Page 30 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

ZARA

T he scratching stops, and for three heartbeats, there’s only silence. Then a shadow passes by the kitchen window. Large and dark, moving on four legs.

I jump. It’s an animal, and a big one at that. That’s why he rushed Jerry inside, why he told me to lock the door with such urgency. It has to be a bear.

My hands tremble and my body shakes, immediately going into panic mode after weeks of being on edge constantly.

When Jerry explodes into motion, throwing himself at the door with a vicious snarl, the wood shudders under his weight.

Whatever’s outside responds with its own growl, so deep, I feel it in my bones.

I back away from the window. A bear is better than my stalker, but as I ponder how the door shook under Jerry’s weight, and whether it could withstand a determined bear, my confidence falters.

The beast outside circles the cabin. I track its progress by Jerry’s movements, the way he races from window to window, protecting every entrance. It sniffs loudly under the door as it returns to the porch, then more scratching. Harder this time.

That’s when I see it properly through the side window. As I squint into the darkness, and the moonlight catches its coat, I realise it’s not a bear; it’s a wolf, albeit a massive one, with dark grey fur and pale eyes that catch the silver light.

It’s pacing up and down, head low, completely focused on the cabin.

He’s not interested in me. It’s just a hungry animal, I tell myself, that smells the food in here. For all I know, maybe Ben feeds the damn thing.

Jerry rubs against my legs, nudging me away from the windows.

His whole body vibrates with anger, lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

The usually chilled-out husky’s demeanour tells me they’re not friends.

Maybe this is a canine thing. The wolf sees Jerry as a trespasser and wants him gone.

“Good boy,” I whisper, stroking Jerry’s fur. “It’s okay. He’ll get bored and leave.”

The wolf circles again. Then there’s a solid thump on the front door as it shoulders the wood, testing how solid it is.

My mouth goes dry. I’ve seen videos of bears breaking into cabins and cars to get food, but not wolves.

Shit. Where the hell is Ben?

Then the scratching returns, higher this time. Near the handle.

Jerry’s growl gets louder, more threatening. He positions himself between me and the door, ready to fight anything that gets through. Briefly, I debate locking him in the bedroom because maybe it’s him I should keep safe. But if the wolf gets in, what am I going to do here on my own?

Shit, shit, shit .

I wrap my arm around Jerry’s neck and attempt to steer him back, but he won’t budge while it’s right outside.

Then, as I stare wide-eyed at the front door, it does something that makes my blood run cold… The door handle rattles. Bouncing, like something’s pawing at it. Not enough to open it, but with enough force to make it move.

“It’s okay, Jerry,” I whisper, my voice shaking, even though this is anything but okay. “It can’t get in.”

But as I think of the golden retriever I had as a child, who could most definitely open doors, I wish Ben would come back, or that there was something stronger between us and those glistening white teeth.

The wolf prowls up and down on the porch. Heavy footfalls, back and forth, back and forth. Claws click on wood in an agitated rhythm.

He’s not giving up.

That’s when I hear it, hear him , distant but unmistakable.

“ZARA.”

Ben’s booming voice roars through the forest.

He’s coming.

The pacing stops. There’s one mournful howl from the other side of the door that sends a shiver down my spine, and then nothing, just Jerry’s continued growls, and my own ragged breathing.

I count to ten. There’s still no noise.

“Is it gone?” I whisper.

Jerry’s ears twist forward. He pads to the window, sniffing, checking. His tail gives one tentative wag. That’s reassuring. The immediate threat seems to have passed, but Ben’s still outside with a dangerous animal on the loose.

Peering outside, I’m trying to gather the courage to open the front door, to check on Ben, just as heavy footsteps thunder across the clearing, getting closer, faster.

Jerry’s tail wags faster now. He knows those footsteps. Fists pound on the door so hard, the entire frame shakes as Ben tries the door and finds it still locked.

“Zara. ZARA? Open the door,” Ben orders, but I’ve never heard him sound like this. Worried. Desperate. My body reacts automatically to his command, no longer frozen by fear, and I grab the bolt.

My fingers fumble with the metal slide, shaking enough that I can barely grasp it. The second it’s free, I step back.

Ben barrels in, the door crashing open so hard, it bounces off the wall.

He fills the doorframe, chest heaving, and eyes wild. He looks savage. Dangerous, even. His clothes are torn from branches, hair wild, and dirt streaked across his face. His gaze rakes over me with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Did it hurt you?” he demands.

I shake my head and look past him, but there’s nothing out there. Jerry sniffs the air, apparently eager to confirm the same.

“There was a wolf. It was trying to…” I explain, but Ben’s already moving.

Two strides, and he’s on me. His hands cup my face, tilting my head back. I have just enough time to see the raw hunger in his eyes, dark as midnight, before his mouth crashes down on mine.

The kiss is nothing like our first kiss. That was sensual. This is pure desperation. A claiming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth without hesitation, relief and need all mixed together.

“I’m okay,” I assure him, but he’s not listening. One hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, while the other grips my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard line of his body.

He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall, never breaking the kiss. I should feel trapped, his enormous body surrounding me, but instead, I feel anchored, safe with all that strength and power focused entirely on me.

My hands fist in his torn shirt, needing something to hold onto as my knees go weak.

He kisses me like he’s drowning, and I’m air, like he’ll die if he stops. His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I make a sound I’ve never made before, a needy whimper, that seems to drive him wilder.

“Mine.”

He growls against my lips, and I feel the word vibrate through me at every point where our bodies touch. Something deep inside me responds to that claim, unfurling, ready for him. It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear it.

I should protest, tell him I am not, in any way, his, but there’s no point because I want to be.

So, I forget all the doubts and concerns that linger in the back of my mind and sink into him, letting him take control, letting myself enjoy this adrenaline-fuelled moment of madness.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead’s pressed against mine, and his hands are shaking where they frame my face. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones with surprising gentleness after that consuming kiss.

“It was trying to get in. Did you see it?” I whisper. “It was pawing at the door handle. Was it after Jerry? Thank God it was locked.”

His jaw clenches hard, the muscle jumping behind his beard. Instead of answering my volley of questions, he pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me, as if he’s trying to shield me from the world.

My body reacts, breathing evening out, pulse returning to a more normal rate.

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s gone.”

But something about the way he’s holding me, and how he reaches back to slide the deadbolt back into place, tells me that may not be entirely true.