Dare to Bear (Book 1 Trail Guardians Series) (12 page)

“That was close.” He shook his head like an animal shaking water off its fur, leaving his hair tousled around his face. The whites of his eyes were visible again. “Damn, baby,” he breathed into her hair, hugging her tight.

Baby
. The endearment startled her, but she clung to him with gratitude. “Thank you.” She swallowed, licking her dry lips. “How did you do that?”

“Instinct,” he said.

“Oh.”

Except, she didn’t know many guys who’d risk their lives, or who possessed such an incredible well of strength, to save hers. No guy other than the one holding her now. Had she’d attempted this with Kyle…well, she was glad she hadn’t. Mason was ten times the man Kyle could ever hope or pretend to be.

Part of her wondered if she would’ve endured this journey without Mason. Had fate intervened on her behalf? If she’d suspected it before, now she believed it to the marrow of her exhausted bones.

“Can we take a breather?” she asked, drained and weary from the ledge ordeal and her near-death experience. She couldn’t imagine the physical toll it had taken on him.

He nodded, stood and helped her to her feet. “Good plan. First we need to reach the trail, about two-hundred yards Northwest. Can you handle another five minute before we crash?”

She craved the comfortable safety of the trail like a coffee addict heading for a Starbucks café. “Yes. I’m not up for any more unplanned excursions today.”

“Same,” he said.

Keeping their packs clipped together, he slung both onto his back again. She offered to bear the burden of her own pack, but he waved away her offer and reached for her hand instead. His grip was solid, strong and comforting. All the traits she appreciated about him were represented in one small gesture.

Now his touch seemed more significant, more meaningful to her. They’d faced their mortality and survived, together. Mostly thanks to him. And she had faced down a challenge she never would’ve attempted on her own.

She trusted him. Explicitly. Intimately.

That changed things between them—on a level she wasn’t entirely comfortable exploring right that second, but impacted her with an undeniable force.

An un-jaded, fairy-tale-believing part of her briefly thought that with him by her side, she could accomplish anything. She glanced at his hand encasing hers. His protective, masculine grip caused her heart to trip over the next beat. She felt acutely aware of him, the way his tall body moved, the length of his surefooted strides, the cords of muscle rippling in his calves, his forearms, his neck. The gentle tugs as he guided her back to the path to continue their journey.

Their
journey.

This trip didn’t belong to just her anymore. They were partners.

Possibly more…?

Mason had made his interest in her, as more than camping buddies, plenty obvious. He’d given her the most delicious orgasm during oral sex last night. He’d saved her life today. Although she would never have believed she could fall for a man so soon after Kyle, she hadn’t believed herself capable of half the trials she’d overcome on the Appalachian Trail.

Some things were worth reconsidering. Some people were worth a second glance, a second chance. Even herself.

Relief rolled over her the moment her boots touched down on the well-worn trail. Mason ushered her to a moss-covered log, and he collapsed beside her on nature’s bench.

Setting his forearms on his knees, he dropped his chin to his chest. He appeared to be as shaken as her, by his gravity-defying rescue.

Then she noticed the condition of his left hand and inwardly recoiled. Dirt and blood caked his fingers. His nails were torn, skin shredded.

“Mason?” she whispered on a slight gasp.

Eyes closed, he didn’t raise his head or answer.

Pushing aside her fatigue, she stepped over the log and stood behind him. His shoulders felt like rocks as she removed the straps of his pack and shimmied them down his arms. He didn’t protest.

With a quick search of her pack, she located her first aid kit. Setting it open beside him on the log, she grabbed the hydrogen peroxide and poured it over his hand. The liquid sizzled in the open wounds, a sickening sight, but he didn’t make a sound. She wiped the blood, dirt, and residue with a fresh washcloth. Then she gingerly plucked the splinters and pebbles embedded in his skin.

When she finished, his hand looked a little less like he’d shoved it into a meat grinder. Unwinding a roll of gauze bandage, she waited until his hand had dried and dressed his wounds to keep them clean. Then she used another clean washcloth, soaked it with water from a canteen, and wiped the sweat-streaked dirt from his handsome features.

She brushed his hair back from his down-bent face and noticed his serene expression, at odds with the pain undoubtedly plaguing his left hand. He could’ve been asleep for all she knew, oblivious to her ministrations.

He deserved the rest—
and
a little TLC.

She walked over the log again and placed her hands on his back, rubbing his shoulders. Beneath her fingers the divots where the pack straps had indented his skin slowly flattened, the muscles gradually easing their tension.

Mason sat still as stone.

Far from asleep, he didn’t want to move because he didn’t want her to stop. He absorbed the sensation of her hands kneading his shoulders, saturated by the thrill of her touch on him.

Had he been without a woman so long that his entire body leaped to life under her caress? No, it hadn’t been
that
long. This must’ve been why his kind mated for life. No other woman could compare to the one meant for him. Privately, he found himself disgusted at the idea of another female rubbing his shoulders, touching his skin, lying in his bed.

So. The legends were fact and not fiction. Truer than he’d ever imagined. His mate was—would always be—the only one he wanted.

Ancestors, please help me find a way to convince Steph I’m the only man for her. I’ll protect her and take care of her all the days of her life. If only she could see it, feel it, the way I do.

Reaching behind him, he grasped her wrist, bringing her palm to his lips where he pressed a kiss. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she said.

A sigh left his chest as her light touched returned to shoulders, continuing her massage. It threw a shiver down his back. Wiggling his fingers inside the makeshift bandage, he already felt the internal layers of skin repairing themselves.

If he turned full bear, then back to human form, the healing would be instantaneous. But he wasn’t ready to go there yet.

