Page 7 of Just Right (The Beasts of Blackmoor #3)

He drops to one knee, earnestly looking up at my seated position from his on the floor. “Rowan wants you to be comfortable. That’s what he told Colt and me. To make you feel like a guest.”

Really? That’s… kind of surprising, actually. Does the jail guard have a heart? Here’s hoping.

“What would you like to do? I could show you around. Give you a little tour. Or, if you’d like, you can stay in my chair. I’ll borrow Rowan’s.” He looks over at the solid stool. “He won’t mind.”

I knew that this one had to be Finn’s. Just like I figured that the cozy couch probably belonged to Colt, and the hard chair had to be where Rowan sits. It kind of reminds me of, like, a torturous throne where he can sit there, watching his brothers and the fire, but never letting himself relax.

Poor guy. I’m sure I could show him a thing or two about relaxing?—

No. No, Goldie. No thinking about flirting with the grumpy grizzly who told you to stay like it was a jail sentence. Focus on the sweet bear who is willing to spend time with you and who will be a lot easier to sway to your side if necessary.

Hmm.

I gesture at him to stand up. Once he does, I climb up from the chair, casually laying my hand on Finn’s bicep. I can feel the defining curve of his muscle even through his flannel shirt, and the way his cheeks heat up again… yeah. He’s freaking adorable.

I bat my lashes up at him. “I’d love that tour.”

We start our tour in the living room. He points out where each of the brothers sit, while also reinforcing my fantasy that, sometimes, they sprawl out in their bear form in front of the hearth when the fireplace is lit.

In the kitchen, he shows me the icebox that serves as their refrigerator, plus the cabinet where I can find a glass so that I don’t have to drink from my cupped palms. There’s a pantry that, I shit you not, is full of countless glass jars of honey, plus plenty of cans of the oats they soak to make porridge.

He does make a point to say that, while they have a fondness for the filling meal, they eat fish from the nearby river, meat from prey animals they hunt in the woods, and plants they forage apart from other goods they barter for or, and I quote, that the ‘forest provides’.

Like I already realized, those are the only two rooms on the first floor.

Just like how my screaming bladder led me to discover a small water closet—because I’m not sure what I peed into, but it was toilet-like enough without being a true toilet—upstairs next to Finn’s room.

Still, I let him bring me upstairs so that he can show it to me, as well as pointing at his room, then Colt’s, and finally Rowan’s.

My favorite part was when he blushed and tripped over his words as he offered to let me sleep in his bed again tonight. He could either join me so I wouldn’t be alone or sleep near the fire, but if I enjoyed the comfort of his room, he wanted to be the one to provide it whenever I needed it.

I smile coyly at Finn before telling him that we’ll see.

And maybe I’m teasing a monster that I barely know, but I can’t resist. It’s that eagerness about him.

He’s like a second shadow, right there every time I turn, and if I catch him sniffing my hair when he doesn’t think I can see him doing it, I tell myself that it’s better than sleeping out in the woods.

Our tour doesn’t last that long, and I’m just thinking that he’s looking for an excuse to hover longer when he actually opens the door to Rowan’s room.

The same clean pine scent slams into me, but now that I know who it belongs to… damn, it’s even more enticing than it was before.

I breathe shallowly so that it’s not obvious, then turn to look at Finn. “Are you sure we should be in here? Your brother doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be happy if we were in his space when he wasn’t around.”

To be honest, I get the idea that he’d be pissed if he was around, too.

Finn shakes his head. “You’re our… well, you know. You’re on our territory now and that makes it yours, too. There isn’t anywhere you can’t go, including Rowan’s room.”

I’m their unplanned guest. Got it. “Still, I think it would be better?—”

He grabs my hand. His skin is warm, a hint of a callus on the edge of it a reminder that he wields an axe when he isn’t working with his bees. “I want to show you something. Rowan said I could.”

