Page 33 of Gunnar

Protect.

Claim.

“Not happening,” I growl, the sound rough even inside my bear’s throat.

She’s human.

She didn’t ask for this.

My beast doesn’t care.

Mine.

With a violent shake of my head, I turn back toward the ridge and launch forward again, running hard now, burning the excess heat out of my blood as the forest blurs past.

I snatch up a rabbit in my teeth, and a second one, both without breaking stride.

Dawn is starting to bleed into the sky by the time the lodge comes back into view through the trees.

It sits hunched among the trees like an old animal that refuses to die. Smoke curls faintly from the chimney.

Someone’s up.

I slow to a trot as I cross the clearing, the cold morning air steaming off my fur. The bear is calmer now, the worst of the restless energy burned out of my blood, but the pull toward the lodge—the woman sleeping inside it—hasn’t faded.

If anything, it’s sharper.

Get to mate.

“Quit with that,” I mutter under my breath.

I shift back just short of the tree line. Bones compress, muscles tightening as the bear folds back into me. A few seconds later I’m standing in the frost with bare feet and a lungful of cold air, dragging my jeans back on.

The lodge door creaks open.

Torin stands in the doorway, a mug in his hand. His hair sticks up in all directions like he fought a pillow and lost.

He looks to the rabbits and back again.

Then he grins. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Huh?”

“They like to bring their owners little gifts.” He nods toward the rabbits. “You gonna prep them or just leave them outside her door?”

I ignore him and shove past into the house.

The smell of coffee hits me. Torin follows me inside, shutting the door behind us with his heel.

“You run the whole mountain?” he asks.

“Just the lower ridge.”

“Shame,” he says. “You might’ve worn yourself out if you’d gone farther.”

I shoot him a look, but his grin just widens.

He lifts the mug and takes a lazy sip, watching me over the rim.