Page 1 of Claimed by the Grumpy Shifter (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #5)

The house smells like someone else's life.

I stand in the center of what the landlord generously called a "living room," though it's barely large enough for the secondhand couch I bought yesterday.

The walls are thin enough that I can hear Mrs. Chelsea next door humming something tuneless while she waters her plants.

Everything about this place screams temporary, which suits me fine.

I don't plan on staying long enough to make it feel like home.

Home. The word sits bitter on my tongue. I haven't had one of those since before my first deployment, back when Jake and I still talked, back when I thought the military would give me purpose instead of just more ways to fuck up my life.

The bear paces restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the confined space and the lingering scent of previous tenants. I press my palms against the window frame and breathe deep, trying to center myself the way the therapist taught me before I stopped going to those sessions.

The view helps—nothing but trees and the small-town charm of Cedar Falls stretching out below. This is what I came here for. Space. Silence. A place where I can't hurt anyone.

The incidents… That's what they called them in my file.

Incidents. As if losing control of a six-hundred-pound grizzly bear in the middle of a firefight was just an administrative hiccup.

As if the fear in my commanding officer's eyes when he signed my discharge papers was just professional concern.

I flex my fingers, watching the tendons move under scarred skin.

The bear wants out. It's been cooped up for three days of driving, three days of truck stops and gas station coffee and forcing myself to stay human when every instinct screams at me to shift and run.

But I can't. Not here, not around people who might see.

The moving truck pulls away with a diesel rumble, leaving me alone with my sparse belongings and the weight of starting over. Again.

That's when I see her.

She's across the street, unlocking the door to a shop I hadn't noticed before.

The sign reads "Blooming Wonders" in script that looks hand-painted, surrounded by painted flowers that seem to spill off the wood and onto the sidewalk.

She's struggling with an armload of supplies, ribbon, it looks like, in every color imaginable, while trying to balance a coffee cup and fish her keys from what appears to be the world's largest purse.

I should look away. Mind my own business. Focus on unpacking the boxes that contain what's left of my life.

Instead, I find myself pressed against the glass, watching her with an intensity that should alarm me.

She's beautiful. Soft curves that her loose sweater can't quite hide, honey-blonde hair that catches the morning light, and when she laughs at something, probably her own clumsiness as she nearly drops everything, the sound carries across the street and straight into my chest.

The bear goes completely still.

Then it roars.

The sound is internal, thank God, but it reverberates through every cell in my body.

My hands flatten against the window hard enough to leave prints, and I have to lock my knees to keep from falling.

Because I know what this is. I've heard the stories, dismissed them as folklore, but there's no mistaking the recognition that slams into me like a freight train.

*Mate.*

"No." I say it out loud, my voice rough from disuse. "No, no, no."

But the bear doesn't listen. It never does. It fills my head with images. Her beneath me, around me, carrying my cubs. The possessiveness is instant and absolute, a claiming that goes bone-deep before I even know her name.

She finally gets the door open and disappears inside, leaving me staring at empty sidewalk.

The scent of her lingers in the air, vanilla and roses, even though she's too far away for human senses to detect.

But I'm not entirely human, and my bear has already catalogued everything about her.

The way she moves, the pitch of her laugh, the exact shade of her hair in sunlight.

Mine.

The thought is primitive, undeniable. She belongs to me. I belong to her. It's as simple and terrifying as that.

I stumble backward from the window, running both hands through my hair. This is exactly what I came here to avoid. Complications. Connections. The risk of losing control and hurting someone who matters.

But she already matters. After thirty seconds of watching her struggle with ribbon and coffee, she matters more than anything else in my fucked-up life.

I pace the small room like the caged animal I am, my bear pushing against the edges of my control.

It wants to go to her, to introduce itself, to start the claiming process that's been hardwired into my DNA since birth.

The logical part of my brain—the part that got me through two tours in Afghanistan—knows this is insane.

You can't just walk up to a woman and announce she's your fated mate. That's not how the human world works.

But I'm not entirely human.

The war between instinct and logic rages for exactly three minutes before instinct wins. I grab my jacket and head for the door, my bear practically purring with satisfaction.

The October air is crisp, carrying the scent of dying leaves and wood smoke.

Cedar Falls is exactly the kind of small town I'd normally avoid.

Everyone knows each other, too many opportunities for things to go wrong.

But as I cross the street toward Blooming Wonders, I can't bring myself to care about anything except the woman behind that glass door.

The shop is warm and bright, filled with the most incredible array of flowers I've ever seen. Roses in every color climb the walls, baby's breath spills from vintage buckets, and the air is thick with perfume that makes my head spin. It's overwhelming in the best possible way.

