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Her gallery opening was a huge success. I had to wait and let her have that. She’d never forgive me if I took this from her. She doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve been very careful to keep to the shadows, to stay out of her line of sight.

She’s sold every painting. I bought one of them, but even if I hadn’t, I’m sure it would have sold. It’s a painting of a woman and a bear in the forest. It’s us. Though the woman in the painting isn’t a self-portrait of Rosalie, itisus. The bear sits behind her on the ground in a cold winter forest, hugging her from behind. One of the woman’s hands squeezes one of the bear’s paws in silent communication. He’s her friend, her protector. Why would she paint this if she didn’t want me? It seems like a clear signal.

Though I’m sure the signal isn’t…kidnap me and lock me up in your penthouse, but still.

Rosalie is one of the last people out of the building, and she’s parked at the far end of the parking lot. I don’t let her see me. She’s surprised, and I smell her fear when she breathes in the drugs on the cloth. I lay her carefully across the backseat of her car, and get behind the wheel.

10

ROSALIE

Iwake abruptly, and it takes me a moment to puzzle out how I got here. The last thing I remember was walking out to my car on a high from selling all my paintings. I was a little sad to let the woman and bear painting go, and I refuse to think about what that means. I painted it last minute when I got back from California. It wasn’t even finished curing when I took it to the gallery.

The image kept showing up in my dreams, and even though the subject matter disturbed me, I knew the only way to stop thinking about it was to paint it. Otherwise it would be the only thing I’d be able to see and I wouldn’t get anything else done.

When the muse tells you to paint something, you paint it. If you try to ignore it and paint something else instead, you’re only asking for a creative block, and I’d just recently broken out of one of those. I wasn’t about to invite another.

I’m glad Cooper backed off. I am. We come from two different worlds. And he isnotthe bear in that painting. It’s just a bear. It doesn’t mean anything.

I still don’t remember how I got home and in bed though. I stretch and roll over. Wait… my bed is not this comfortable. I’ve needed a new mattress forever. There’s a dip I tend to roll into,and yet… this mattress is firm all the way across. I stretch out like a starfish to prove my own suspicion.

And then I remember the parking lot and the foul smelling cloth going over my face. I bolt upright and look around. Yep, not my bed, not my house. I’m in an enormous lavish room with expensive yet understated furniture. It gives the vibe ofactualrich, not pretending-to-be rich. A cream-colored leather sofa sits along one wall with a beige blanket draped over one side. The leather looks soft and buttery. Who has furniture this color? What if you spill something on it?

In this moment I’ve decided beige and white are wealth flexes because you don’t need to hide stains, you’ll just get another one! The entire room is done in these shameless neutral shades. The only spot of color is a large vase of pale pink roses on a table in the middle of the room—and at this point pale pink feels like just another airy neutral laughing all the way to the bank.

And… the painting.

The bear and the woman painting mocks me from just over the leather sofa.

Sun streams in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I can see the city skyline. We are way high up. Well, he wasn’t lying about being a rich werebear. Not that that changes anything.

Oh come on, Rosalie. A hot, rich, protective bear shifter just whisked you off to his castle and you want to go back to sharing a cramped apartment on the third floor in the bad part of the city? Sure.

Is there a way to murder my internal monologue without harming myself?

There’s a knock on the door. I tense and just stare at it. I mean, I’m not going to say “Come in.” That would be insane and seem like I was A-okay with this situation.

And how do I even know it’s Cooper? Maybe someone else is fixated on and stalking me. I didn’t see him last night. It could be anyone.

Yes, Rosalie, all the men want you. Every single one feels a strong and deep compulsion to take you as his bride. And they all have penthouses in the city. Aren’t you just lucky?

I roll my eyes.

A moment later the door opens and Cooper walks in carrying a covered tray. His feet are bare. Jesus, even his feet are hot. He can’t even have a single imperfection? He wears gray sweatpants slung low over his hips and no shirt. And even though I’ve seen him naked, somehow the little bit of mystery makes him that much hotter, drawing my attention sharply to that mouth-watering “V”.

“I made you some breakfast,” he says, like he didn’t just drug and kidnap me.

“Are all shifters this… defined, or do you have to go to the gym?”

He smirks. “I work out.” He says it nonchalantly as if it’s no big deal to be chiseled like a Greek god.

He sits the tray on the bed, and that’s when I notice the scent. Whatisthat smell? I mean, I know it’s Cooper. I smelled it at the club in LA. That warm, musky, woodsy, mossy… god it’s driving me crazy. And it’s stronger than it was in LA.

“Are you wearing cologne?” If he is, he took a bath in it, but it’s not too much. I mean it is definitely too much, but it isn’t repellent. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.

“No, it’s the mate thing. Only you can smell it.”

I find that very hard to believe. How could anyone be in this room with him and not smell this? I catch myself before I crawl across the bed to him. What the actualfuck?