Page 23 of Wooded Bliss

“I’m a bear shifter,” he starts, and I open my mouth, but he cuts me off, answering the question I didn’t get to say out loud, “and so are my brothers.”

“Bear shifter,” I mutter.

I look him over again without a single clue as to what I’m looking for. While I didn’t get to fully appreciate the man in front of me the other night—because I was too busy getting lost in an orgasm fog—I’m looking now.

Thatcher has a bear paw print tattoo on his chest. How did I not notice it the other night?

“Yes,” Thatcher starts to reach for me, but whatever he sees on my face has him dropping his hand as he frowns. “I’ll try and give you all the important information about this. I’ll also answer any questions you have.”

I nod while swallowing hard, the revelation he’s just laid at my feet barely passing my lips as a whisper, “Bear shifter.”

Thatcher smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes where I see worry and fear. “All sorts of shifters live with other shifters, mostly their own kind, in packs. There is a hierarchy in every pack, no matter what kind of shifter they are. My father used to be the Alpha until his death ten years ago. Now Ripp is the Alpha.” His sentences are simple, like he can tell I’m about a second away from losing it completely. “We can shift into our bears when we turn 18, but it’s not the only reason turning 18 matters.”

His eyes are focused on me and it’s almost like he’s willing me to understand and take what he’s saying at face value and not hold any of it against him. I won’t make promises I don’t intend to keep and I’m not sure what is about to happen.

“When a bear turns 18, they can also find their fated mate.”

I suck in a breath and stumble slightly. Before Thatcher can touch me, I right myself and get my shit together.

“Fated mate?” I tilt my head back and look at him.

His mouth is turned down in a scowl and there’s a wariness about him I hate. Even though I want to wrap my arms around him and comfort him, I hold myself back. This is a huge thing he’s told me; one I don’t take lightly. I know he’s trusting me with something big, but I’ve been thrown for a loop at the same time.

“Every shifter has a fated mate. They are the other half of our souls, and we are destined for them, to be one with them. When fated mates meet, they know their mate by their scent.” My heart sinks more with each word; there is no way I’m Thatcher’s fated mate. I’m human. “Then there are the tingles.”

I perk up and blink at the man in front of me, the bear shifter in front of me. “Tingles?”

“Yes,” he grins from ear to ear seeing a spark of excitement because knowing tingles are involved in this whole fated mate thing gives me hope. “Tingles. And a feeling of peace and rightness whenever you are near your mate.”

“But you’re a bear shifter and wouldn’t be mated to a human,” I try and keep the desolation out of my voice, but it’s there in the recesses of my words.

Thatcher shakes his head slowly, “A bear shifter could be, would be, mated to a human if the Moon Goddess makes it so.”

For some reason, the memory of what brought me all the way out here to see Thatcher comes to the forefront of my mind. I narrow my eyes at my mate, even though he hasn’t said it outright. I can read between the lines.

Fuck. Why am I not freaking out?

I tap my chin as if I’m thinking before spitting out the words, not caring how the man in front of me can shift into a giant predator, “Would a mate pop up, fuck their mate, and then disappear from said mate’s bed without a word?”

Thatcher winces and has the decency to look chagrined and ashamed. Good. It’s a start.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly.

I gasp when he scoops me up into his arms and starts to stride toward his cabin. The only thing I can do is wrap my arms around his neck and hold on. He doesn’t talk again until he’s walked inside and settled on a huge couch in his living room with me on his lap.

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about how unbothered he is about being naked as the day he was born. It’s not like I mind, necessarily, but it is kind of distracting.

The man looks damn good with clothes on. But without them? I’m trying not to lose myself in the lust wanting to overtake me. The tingles aren’t helping either.

His chest has a nice amount of hair and the memory of the way it felt against my skin is distracting as hell.

“I freaked out,” Thatcher’s voice pulls me out of my lustful thoughts, but just barely. “I’m sure you heard about the death of my parents,” he begins, and I nod as I stare into his dark brown eyes, hating the pain I see there. “Ever since then I’ve been telling myself I don’t want a mate.”

Pain slices through me and my breathing becomes labored. Does he mean he doesn’t want me? I just found him. Should this be hurting so much?

“Shit,” he curses under his breath before gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. His words come out quickly, but with conviction. “I was afraid of losing someone else who mattered so much to me, and with a mate it would be even worse. It was enough for me to devote myself to helping raise my younger brothers and live out here in the forest. But then you showed up with a flower delivery. I tried to fight it, but there was no way I was ever going to win the battle. It was never you, Birdie,” he rumbles, “it was always about my fear.”

“You don’t want a mate,” it’s a statement, not a question, even though my voice is weak.

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