The BEARly Tamed Grizzly (Bear Clan 3)

Was there danger? Something wrong at home? I’d called my brothers this morning, and everything had been fine, but still there was something lurking under the surface that had me on alert.

I continued to stare out the window and saw a mother and father and their two children entering their mobile home, this large recreational vehicle that screamed family camping vacation. I continued to look outside, my gaze finally stopping on this small van, which almost looked like a clinic, with that medical symbol painted on the side.

There was a line of people right outside the door, little children holding on to their mothers’ and fathers’ hands.

It was across the street, but I could see each and every person that stood there, the elderly woman at the back who held a cane, her hand curled tightly around it, her body fragile. There was a couple at the front who had ragged clothing, dirt under their nails, and bags under their eyes.

I watched each person, not sure if one of them was the reason I felt this way. Maybe my mate was close? I’d never felt anything like this, and didn’t know how I’d react once I did see her. Maybe I’d be uncontrollable, unable to stop myself from shifting, my restraint completely gone.

I’d never really listened to the story of my brothers mating, of how they’d reacted. But I did know that it was different for each shifter, that instant connection the same, but how our animals handled it very

different.

Or maybe she wasn’t even in California. Maybe I was just getting too antsy, too impatient.

But out of everything in this entire world, that feeling, that uncontrollable desire, that first meeting ... was what I needed desperately.

* * *

India

I unlocked my front door and pushed it open, tossing my keys on the breakfast counter, shutting the door with my foot, and just standing there for a moment listening to the nothingness of it all.

After locking the door, I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of white wine, and a glass from the cupboard. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but a glass of wine at the end of the day tended to help me wind down, especially when it was one of those days.

Hectic. Time consuming. Exhausting.

I grabbed a bag of marshmallows and headed back into the living room. Then I sat down, stared at my TV, and contemplated turning it on or just sitting in the dark.

Although I was alone, had been pretty much my entire life, the kind of emptiness I felt just seemed to grow daily. I didn’t know what it was, couldn’t put it into words, not accurately. It was as if there was a hole deep inside of me, growing, becoming bigger until it would swallow me completely one day.

I took a long sip from my wine glass, resting my head back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. Today had been a brutal one, with me working a few hours at the facility, then immediately doing the mobile medic.

There had been back-to-back patients, some just needing reassurance that things would be okay, others being sent to the hospital for issues we couldn’t treat ourselves.

But keeping busy, being surrounded by total strangers seemed to help with the loneliness I felt.

I took another sip of my wine and then set the glass down on the coffee table in front of me. Underneath the table I kept a few books and a photo album. The only one I owned.

I pulled the album out and lay back again, flipping through the pages, photos of when I was younger, foster siblings, school pictures. They all showed a girl who rarely smiled, her blond hair stringy, sometimes a matted mess, her blue eyes seeming too big for her face.

Me.

I’d had nothing, no one, as I’d jumped from foster home to foster home. But then I’d grown up, made my own way. I was happy now, relatively, helping others, focusing on that.

I picked up my wine glass and downed the rest of it, getting drunk and feeling pretty good. But there was always that festering dark hole inside me, the one that reached its long claws out, gripping me from the inside out, trying to tear through me, trying consume me.

To hell with that.

I was strong. I was a survivor.

I set the photo album aside and stood, making my way toward the bathroom. Getting drunk wasn’t my answer. Now, taking a long, hot bubble bath might actually help.

I ran the water and poured the lavender scented bubbles in. In a matter of seconds the room was starting to fill with steam, the scent of flowers filling the small interior. I got undressed, tossing my clothes into the small laundry basket tucked in the corner. And then I stared at myself in the mirror.

The woman who looked back at me was one I didn’t recognize some days. I lifted my hand and touched the side of my neck, the spot right underneath the skin tingling. It was a sensation that had started a couple of days ago. It wasn’t overly noticeable, just a slight tingling, intensifying when I lightly placed my finger on my skin.

I leaned in, looking at my neck, seeing if I could spot anything.