Well, if Rowan said…

I let Finn lead me toward a closet door as he says, “Rowan built this room to be big, not just because he’s the oldest. For as long as I can remember, he’s been filling this room with everything you might need.

Well, not you. We didn’t know who you would be, but we always hoped…

” His voice trails to a close before he gives me an impish grin.

“Don’t listen to me. When I get nervous, I babble. ”

I squeeze his fingers. “Do I make you nervous, Finn?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows roughly.

Oh, yeah. I’ve got my answer all right.

“We’ve never had a female here before,” he blurts out. “I’ve never even talked to one myself.”

What? “A female?”

That’s the least confusing part of what he said, but if he wants me to believe that he’s never spoken to a member of the opposite sex before me, I need to verify that that’s what he means by female because… what the hell?

Finn cocks his head slightly. “Yes. A woman. A girl? Like you, honig. ”

That last one has me chuckle despite my shock, enough so that I ignore the unfamiliar word that he tacked on at the end there.

“I’m thirty-two. Hardly a girl.”

He nods, and I decide to take the chance to learn more about the brothers—and maybe change the subject because holy shit —by asking, “How old are you?”

His brow furrows, like he’s thinking. After a moment, he sighs, and I think I might’ve made a mistake by changing the subject.

And then... “Older than thirty-two.”

There’s a slight plea to his tone that tells me not to ask again.

And I get it; at least, I think I do. Blackmoor is a place of magic.

Or legend. If fairytales are real… if I can finally stop fooling myself that I’m currently living one…

then what if they’re immortal? How can a fairytale die as long as someone is out there, passing it on?

Older than thirty-two? Who knows how long Colt and Rowan and Finn have been out in the woods, waiting for their Goldie…

We’ve never had a female here before … I’ve never even talked to one myself.

What does that mean? That I’m really the first?

First what?

First guest?

Or… shit. He can’t mean?—

First first ?

My heart flutters as the rest of my body heats up.

Just the idea that any of the strapping lumberjacks could be virgins has me even more interested in them than I was a few moments ago…

and considering I’ve been thinking ‘what-if’ despite knowing that they’re freaking bears tells you that I was already probably way in over my head.

Can he tell? Maybe because, while I’m sightly distracted, he lets go of my hand and pulls open the closet door.

“Go on,” he says. “See if there’s anything you like.”

I’m not really sure why he thinks I would in Rowan ’s closet, but to humor Finn, I step into one heck of a walk-in closet.

On the right side, there’s a wooden bar stretching along the length with a variety of different flannel shirts and rugged jeans. Rowan’s clothes, obviously. But on the left…

Dresses. Blouses. Trousers. All plain, yet handmade, in colors that remind me of the forest: browns and whites and greens and greys. A couple of stray blue pieces, and some fluffy dark coats hanging on the rod.

Undeniably, it’s a wardrobe for a woman—in a house that’s never hosted on before me.

Okay, then.

Stepping back out, meeting Finn’s excited smile, I just ask, “Rowan has a closet full of women’s clothing?”

I’m not making any judgment. I mean, I don’t see how some of those pieces will fit his bulk, but if he likes to collect clothing… hey. You do you.

For a moment, Finn is confused, and then his luscious lips part in understanding. “Oh, no. No. Those aren’t Rowan’s.”

“They’re not.”

He shakes his head. “They’re for our… his mate.”

His what ?

“Mate?” I echo.

Finn nods this time. “The one female that Fate picked for him.” A tiny teasing smile. “That might actually put up with his temper.”

When I find myself nodding in agreement to that, he winces.

“No. I shouldn’t say that. Rowan… when the hunters came for Mama, he was the one who gathered me and Colt up.

We were only cubs. Hadn’t even had our first shift to skin yet, but he tossed us on his back, and ran through the forest until he found a territory where we could all be safe. Where we could wait for our mate.”

It’s in that same lovesick stare he gives me as he looks down at me.

Mate. Like the romantic—and sexual—partner to an animal.

Mate.

Me .

Uh-oh.