Page 5 of Rose's Untamed Bear

Not daring to move, because I didn't want to frighten the fragile truth between Snow and me, I allowed her to wrap the yarn around my paw. Holding still, I watched her slowly unspool it until it became a red ball.

It was Rose, though, who stormed every single one of my defenses. She wrapped me in her chatter and laughter and smuggled me into her nightly games of naming.

“Gregor? Too plain. Beowulf? Too wolfy. King Arthur?” she teased, scratching behind my ears until my back arched despite myself. “Oh, come on—you like that one.”

I grumbled. She grinned.

She’s naming us,Derrick whispered, the echo of a smile in his voice.

She’s taming us,Magnus admitted grudgingly.

Every mock battle, every story told by firelight, every time her cheek pressed into my shoulder as she drifted into a light slumber, she chipped away at the beast. And in those moments, when her warmth bled through fur to bone, Derrick pressed closer, clawing his way back into the light.

It was a strange war I fought—Magnus yielded ground inch by inch, while Derrick rose stronger each day. And me, trapped between them, half longing for claws, half yearning for hands.

The girls laughed, Mother sharpened her knives, and somewhere beneath it all, a long-dormant heart began to stir as a man began to remember what it meant to live.

One morning, I woke to the sound of Snow singing, sharp and bright like a bird. My wound had knit itself into something tolerable, no longer the raw torment it had been. I stretched the paw experimentally. The bear was content, but the man felt restless.

I didn't see Rose, so I lumbered through the kitchen, sending Snow’s bowl of flour crashing to the floor. She clutched her chest like I’d stolen her heart clear from her ribs. “You’ll kill me before the wolves do,” she snapped, cheeks turned scarlet from the sudden fright.

Rose was already outside, testing her bow. A rare ray of winter light broke through the cloud cover and caught her hair, and it shone like wildfire. She didn’t even flinch at my approach. She tossed me a grin over her shoulder, wicked and fearless. “You’re coming?” she asked. As if she’d known I would.

I rumbled, and Derrick whispered from deep inside me:Say yes. Gods, just say it.

She led me into the trees; every one of her steps was silent, sure. The forest itself bent toward her like a congregation. The woods in late winter were a cathedral of silence and bones; the snow thinned to reveal old secrets: boot prints, hare trails, and the black scat of wolves.

At some point, Rose signed once, two fingers to her lips, and crept forward. We moved as one. My senses were sharpened and honed, slicing through the cold. Birds huddled in their hollows, and the world held its breath as if sensing the two hunters. Rose’s hands were sure as she checked her traps and set new snares—gods, she was clever, this girl—she inspected everything with the caution of a soldier, never careless, never slow.

Her grace, the way she just fit into these woods like a wild creature, made Derrick stir inside me. The man was becoming more and more aware of himself, beginning to fight against the beast that trapped his form. She intrigued him as much as she did Magnus, and with that, we were starting to become one.

A sudden tickle in my nose made me sneeze. Rose spun, bow at the ready, glaring as if I’d just scared off her prey. Her voice came sharp as flint.

“Hush, Bear! You’ll have us starving.”

I wanted to laugh—it was absurd, me, terrifying half the forest—and yet Magnus bristled in me, playing the predator for her benefit. She only smirked, reached back, and scratched the top of my head like I was some oversized hound. And to both our astonishments, we liked it.

We walked for another hour, following the meager light that was braving a path through low clouds and gnarled branches. The day was heavy as a secret—clouds were pressing low, the promise of spring hung barely touchable in the air.

Then, out of nowhere, my senses prickled, a warning came carried by the wind: fur, wet and wild, and not my own. Rose sensed it, too. She stilled, keeping her bow ready, her eyes narrowed as her head moved from side to side. Her competence stirred something dangerous in me—human emotions, a mix of pride, longing, and awe.

The foul scent pricked my nose again, making me focus. Wolves—the epitome of hunger on four legs. I eased forward, forcing myself between Rose and the shadows. She ignored the warning, the madwoman, and drew her bow.

Tell her to run, Derrick hissed.

She won’t, Magnus replied, grim. She’s too bold.

Then make her, Derrick snarled.She’ll get herself killed.

And yet… Magnus rumbled, admiration slipping in. Look at her hands. Steady as any soldier.

The brush erupted. Wolves poured out, their teeth flashing. Without losing a second, Rose loosed her arrow like a queen casting judgment, and for one glorious second, I forgot to breathe.

Then they were on us.

The bear took me. Magnus surged forward, an avalanche of fur and fury. One wolf met my jaws mid-leap and screamed as I drove it into the snow. Pain shot up my injured leg as another sank in its teeth, but I spun and crushed him beneath my paw. Blood sprayed warm across the drifts.

Rose’s arrow sang past my ear, thunking into another wolf’s hide. She drew again, too brave, too damn magnificent.