Taming the Beast

“I wish you would tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he growled. “Let me show you your room.”

He led her through his bedroom, which was just as messy as the bathroom. She noted the sturdy four poster bed covered in fluffy black blankets made of the softest fabrics.

They went down the hall and turned the corner, until they came to another wing of the mansion. It was cold in this part of the big house. He opened the door, and she peered inside. It was a well-appointed guestroom for a young woman or a girl. The bedspread was covered in pink hearts that matched the curtains on a window that overlooked the snow-covered garden below.

A fireplace sat in the corner, with a stack of wood beside it. An easy chair faced the hearth, and a bookshelf covered the opposite wall. It looked like a sweet, cozy little place to call home for a time. Even though this was a strange situation, she was grateful to have the room.

“Thank you,” she said, walking inside.

“You can go get your things from your mother’s house if you need.”

“That won’t be necessary. My mother made me bring them with me in the car.”

Chapter 8

James left Matilda alone in her room and stormed down the hall, unable to believe that he had agreed to allow her to live in his mansion. His inner grizzly was going mad, threatening to break through his human defenses. The beast insisted that he claim the woman right here and now.

There was no way James could ever have Matilda. He was mad in more ways than one. His human mind was cracked and the mind of his grizzly was broken beyond repair. The horrors of war and the solitude of the mountain had pushed him over the edge.

He needed to get her out of here as soon as possible. There was no way for them to live safely together in his mansion. When she’d told him she had nowhere to go, he couldn’t help but want to help her.

She was his fated mate. As a shifter, his primary instinct was to protect her. That instinct had led him to allowing her to live in this house, as stupid as that decision may have been. Now he would be forced to smell her sweet scent every moment of every day as it filled his mansion.

He walked out onto the back porch that led to the grounds. The drops of blood from the rabbits he’d devoured still clung to the snow. He gritted his teeth at the shame of it and hurried down the walkway, through the garden of statues that stared down at him from their pillars.

As he glanced at their faces, he knew that he could see them staring back at him. It was no comfort to know the depth of his own insanity. His poor little mate had to get away from here as fast as possible before he did something he would regret for eternity.

She needed a place to stay, but more than that, she needed to be safe. And being safe meant staying as far away from him as possible. He tried not to look at the faces of the statues as he trudged through the snow to the back corner of the grounds. He needed to get away from her smell and clear his head. He had to decide what to do.

There was a small gazebo glassed in by storm windows and protected from the elements. He walked through the door and sat on a wooden bench beside the fireplace.

Shivering in the cold, he threw a few logs in the hearth and started a fire. The longer he stayed out here the better. Pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, he tried to muster the strength to go back to the house. He knew that as soon as he went inside, she would be there. The smell of her, the sound of her heart beating, the sight of her beautiful, curvaceous, young body. He would never survive it. Neither of them would.

As he gazed at the fire, his inner grizzly sent him images of himself ripping Matilda’s clothes off, and taking her like a madman across his king-sized bed. The images were so vivid he could almost feel himself sinking into her soft core. Thinking of the velvety warmth of her sex around his shaft made him roar with desire. He broke out of the fantasy and squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing his temples. The things his bear wanted could never be.

Matilda was his mate and therefore he had to protect her, even if it was from himself. These mad, dark thoughts were twisting through his mind and keeping his attention so intently that he didn’t notice the screen door of the gazebo had swung open.

The little raven-haired college girl stood before him, her heart shaped mouth puckered questioningly and her pale cheeks flushed with red from the cold air outside.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded to know.

“I wanted to know if I could make something for dinner?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Obviously, you have to eat.”

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks,” she said, turning away.

“Wait!” he said, too loudly.

She turned back to look at him, questions in her eyes.

“I’ll make something for you,” he stammered.