Page 15 of Rose's Untamed Bear

Snow’s pale lashes lowered, hiding her expression. “I had my suspicions,” she murmured at last. Then she glanced up, those ice-clear eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Of course, that was all the invitation I needed. The words tumbled out, unspooling the whole story, his curse, the magician, the stone, the unbearable truth that he was Derrick. My Derrick. I didn’t even notice the wetness on my cheeks until my voice cracked.

“And he left,” I whispered, hugging my arms around myself. “Because he’s afraid of hurting me. He thinks if he stays, he’ll… break me.”

“Oh, Rose.” Snow’s face crumpled, and to my astonishment, she was crying too. She caught my hand, her fingers cold but firm. “I’m so sorry.”

I tried to breathe past the ache, but her sorrow only made mine sharper. Until?—

Her tears hardened. She straightened, her voice turned sharp with anger, sharper than I’d ever heard from her. “So let me understand this. He can’t stand the thought ofphysicallyhurting you, so instead, he tortures youemotionally?”

I blinked, stunned. Snow rarely raised her voice, let alone let it quake with fury. Then, to my horror, a laugh broke out of me. A half-choked, wet laugh that tumbled into a sob. “I… I guess so.”

Snow sniffed, then let out a watery laugh of her own. And just like that, we were both laughing and crying in the middle of the woods, clinging to each other like the world might shatter if we let go.

“I love you,” she gasped between tears.

“I love you, too,” I managed, my voice breaking against her shoulder.

We stayed like that a long moment, tangled up in grief and sisterhood and the ridiculousness of it all, until the forest itself interrupted us with a string of furious curses that echoed from the stream ahead.

Snow lifted her head, her brows knitted. “What on earth?—?”

We followed the sound, still holding hands, until the trees parted, and there he was again: the little man with the impossible beard. Only this time, it wasn’t tangled in the roots of a tree; it was jammed fast between two slick boulders in the rushing stream. His legs kicked wildly as he fought and splashed, his face nearly dunked in the water.

“Blasted rocks! Vile tricksters! Release me!” the troll bellowed, his beard stretched tight as rope.

Snow and I looked at each other, eyes still wet from tears, and for the first time in days, we laughed without sorrow. The troll thrashed again, water sprayed from the stream as his boots kicked and his beard yanked taut between the rocks. His string of curses turned inventive enough to make even Mother blush.

“Don’t stand there like a pair of gawking storks!” he shrieked when he caught sight of us. “What are you, root-brained twigs? Stop sniveling andhelp me!”

Snow stiffened at my side, her cheeks blotchy from our tears, but her chin lifted high. For once, she didn’t hide behind me or pull me back. She folded her arms and said, “You’re very rude, you know.”

“Rude?” The troll spluttered, nearly choking on a mouthful of spray as the current tugged him lower. “I’mdrowning, you wool-headed squirrel! And you quibble about manners?”

I bit back a grin and tugged Snow closer. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s at least look before his tongue ties itself into a knot.”

We waded to the bank where his beard was wedged. It had slipped down deep into the crack between two rocks, and the rushing water was pulling it tighter with every splash. He pulled,he twisted, and he kicked, but all he managed was to drag his nose within an inch of dunking.

“Saints above,” I muttered, kneeling to peer closer. “How does one man get into so many predicaments with the same beard?”

He scowled at me as water dripped from the end of his nose. “This is no ordinary beard, girl, it is a marvel, a legacy, a tapestry of my grandeur?—”

“—and currently stuck in a creek,” Snow cut in, dry as frost.

I laughed, sharp and unexpected. Snow smirked at me, a rare flash of mischief sparked in her pale eyes, and she crouched beside me, unafraid, as if to say:We’ll deal with this together.

Snow braced her boots against the rocks and tugged a handful of beard. The troll shrieked so loud, I thought the fish might leap from the stream in fright.

“Gentle! Gentle, you ham-fisted goose! That’s myfaceyou’re yanking on!”

“It’s your beard,” Snow corrected coolly, tugging again.

“My beardismy face, you milk-fed nitwit!” He flailed, water splashing everywhere. “Careful, or you’ll rip me bald!”

I tried next, attempting to ease the wiry strands free with both hands, but the water’s pull had cinched the knot too deep. No matter how I wriggled or pried, it wouldn’t give. My fingers were going numb with cold.

“This isn’t working,” I muttered.