Page 71 of Grin and Bear It

The certainty in Willow’s voice made denial pointless. The birthmark, the pendant’s reaction, the strange sense of familiarity she’d felt walking the Tiikeri grounds—all pieces of evidence she couldn’t rationalize away.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, unable to mask the vulnerability in her question.

Willow straightened, ancient eyes suddenly piercing. “That, my dear, is entirely your choice. Legacy can be a gift or a burden. You may embrace it, reject it, or shape it into something entirely new.” She patted Thora’s arm with surprising strength. “But whatever path you choose, know that you no longer walk alone.”

The elder gathered her basket and departed, leaving Thora with tumultuous thoughts and no clear direction. She pulled out her phone, finding three missed texts from Artair.

Everything okay?Meeting still happening?Let me know if you need anything.

The simple messages affected her more than they should have. No demands, no expectations—just quiet support offered freely, there if she wanted it.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. What she wanted most right now was to stop thinking, to lose herself in physical exertion until her mind quieted.

Need to hit something. Your gym still open?

His reply came seconds later:Always for you. I’ll be there.

For you. Two small words that shouldn’t have made her heart beat faster.

Yet they did.

SIXTY-THREE

The industrial lighting of Artair’s private gym cast stark shadows as Thora circled the heavy bag. Each impact sent satisfying vibrations up her arms, physical exertion drowning out the clamor of her thoughts.

Sweat darkened her tank top, and loose strands of hair clung to her temples. She’d arrived at his corporate headquarters forty-five minutes ago and headed straight for the underground facility where he trained his security teams. Artair had taken one look at her expression and wordlessly handed her a pair of gloves.

Now he held the bag steady as she unleashed a flurry of combinations, her movements growing increasingly aggressive.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, voice free of judgment.

“No.” She punctuated the word with a vicious uppercut.

“All right.” He absorbed the impact without complaint. “The bag surrender yet?”

Despite herself, Thora felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. His ability to recognize when she needed space, when she needed humor, when she needed distraction—it was becoming disturbingly addictive.

“Shut up.” She landed a cross-hook combination that would have staggered someone less sturdy.

“Ah, so we’re at the ‘shut up’ stage of processing.” Artair’s eyes held that warm glint she’d come to recognize as gentle teasing. “Want to upgrade to sparring? Bags don’t hit back.”

Thora paused mid-combination, chest heaving. His invitation tempted her—a live opponent would demand complete focus, leaving no room for the confusion swirling through her mind.

“I’m afraid I’ll damage that handsome face of yours,” she said, the endearment slipping out without conscious thought.

Something flickered in his expression—surprise followed by pleased satisfaction. “My face has survived worse. Question is can your ego survive when I pin you?”

“Whenyoupinme?” She laughed, already pulling off the heavy gloves. “Your bear bulk makes you slow, Artair.”

“Bulk has advantages.” He stripped down to a fitted black tank top that showcased the muscled shoulders she’d admired more than once. “Care to find out what they are?”

The playful banter settled something inside her. This—the easy rhythm they’d developed, the mutual respect underlying their teasing—felt more real than the formal ceremony with people who were strangers despite shared blood.

They met in the center of the training mats, circling each other with the comfortable familiarity of regular sparring partners. Thora struck first, testing his defenses with quick jabs that he deflected with practiced skill. She noted how his movements combined power with unexpected grace—his bear form might be bulky, but his human form moved with fluid precision.

“So royal lineage,” he commented as they exchanged a series of strikes and blocks. “That explains a few things.”

“Like what?” She narrowed her eyes, watching for an opening in his guard.

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