Page 21 of Rose's Untamed Bear

“Then you should treat it better,” I muttered, bracing my boots. With a grunt, I shoved. The rock shifted an inch, then another. Grimbalt wriggled and kicked, but when I stepped back, the stone only sagged back into place.

“Hopeless,” he moaned. “You’re weaker than you look. Try again, goose, unless you mean to leave me here as carrion!”

"Don't tempt me, troll." Grinding my teeth, I crouched lower, hooked both hands under the edge, and tried levering it with my whole body. My arms burned, my back screamed, and still the stone barely budged. Grimbalt shrieked when I accidentally pulled a few more hairs taut.

That was the last of my patience. With a sharp motion, I pulled my knife from my belt.

His eyes bulged. “No! Not the beard—anything but—” He thrashed so hard, the rock nearly crushed his nose in the dirt. “You don’t understand! This isn’t hair, it’s history! Generations of greatness woven strand by strand! Each curl a legacy! Each braid a triumph! Don’t you dare lay that blade on it again, you savage little goat!”

I arched a brow, knife steady in my hand. “Legacy or not, it’s tangled in a rock.”

“Better the rock take me whole than you mutilate me!” he wailed. “My beard is my crown, my banner, my birthright! Do you want me shamed before every troll and sprite in these woods?”

“Do you want to be crushed before supper?” I shot back.

He froze, glaring, beard still stretched taut beneath the stone. “You wouldn’t.”

Snip.

The blade cut clean through the last tangled strands. The rock settled back with a thud, and Grimbalt tumbled free in a heap, clutching the ragged end of his beard as though I’d shorn off his very soul.

“You wicked, graceless child!” he screeched. “Wretched girl! You’ll never understand what you’ve cost me! Not one bit of gratitude—none!”

He scrambled to his feet. His face turned purple with fury, and his eyes rolled so wild they almost gleamed red. For a heartbeat, I thought he might burst apart from rage alone.

Then he spun, saw my bow lying against the rocks where I’d set it down.

“Don’t you dare—” I started, but he snatched it up, his stubby fingers fumbling against the string.

“You think you can mock me?Me?” he snarled, flashing his gray teeth. “You cut my power away strand by strand, but I’ll show you, I’ll skewer you to the very trees!”

The string groaned under his clumsy pull. His arms shook; the bow was far too large for him, but the fury in his eyes was real. For the first time in all our run-ins, I felt true danger in him, not just spite or meanness, but a murderous rage that might yet find its mark. The bowstring creaked, taut and trembled. My breath caught, terror burned up through me like fire. I didn’t want to die. Not here, not like this, not at the hands of this wretched little goblin with stubs of hair for a beard and hate dripping from his mouth.

“Goodbye, goose,” Grimbalt spat, his lips peeled back in a smile too wide, and much too eager.

The arrow trembled, just as a roar split the woods.

A bear.

My bear.

He came crashing through the trees, a thunder of muscle and fur, his golden eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. The earth shook beneath his charge. He hit Grimbalt before the arrow loosened enough to fly, sending the little creature sprawling in the dirt, shrieking.

Grimbalt’s hand snapped up, sparks crackled weakly from his stubby fingers. “Hex!” he spat, flinging the word like a stone. A jagged shimmer of light burst between them, but it fizzled almost instantly, no stronger than a child’s candle flame.

Derrick laughed, a terrible, rolling roar-laugh that shook the leaves from the trees. The sound raised every hair on my arms, sent terror and awe alike shivering through me. Then Grimbalt tried again, words spitting from his tongue, but his magic sputtered like a dying fire. I didn’t understand how a troll knew of magic, nor why it seemed to flare and fade without taking effect.

With one colossal swipe of his paw, Derrick slammed the troll into the ground. Grimbalt screeched, flailing, cursing me, cursing Derrick, cursing the world. But Derrick did not let go. His weight crushed the last breath from Grimbalt’s chest.

The forest went still.

Derrick threw back his head and roared, a mighty, victorious bellow that shook the sky. And as the sound faded, his form shifted: fur receded, claws melted into fingers. His transformation showed none of the agony of before, and soon he stood before me in the clearing, not the beast, but the man.

Derrick.

My Derrick.

No longer ragged or half-shadowed, but whole. Dressed in fine brown leather breeches and a white shirt open at the chest, his broad torso gleamed with sweat, and his breath came out hard and fast. His hair was wild, damp with exertion, his golden-brown eyes locked on me like I was the only thing left in the world worth seeing.