When he’d first sat beside her on the log, he hadn’t feigned his exhaustion. But the source hadn’t been from maintaining himself on the ledge, or digging his left claws into the hillside, or holding her dangling body.

The pressure to remain human, while tapping into his bear might without fully turning, had pushed his mental and physical capacity to the limit. But he wasn’t ready to reveal the whole truth about himself to her yet. The way she’d tended to him selflessly for the past few minutes raised his hopes. Still, he needed more time to gain her trust. To earn her unguarded surrender.

“Thank you, Steph,” he said again, patting the space beside him on the log.

She accepted his invitation, trailing her fingertips along the width of his back as she took a seat. That shot a different kind of tension through his body—and his cock. Trying to discreetly accommodate his erection, he tugged the legs of his shorts toward his knees. He wanted her with an intense hunger that wouldn’t stay dormant much longer.

Gently touching his bandaged hand, she asked, “Is it as bad as it looks?”

The tender concern in her eyes warmed the space around his heart. “Nah. I’m a quick healer.” The bear in him snorted at the understatement. “How much water do we have left?”

She scooped up the canteens. “Yours are pretty full.” She handed them to him, then shook the contents of hers. “I finished half of one, but the other is full.”

“Drink up, honey. We’re both dehydrated.”

“Probably.”

While she uncapped her half-empty canteen, he tipped a full one back and drained it in five rolling gulps. From the corner of his eye, he caught her watching his throat work as he swallowed. Did he see a glimmer of attraction in those blue depths? A smile curved the edges of his mouth.

She took dainty sips from her water pouch, her lips sealed over the round opening. Bless the Ancients, what he would give to be a canteen right now. He stuffed down a moan.

When she finished, she held the empty canister at arm’s length, staring at it dubiously. “This water tastes weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“I don’t know. I thought the same thing earlier. It’s just different. Funky.” She hiccupped like she’d drunk a glass of wine too fast.

He grinned. “Pour some booze in there by accident?”

“I didn’t bring alcohol with me.” Her forehead scrunched. “I feel strange.” She fanned herself, and he watched a pretty blush fill her cheeks. “I felt it this morning, too, but I didn’t think about it much. Now—”

Frowning, he tilted his head. “You okay?”

“I think so. I don’t know. This feeling. It’s like a rush through my veins.”

“Like alcohol.”

“Only way more intense.” She stood and paced. “It’s like I can see things better. The leaves are greener. I can smell the trees. I can feel the moss growing. God, am I going crazy?”

He stared at her with curiosity and some concern. “You
feel
things growing.”

“I swear. It’s totally bizarre. Oh, boy.” She swayed on her feet. Her eyes appeared glassy yet focused, her pupils huge.

As if she’d been drugged.

“Let me see your canteen,” he said, taking it from her.

“I feel so light. And free,” she murmured, her voice wistful like she spoke from a dream state. “I want to run through that meadow in the clearing beyond the trees.”

When she pointed to her left, his eyebrows shot up. Human eyesight shouldn’t extend that far.

“I have to go there.” She squealed like an excited child. “I need to be in that field, with the flowers and butterflies.” She raced off through the woods toward the shrouded meadow.

Mason stared after her. What the hell had gotten into her? This wasn’t the careful, analytical Steph he knew.

It was his turn to eye the canteen dubiously. Before he chased after his girl, he lifted the jug and let the remaining droplets coat his tongue.

Instantly, a warm, fluid sensation swamped him. He blinked and shook his head like he’d just thrown back a shot of homemade moonshine.

Damn. The stuff was potent.

And, he recognized with disappointment, her earlier dreaminess hadn’t been because his shifter pheremones were impacting her, making her more in tune with nature, and with him. Nope. The water had been tainted. But how?

A piercing screech shattered his distractedness, sharpened his focus. The noise echoed around him, a sound unheard of during daylight hours. An owl?

A mental image sprang to mind of Ollun, last night in the cave, where Mason and Steph had camped. The man had poured out a vial of liquid into the spring pool. He’d rinsed it out there, before Mason had added drops of the virus-tainted blood to the container.

That begged the question. What had been in that vial to begin with?

Ancients damn him, Ollun had laced the water with some kind of potion that enhanced Steph’s sensory perceptions. Much like the human drug ecstasy.

A straight-and-narrow, hard-working good girl like her would have no idea what was happening to her.

“Son of a bitch,” Mason muttered, though he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face as he trotted in Steph’s direction.

The shrewd owl shifter had perceived Mason’s frustration in winning over his human mate, and the guy had actually done something mildly unselfish to help his predicament.

Another screech rang through the boughs of the trees above Mason. Or not, he thought, gritting his teeth. He quickly suspected Ollun had foregone his beauty sleep to find plenty of entertainment at his expense. The bastard.

Mason stopped at the edge of the meadow, shielding the sun from his eyes with his un-bandaged hand. He scanned the open space for his wayward mate.

In the distance, she sprang up from a cluster of blue daisies, practically galloping after the surge of butterflies disturbed by her movements.
Ancestors help me
, he thought, shaking his head, more amused than annoyed. He needed to keep close tabs on her, though, since he had no clue how Ollun’s potion might continue to affect her senses and reactions. Bringing their packs with him could slow him down. He refused to take any chances, or God knew where she’d end up—or what trouble she’d find.

“Steph,” he called out to her.

She slowed her pace and turned to him.

The smile on her face stopped his heart. He took a mental snapshot of this vision. Seeing her surrounded by a rainbow of wildflowers, her red hair loose and flowing and shot through with golden sunlight, he found her lightness of spirit took his breath away.