Page 35 of Fearless Bond

If you had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be getting pregnant at twenty years old and giving birth at twenty-one, I’dhave been like hell to the no. I loved kids and wanted to have a family. But I’d always thought that for that, I would have to pull myself together. My anxiety had always made me feel weak—something Father and Damian used against me whenever they could.

With Barclay, I felt healthy, my body and my mind. I was ready. I could do it. I could have my own family.

With a strange alpha.

But Barclay wasn’t a stranger. He was my mate, and I was getting to know him.

We had time to kill between waves but couldn’t go anywhere. When I woke up from my nap, Barclay offered to show me what he was working on, and I eagerly agreed.

I sat on a desk in the grand palace he called the “shed,” my feet dangling as I nursed a mug of peppermint tea with honey. The building was nearly the same size as the chalet, with a garage to fit a truck, a room to dry the wood where the temperature and humidity had to be regulated, another for storage, and the woodshop itself with a high ceiling and specialized lighting.

Barclay was bent over a ten-foot-long half of an oak trunk with a long hollow running along the middle. He was scraping away what looked like rotten pieces from the inside.

“See, the cavity is caused by fungi. Even with a hollow trunk, the tree can live for decades, but slowly, the main branches start to die, and it’s time to let go.”

“Did you cut it down yourself?”

“No. This one is from a guy who runs a big woodshop in Green Peaks. He sends me stuff he’d normally put into the chipper. People around here know me and call when they havesomething they think I’d like, so I don’t have to hunt for material anymore.”

“And what are you going to do with it?”

“Monty and Jordy have been bugging me about a dining table for the B&B.”

“Monty and Jordy?”

“Montgomery Wolf owns the Beauville B&B and the only pub in town. Jordy, or Orson Jordan, is the guy who runs the pub for him.”

“Are they your friends?”

“Yeah, I guess. They’re shifters too. We play poker and help each other out. Anyway. Monty saw some video online with a cracked wood filled with blue resin, and now he wants a table that looks like a lagoon.”

“It could be pretty.”

Barclay wrinkled his nose. “Nah. I don’t want to hide the wood under a bunch of resin. I’ll clean it, even out the edges, polish the top, and then I’ll put glass on it. Leave it natural.”

“That’ll be one huge piece of glass. How will you even get it here without breaking it?”

“It won’t cover the entire table. With dining tables, you want to be able to feel the wood under your hands. The hollow is seventeen inches where it’s widest and four feet long. I’ll make an indentation along the edges and cut a piece of glass to fit the shape.”

I could see it. It would look amazing.

The shop was filled with all kinds of machines and gadgets, including some complicated pulley mechanisms and hooks hanging from the ceiling. I expected Barclay would use something like that to move the large pieces of wood he worked on.

Then I gaped when he walked to the end of the oak trunk, grabbed it with his bare hands, and lifted it. He rotated the trunk a fraction and set it back without even a grunt.

Bear shifter strength.

That piece must have weighed a ton, and Barclay manipulated it as easily as if it were a cardboard cutout. The only thing betraying his exertion was the tightening muscles of his arms. He wore a threadbare gray T-shirt with a faded logo of an eighties rock band, and it stretched over his torso, hiding nothing.

All that raw power… and this man was bound to me for the rest of my life. He would use that incredible strength to protectme. The knowledge was intoxicating.

Barclay reached into the hollow with some kind of metal brush, and his shoulders and biceps bunched up. The sinews on his forearms rippled. Then he crouched, inspecting the underside of the would-be table, and I was amazed by the durability of the seams of his jeans over his powerful thighs.

And his chest… I couldn’t wait to put my face between his pecs again. Barclay had a sizable, furry stomach, but it was firm, not hanging over but jutting out the same way his pecs did. His torso looked like he could walk through walls without a scratch, leaving just Barclay-shaped holes behind him.

When he stood again, he caught my gaze.

“Aren’t you bored?”

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