Page 4

Cameron

I storm back to my cabin, the door slamming shut behind me loud enough to rattle the windows. My chest is tight, my breath coming in sharp bursts as I pace the living room. The space feels too small, too constricting, and the walls seem to close in on me with every step I take.

I shouldn’t have gone to her.

I shouldn’t have helped her.

I shouldn’t have let myself get close.

My bear growls inside me, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through my chest. It’s restless, angry, clawing at the edges of my control like a caged animal. It wanted to stay. It wanted to claim her.

I wanted it, too.

My hands curl into fists, the rough pads of my fingers digging into my palms. I can still feel the warmth of her skin, the way her hand brushed against mine when I handed her the hammer.

That tiny, accidental touch had sent a jolt through me, a spark that burned hotter and brighter than anything I’ve felt in years.

That’s the problem.

Hannah is dangerous to me, in ways she doesn’t even realize. She’s kind and warm and so damn good that it makes my chest ache just being near her. But she doesn’t know what I am. She doesn’t know what she’d be getting herself into if I let myself want her the way my bear does.

And God help me, I do want her.

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots hard enough to sting. The image of her standing in the sunlight, sweat glistening on her skin, her hair falling loose around her face—it’s burned into my mind, a brand I can’t shake.

I can’t keep doing this.

I grab the nearest thing—a heavy glass jar sitting on the counter—and hurl it across the room. It shatters against the wall, shards raining down onto the floor in a glittering arc. The sound is satisfying, but it doesn’t dull the ache in my chest or the fire burning beneath my skin.

I need to run.

***

The woods stretch out before me, dark and endless, and I take off at a sprint, the cool night air sharp against my skin. My boots pound against the soft earth, the trees blurring past me as I push myself faster and faster.

The shift comes suddenly, violently, ripping through me like a storm. One moment, I’m human; the next, my bear takes over, its massive paws thundering against the ground.

The world sharpens in an instant. My senses explode with clarity—the scent of pine and damp earth, the distant rustle of a rabbit darting through the underbrush, the faint hum of the bees near Hannah’s hives.

Her scent lingers on me, sweet and warm like honey, and it drives my bear into a frenzy. It wants to go to her, to touch her, to bury its face in her neck and breathe her in until nothing else exists.

I slam my massive paw against a tree trunk, the force of it splintering the wood. The sound echoes through the forest, but it doesn’t silence the growl rumbling deep in my chest.

She’s too close.

I can’t have her, but I can’t stay away, either.

My bear paces, its claws digging into the earth, restless and agitated. It doesn’t understand why we’re holding back, why we’re denying ourselves what we both want. But it doesn’t see the bigger picture.

It doesn’t see the danger.

If I lose control, if I let myself get too close, I could hurt her. I could ruin her. And that’s a risk I can’t take.

The moonlight filters through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. I stop near the edge of the woods, the faint glow of Hannah’s farmhouse visible through the trees. The sight of it sends a pang through my chest, a painful ache that makes me want to roar.

She’s there, probably asleep, her soft breaths filling the quiet of her room. The thought of her, so close yet so far, makes my bear growl low and deep.

I shouldn’t be here.

I should turn around, run back to my cabin, and lock myself away until the ache fades. But my paws stay rooted to the ground, my eyes locked on the faint golden light spilling from her window.

I don’t know how long I stand there, watching her house like some kind of predator stalking its prey. Minutes? Hours? Time feels meaningless out here, with her scent in my nose and her image burning in my mind.

The wind shifts, carrying her scent to me, and it’s enough to break what little control I have left.

With a low growl, I turn and run, my bear tearing through the woods at full speed. The trees blur past me again, the cool air slicing through my fur, but it doesn’t dull the fire burning inside me.

I can’t keep running forever.

But for now, it’s all I can do.

***

When I finally return to my cabin, the familiar scent of wood and smoke greets me, grounding me just enough to shift back into my human form. The transition is rough. My muscles ache, and my skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t quite fit right anymore.

I collapse onto the floor, my breath coming in harsh gasps and my heart pounding like a drum. The room is dark, the moonlight filtering through the windows casting silver streaks across the wooden floor.

I sit there for a long time, staring at nothing, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

Hannah’s face flashes in my mind again—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me when she asked why I keep showing up for her.

Why do I?

The question lingers, heavy and unavoidable. I tell myself it’s because she needs help because I don’t want to see her struggle. But deep down, I know that’s not the whole truth.

I go to her because I can’t stay away.

Because she’s the only thing in this world that makes me feel human.

I let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the empty cabin. What a cruel joke. The one person who makes me feel alive is the one person I can never have.

My bear growls softly, a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. It doesn’t agree. It doesn’t care about the risks or the consequences. All it knows is that it wants her.

And if I’m being honest with myself, so do I.

But wanting her and having her are two very different things.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself to my feet and head for the kitchen. The jar of honey is still sitting on the counter, untouched, its golden glow mocking me in the dim light.

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, and for a moment, I consider throwing it out the window. But instead, I set it back down and grab a carving knife from the drawer.

The block of wood on the counter catches my eye, and I pick it up, running my fingers over the rough surface. It’s small and misshapen, but I can already see the shape of it in my mind—a bear, standing tall and proud, its head tilted toward the sky.

I sit at the table and start carving, the rhythmic scrape of the knife against the wood filling the silence. The work is slow, methodical, and for a while, it’s enough to quiet my thoughts.

But no matter how hard I try to focus on the carving, my mind keeps drifting back to her—Hannah.

To the way she looked at me, like she could see right through all the walls I’ve built around myself.

To the way her hand brushed against mine, sending sparks shooting through my veins.

To the way my name sounded on her lips, soft and full of unspoken questions.

I let out a heavy sigh, setting the knife down and leaning back in my chair. The half-finished carving sits in front of me, its rough edges catching the light.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

But one thing is clear. I can’t keep running from her.

And I can’t keep running from myself.