She's behind the counter, arranging what looks like a wedding bouquet. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she concentrates, and the bear goes absolutely feral.

*Want. Need. Claim.*

I must make some kind of sound because she looks up, and those blue eyes… Christ, they're even more beautiful up close, widen in surprise.

"Oh! Hi!" Her voice is slightly breathless, and there's a flush creeping up her neck that makes me want to trace it with my tongue. "I didn't hear you come in. Can I help you with something?"

I stand there like an idiot, drinking in the sight of her. She's even more perfect up close. Soft skin that looks like it would bruise easily under my hands, curves that my palms ache to explore, and a mouth that was made for kissing.

And other things.

"I..." My voice comes out as a growl, and I have to clear my throat and try again. "I just moved in. Across the street."

Her face lights up with genuine pleasure, and it's like watching the sun rise. "Oh, you're the new neighbor! I'm Christine. Christine Parker." She extends her hand, and when I take it, the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm.

The bear rumbles its approval. She's warm and soft and smells even better up close.

"Marc," I manage, probably holding her hand longer than socially acceptable. "Marc Steel."

"Well, welcome to Cedar Falls, Marc Steel." She says my name like she's tasting it, and I have to fight the urge to lean across the counter and taste her back. "I hope you'll like it here. It's a pretty quiet place, but the people are nice."

"I'm counting on quiet," I say, and she laughs.

"Then you definitely came to the right place. The most exciting thing that's happened around here lately is that Josh, one of our local lumberjacks, is dating Elisa, my employee. We're all still recovering from the drama."

Something dark and possessive flares in my chest at the mention of another man, even though I know she's just making conversation. The bear doesn't like hearing about other males, period.

"Drama?" I ask, because I need to keep her talking. Her voice is like honey, and I'm already addicted.

"Oh, you know how it is. Small town, everyone's invested in everyone else's love life.

" She waves her left hand, but there's something wistful in her expression.

"Elisa's a single mom, and Josh has always lived alone in the mountains until she arrived.

He's so in love with her. You can see it in his eyes.

He's like a lovesick puppy. It's actually pretty sweet to watch. "

"What about you?" The question is out before I can stop it, too direct, too personal for someone I just met. But I need to know. "Anyone circling around you?"

The flush on her neck deepens, and she ducks her head, suddenly very interested in the bouquet she's arranging. "Me? Oh, no. I'm... I'm not really the type guys circle around."

She's wrong. So completely, utterly wrong that it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to tell her exactly how wrong she is. Not to explain that I'll be circling her for the rest of my life, that I'm already planning ways to make her mine.

"Their loss," I say instead, and her head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise.

I can hear her heartbeat, can smell the spike of arousal that makes my own pulse race. She feels it too, this pull between us, even if she doesn't understand what it means.

The bell above the door chimes, and a woman with a toddler on her hip bustles in, breaking the spell.

"Christine! Thank God you're here. I need flowers for my mother-in-law's birthday, and I have no idea what to get her. She hates everything."

Christine tears her gaze away from mine, and I immediately miss the connection. "Of course, Mrs. Williams. Let me show you some options."

I should leave. I should go back to my empty house and start unpacking, try to build some kind of normal life that doesn't revolve around the woman across the street.

But I can't make myself move. Instead, I watch her work, mesmerized by the way her hands move among the flowers, the gentle way she speaks to the fussy toddler, the patience she shows with the indecisive customer.

She's everything I never knew I wanted. Everything I definitely don't deserve.

But she's mine anyway.

The bear has decided, and when a bear decides something, that's the end of the discussion. I just have to figure out how to make her understand that she belongs to me without scaring her away.

Or worse, without losing control and showing her exactly what I really am.

Mrs. Williams finally settles on an arrangement of cheerful yellow roses, and Christine rings her up with a smile that makes my chest tight. After they leave, she turns back to me with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"You were telling me about small-town drama," I say, though honestly, I don't care about anything except the way her lips curve when she smiles.

"Right." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I want to be the one doing that, want to feel the silk of it between my fingers. "Well, anyway, like I said, it's pretty quiet around here. Perfect for someone looking for peace and quiet."

"What makes you think that's what I'm looking for?"

She looks at my face with those incredible blue eyes, and I have the unsettling feeling that she sees more than I'm comfortable with. "Just a guess. You have that look about you. Like you've seen enough excitement for one lifetime."

She's not wrong. I have seen enough excitement, enough violence, enough of the worst humanity has to offer. But looking at her, surrounded by flowers and light and everything good in the world, I think maybe I'm ready for a different kind of excitement.

The kind that involves making her mine.