Page 6

Cameron

The second Hannah walks out my door, her scent lingering in the air like a ghost, my restraint snaps. I pace the cabin, each step feeling like a battle between my bear and me. My body is tense, my muscles coiled and my chest tight with the weight of everything I can’t say.

Her eyes—damn, her eyes—keep playing on a loop in my head. The way she looked at me, like she was trying to see past every wall I’ve spent years building. Like she wanted to fix me.

But she can’t fix me.

I rake a hand through my hair, the strands damp with sweat despite the cool night air seeping through the cracked window. My bear growls low in my chest, its frustration bleeding into mine.

Go after her.

The thought slams into me with the force of a freight train, but I shove it down. No. I can’t. She deserves better than this. Better than me.

But then why does it feel like I’m ripping myself in two?

I grab the carving knife from the table, my hands trembling as I pick up the half-finished bear I’ve been working on for weeks.

The wood feels solid beneath my fingers, grounding me for a moment, but even that doesn’t last. With a frustrated growl, I slam the knife down, the sharp clang echoing in the empty cabin.

I can’t stay here. Not like this.

***

The woods swallow me whole, their darkness a familiar comfort.

The air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the distant rustle of leaves makes my bear stir.

My feet pound against the ground, the rhythm steady and relentless, but it’s not enough to burn off the tension clawing at my insides.

The shift comes fast, ripping through me like a storm. My muscles stretch and twist, my skin burning as fur erupts along my arms and chest. My hands curl into massive paws, sharp claws digging into the dirt as I drop to all fours.

And then I’m running.

The world sharpens instantly, every scent, every sound amplified. The forest is alive around me—the scurry of a rabbit in the underbrush, the hoot of an owl overhead, the distant hum of bees near Hannah’s farm.

Her farm.

I veer sharply, my paws kicking up dirt as I change direction. My bear growls low and deep, the sound vibrating through my chest. It doesn’t care about the consequences. It doesn’t care about the risks. All it knows is that it wants her.

We can’t have her.

The thought is mine, but my bear doesn’t listen. It never does when it comes to Hannah.

I skid to a stop at the edge of her property, my massive form hidden in the shadows of the trees. Her farmhouse is quiet, the windows glowing softly with warm light. I can see her silhouette through the window, moving around her kitchen, and the sight of her makes something inside me ache.

She’s beautiful.

Her hair is loose, curling around her shoulders, and she’s wearing one of those soft, flowy dresses that make her look like she belongs in a damn painting. She’s humming to herself, the sound faint but sweet, and my ears twitch, straining to catch every note.

I shouldn’t be here.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, but I can’t make myself leave. My bear presses closer to the edge of the trees, its instincts screaming at me to go to her.

Just one step closer.

I dig my claws into the dirt, forcing myself to stay put. I can’t. If she saw me like this, if she knew what I am…

The very thought makes my chest tighten, a sharp, painful squeeze that leaves me gasping. I’ve spent years keeping my distance, protecting people from the danger I carry inside me. But with Hannah, it’s different.

I don’t just want to protect her. I want to be near her.

And that’s what makes this so damn hard.

***

By the time I make it back to my cabin, the fire in the hearth has burned down to embers, the room dim and quiet. I shift back into my human form, the process slower this time, my body aching from the strain.

I collapse onto the couch, my head in my hands with my breath coming in ragged gasps. The cabin feels even smaller now, the walls pressing in on me like a cage.

You can’t keep running forever.

Earl’s voice echoes in my head, his gruff words cutting through the silence like a blade. He said those words to me years ago, back when I first moved out here, back when I thought isolation was the only way to keep people safe.

But I’m starting to think he was right.

Because no matter how far I run, I can’t outrun this. I can’t outrun her.

***

The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache and a knot in my chest that refuses to go away. The sunlight streaming through the window feels too bright, too harsh, and I groan as I roll off the couch, my muscles protesting every movement.

I need coffee.

The kitchen is a mess, the table still cluttered with wood shavings and unfinished carvings, but I ignore it. I pour myself a cup, the bitter aroma filling the air, and lean against the counter, staring out the window.

The woods are quiet in the early morning light, the trees casting long shadows across the ground. It should be peaceful, but it’s not. Not when my mind keeps drifting back to Hannah.

Her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when I tasted her muffins and told her they were good.

I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, convincing myself it’s for their own good. But with Hannah, it’s different. She doesn’t just make me want to stay. She makes me want to be better.

And that terrifies me.

***

I find myself at Earl’s workshop later that day, the familiar scent of sawdust and varnish hitting me the moment I step through the door. Earl is hunched over his workbench, his hands steady as he carves the leg of a chair.

“Been expecting you,” he says without looking up.

I grunt in response, grabbing a piece of sandpaper from the pile on the bench and running it over the edge of a wooden plank. The rhythmic motion is soothing, the rough texture grounding me as I work.

Earl doesn’t say anything for a while, letting the silence stretch between us. But I feel his eyes on me, sharp and knowing, like he’s waiting for me to crack.

“You look like hell,” he says finally, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Thanks,” I mutter, not bothering to look up.

“You want to tell me what’s eating you, or are you just here to brood?”

I sigh, setting the sandpaper down and rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s nothing.”

Earl snorts. “Bullshit.”

I glance at him, my jaw tightening. He raises an eyebrow, his expression daring me to argue.

“It’s Hannah,” I say finally, the words heavy in my mouth.

“Ah,” Earl says, nodding like he’s been expecting this. “The honey girl.”

I scowl at him, but he just chuckles, leaning back against the workbench. “What about her?”

“I can’t…” I trail off, struggling to find the right words. “She deserves better than this. Better than me.”

Earl gives me a long, hard look, his gaze steady and unflinching. “You know, for a guy who spends half his time carving bears, you sure are blind to the fact that you’re acting like one.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re scared,” Earl says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “You think pushing her away is protecting her, but all you’re doing is protecting yourself.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I turn away, my hands clenching into fists.

“You don’t understand,” I say quietly. “If she knew what I am—”

“She’d probably surprise you,” Earl interrupts, his tone firm. “That girl’s tougher than she looks. And from what I’ve seen, she’s not afraid of you. She’s afraid you’ll never let her in.”

I don’t respond, the knot in my chest tightening until it’s almost unbearable.

“You can’t keep running, Cameron,” Earl says, his voice softer now. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to decide if she’s worth the risk.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket.

Is she worth the risk?

I already know the answer.

But knowing it and acting on it are two very different things.