Page 27 of Bear My Heart

He squeezed her hand briefly. "You said, 'is that what's happening between us,' so I'm guessing you feel it too. Which you're supposed to, but it's funny how, now that I'm in the moment, I don't want to make assumptions. To sum it up, though, shifters know when they meet the person they're meant to be with. We call it fate. And our mates usually know it too, but sometimes it's harder for true humans to trust it, because love at first sight is such a fairy tale. But it's also real, at least for shifters."

"I think it must be real for…true humans? Is that what you call us?" At Peter's nod, Shanti smiled a bit. "That's kind of elegant. Anyway, I think there are people who just know when they meet their partners, because otherwise it wouldn't be such a trope, right? But I'm not one of those people." Her eyebrows drew down. "I mean, I've never felt this way before. About anybody. I mean, I don't, I haven't, dated much."

"I've never felt this way before either," Peter said with a smile of his own. "It's kind of strange, being a shifter. Plenty of us don't really believe in fate, when it comes to love."

"No," Shanti said slowly, thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose I necessarily would either. Even if I knew people who had found their mates…what are you supposed to do, just wait forever? But what if you never meet the right person? Do shifters ever not meet the right person?"

"Often enough that plenty of us don't believe in fate. And it doesn't mean we live alone our whole lives, or don't find love, no. We fall in love like anybody else. It's just that sometimes we get lucky and fate strikes."

"What if you're married and fate strikes with somebody else?" Shanti asked in faint horror.

Peter chuckled. "It doesn't work that way. The idea is that we meet someone at the right time for both of them. If either of us were happily married, then it wouldn't be right, see? So it wouldn't be fate."

"Oh." Shanti sat a moment, digesting that, and finally smiled. "That's kind of wonderful, then, isn't it? The stars have to align, kind of? Does that mean you could know your mate for years before the moment was right?"

"It does, and that happens." Peter took a deep breath. "How are you with all of this?"

Shanti puffed her cheeks. "Okay, I think. It's a lot, but…I really never have felt this way before," she said quietly. "I've never been in love. I've never met anybody who felt like home. And knowing there's actual magic involved helps me feel like I'm not losing my mind, because honestly, I never have been in love and I didn't know what to do with this, this—this feeling like I'd been hit by a freight train! It didn't feel like me, but it felt right, and that's…confusing."

"I didn't mean to walk into your life and turn it upside-down, but I can't exactly say I'm sorry, either."

"No." Shanti smiled up at Peter. "No, it's good. I…wait." She blinked. "Wait, if we're meant to be together, how does that even work? You're from Alaska and I'm from Virtue. Are we supposed to meet in the middle and go live in Montana or something?"

Peter laughed. "I don't know. What fate means is there's a way to figure it out. I know you're thinking about leaving Virtue, but I want you to know that if you decide to stay…" He spread the hand Shanti wasn't holding. "Then I'll stay."

"What? No, that's crazy. That's your whole life you're changing without even a conversation about it!"

"I'm pretty sure it's less crazy to say I'll stay in Virtue than to ask you to move to Alaska. Or even Montana," Peter said wryly. "And we can talk about it, and I'm sure we will. But I also want you to know that I'm okay with staying here. It's a great little town." He hesitated. "I'm also sorry this all moved faster than I meant it to. I wanted to keep this all at a nice normal 'getting to know you' pace."

"But we can still get to know each other, right?" Shanti asked nervously. "I'm glad to understand what's happening, but…I'm still not fast. I'm not a leap first and look later kind of person. Even if there's magic involved."

"That's fine," Peter promised. "We're in no rush. I just want you to know I've got your back."

To Shanti's complete surprise and total dismay, tears rose up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks without the slightest warning. An unbelievable sense of exhaustion and relief came with them, and without speaking—without being able to speak—she just leaned forward, almost toppling into Peter's arms. He made a soft, startled sound and pulled her close with ridiculous ease, murmuring comfort into her hair as Shanti gave in to tired sobs.

She truly couldn't remember the last time she had been able to let go. Even in the aftermath of her grandparents' deaths, there had been business to attend to, and no one else to do it, so she hadn't been able to fall apart. And once the worst of the paperwork had been dealt with, it was as if she no longer knew how to relax.

Peter's presence changed all of that. Shanti felt safe with him, certain he would protect and care for her, and that he would never judge her for being at her worst. Sobs wracked her body, and Peter held her carefully, not trying to fix anything, just letting her cry.

The last thing she really remembered was being so tired that she couldn't keep her eyes open, and Peter gently tucking her into bed.

CHAPTER 14

Pete liked to think he'd take care of anybody who fell into his arms crying, but it felt like a real moment of trust from Shanti. It felt as though she hadn't had anyone to rely on for a long, long time, and even for the most self-sufficient person, that could be tiring. He wished he could help more than just holding her, but sometimes people needed to cry themselves out, and she went limp with exhaustion so fast that he was pretty confident he'd made the right call.

She mumbled something when he scooped her into his arms and stood, but wasn't coherent. He smiled into her hair, murmured a nonsense promise back, and carried her upstairs to peek into the bedrooms and tuck her into the one that looked most like hers. For a moment he contemplated curling up with her, but she was tired enough to not even protest when he put her down, so he thought his presence was no longer necessary for reassurance.

He turned the light off on his way back downstairs, where he contemplated the kitchen, which was tidy, with wooden cabinets and brownish countertops that looked as much from the '90s as the living room did. The cupboards had a lot of practical, easy to cook staple foods, and the freezer had almost no instant dinners. Shanti apparently really did cook regularly. There was a well-thumbed book of handwritten recipes on the counter beside a row of flour and sugar containers. Pete took it into the living room to read through it, and when he heard Shanti stir after a couple of hours, went to cook.

She came downstairs as he was taking the quiche out of the oven, her gaze bleary but intrigued. "It smells great. Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Pete murmured. "How are you doing now?"

"Honestly I feel like I could go back to sleep for the rest of the day. Night. What time is it? I just looked at my phone and can't remember." Shanti sat at the kitchen table and propped her face in her hands, blinking tiredly. "Sorry."

"You don't need to be," he repeated. "I'm glad you felt safe enough to let go a little, and to get some sleep. It's about four."

"In the afternoon?" she asked a bit hoarsely. "No, it must be, you wouldn't be cooking at four in the morning. Would you? I thought you said you didn't cook."