Page 11 of Fated to the Grizzly

“Oh, your ear’s bleeding.” He shoved his hair back from his face and now I can see that the tip is torn.

“It’s nothing.” He dumps some liquid on a cotton swab and presses it against my knee.

“Yeeoww!” I yelp.

He sucks in air, his breath ragged. “I’m sorry, honey. This is the last time I’ll hurt you. Ever.”

My breath catches. I’m not used to gentleness. And I’m sure not used to being called honey. I’m used to the brutalities of prepper life. I’m used to being called a wuss because I can’t chop wood as fast as my brothers. But this mountain man, in the past few minutes has shown me more kindness than I’ve had in my whole life.

And those eyes are on mine again. Two huge, dark coals, surrounded by thick lashes and topped by a pair of heavy, slanting eyebrows. He’s so darn handsome it’s hard to look at him up close.

“I’m brave, really,” I tell him.

“You’ve been brave long enough.” He strokes my cheek with a callused fingertip. Darn, that feels good.

“How do you know?” I murmur.

“Just a feeling I get about you. A look in your eyes.”

I swallow hard. “What kind of look?”

Instead of answering, he traces a line from my cheek, to my jaw, then he lifts his hand and strokes my hair. Every little touch draws trails of stardust with it. I bite back a moan.

“Who did this to you?”

I blink. “I-I fell. You know that?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t mean that. I mean, who’s been starving your heart all these years?”

My mouth opens and closes again. I hadn’t realized that’s how I felt. But now he’s saying it aloud, I know it’s true. I’ve been feeling hungry for love and care for so long.

But if I talk about it now, all the defenses I’ve built up might start to crumble.

“I don’t even know your name,” I say instead.

There’s a flicker of mischief in his ebony irises, like he knows what I’m doing. “Orion,” he says.

“Orion.” I repeat it, drawing it deep inside me. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“It’s the name for the hunter constellation. My mom has always been interested in the stars.”

From the softness in his expression, I sense he has a kind mom, and that gives me a warm feeling.

“It’s Scout,” I say.

“Scout.” He smiles like I’ve handed him something precious.

I shrug. “Never been a big fan of it. Guess my dad was a fan of practical names. Everything’s gotta be useful in his world.”

“It’s perfect,” he replies. “A scout and a hunter.” He continues. “Meant to be.”

I stare at him, trying to grasp what he’s saying. I mean, I understand his words, but they seem too huge for two people who’ve just met.

“Okay, done.”

I look down. Somehow, he’s also cleaned up both my knees, without me even noticing. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

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