Page 61 of Mated to the Mountain Bear

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 handlerattles. 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, hearhim, 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.