggling, and then he stilled again. She waited for the fear to come, sure she would be afraid of him now he was in his bear form.

Only it didn’t.

She felt only fascination as she stood there looking at him, as she noticed the scar that cut through his fur on the left side of his wide face and darted over his eye, into the shorter hairs that covered his muzzle.

Holly dragged her gaze away from him and took in the room, seeking another escape route. The cabin was smaller than she had thought, and far more basic than she was used to. Cobalt’s cabin had modern furnishings, including a brand-new kitchen and a very comfortable couch. She eyed the worn brown one before her, curled her lip at the dent in the far seat cushion that said at least one set of springs had collapsed, and the rip in the back of it.

She looked around for a ceiling light too, almost shook her head when she found only an oil lamp sitting on a rickety side table. Talk about rustic. Did Saint even have electricity?

His coffee table looked as if he had made it himself, the legs wooden posts as thick as her wrists and hacked at an angle at the top ends, where they had been shoved into the thick piece of wood that formed the surface of the table.

She crept towards the other end of the room so she could make it out more clearly in the low light, and wanted to huff when she checked the entire wall and found only logs and cupboards. No windows. Damn it.

Holly went back to the kitchen, careful not to wake the sleeping bear, and scowled at the world outside. The snow was falling faster now, the flakes bigger, and the wind was strong at times, catching the snow and driving it into the window. A storm was brewing.

She cursed again.

Visibility would be poor and the fresh snow would dampen all the scents in the area, masking them. It was going to make it difficult for her to get back to the Creek if she managed to escape.

Not only that, but the snow would cloak her scent too, and that meant the chances were high that Rath and the others would think she had been caught in the storm during her evening walk and had been forced to shelter somewhere.

She went back and forth as she watched the snow, as she checked out the window and found it was one that opened. There was a chance she could escape that way, might be able to make a break for it before Saint woke.

Holly didn’t reach for the handle though.

She just kept staring at the snow as the wind whipped it past the front of the cabin, apprehension rolling through her. She was strong. There was a chance that she could make it through the storm and back to the Creek.

There was also a chance the cold would sap her strength and she wouldn’t find it before she was too cold to move. She hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the route when Saint had grabbed her. It would be too easy for her to get turned around in the woods and get lost.

Saint snuffled in his sleep, luring her gaze back to him. His muzzle twitched, fur rippling in a wave down his back.

Holly almost smiled.

Caught herself at the last moment.

She should be afraid of him. This was a show of power to deter her from attempting an escape and it was a good one, but there was a reckless, bold part of her that wanted to know what his rich brown fur would feel like if she pushed her fingers through it.

Would it resist her? Be hard to move her hand through it? Would it be soft? Coarse?

That same bold part of her wanted to know how he would react to her touch.

Would he snarl and bare his fangs? Roar to drive her away?

Or would he accept her hand on him?

His rounded ears flipped back and forth, and his nose wriggled. A low rumbling noise escaped him, almost like a groan, and he smacked his lips.

What was he dreaming about?

Holly tensed as she realised he wasn’t dreaming.

He was waking.

She twisted on her heel and hurried across the floorboards, praying none of them would squeak and give her away, and rushed up the stairs.

That bold part of her hoping Saint would come to her.