Page 71 of Gunnar

There’s nothing but him.

A sharp crack splits the air.

Gunnar freezes.

For half a second, I don’t understand.

Until something huge crashes through the trees.

He pulls away instantly.

I follow his gaze into the darkness, see nothing.

Then he shouts, “Orson!”

At the same moment a massive grizzly bear bursts into the clearing.

I scream.

Part of me knows it’s Orson.

But the deeper, more primal part of me only sees an eight-foot grizzly with claws and teeth, coming straight at us.

Gunnar instantly pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

His big hand cups the back of my head, pressing my face against his chest as if he wants to shield me from whatever is about to happen.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls. “Explain yourself right now.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the menace in it.

The bear stops abruptly.

Then its body begins to twist.

I don’t want to look.

But I can’t help it. I keep my head pressed against Gunnar’s chest and watch with one eye.

Bones crack.

Limbs shrink.

The huge shape collapses down onto all fours before rising again, the fur receding, the body contorting in a series of violent snaps.

Within seconds the bear is gone.

And Orson is standing there in its place.

His chest is heaving, his eyes wild with fury. “I saw you,” he spits.

Gunnar’s body goes rigid beside me. “What the hell were you doing out here?”

Orson bares his teeth in something that isn’t a smile.

“Hunting,” he says. “Remember? Since I wasn’t welcome in the house.”

His gaze flicks to me, full of accusation.