Page 86 of Grin and Bear It

They shifted back to human form simultaneously, drawn together by the newly formed connection. His arms encircled her waist as her hands found his shoulders, bodies melding in the moonlight to seal the spiritual bond with physical union.

Later, wrapped in a blanket beneath the stars, Thora traced patterns on Artair’s chest, marveling at the new dimension of their connection.

“I can sense you,” she murmured. “Not your thoughts exactly, but your... presence. Emotions.”

His fingers combed through her hair, the grooming gesture now as natural as breathing. “Bears call it echo-heart. The ability to find your mate anywhere, to know if they’re in danger.”

“Tigers have something similar. Soul-sight.” She propped herself on an elbow to meet his gaze. “Does it bother you? Having me in your awareness constantly?”

“Bother me?” His smile held such tenderness it made her heart ache. “It’s everything I ever wanted and didn’t dare hope for.”

She bent to kiss him, pouring all her emotion into the connection between them. Through their new bond, his joy and love flowed into her, mingling with her own until she couldn’t distinguish where her feelings ended and his began.

“I love you, Artair Maxen,” she whispered against his lips.

“I love you, Thora Halliwell,” he answered. “My mate. My heart.”

SEVENTY-SIX

Word spread through Enchanted Falls with supernatural speed despite their attempts at discretion. By morning, flowers and small gifts appeared on their doorstep—tokens of congratulation from neighbors who sensed the magical shift in the town’s energy.

“A formal recognition ceremony is traditional,” Eira instructed over tea two days later, her sharp eyes assessing Thora across the teacups. “Both clans should participate.”

“Both meaning Maxen and Tiikeri?” Thora clarified, curling her fingers around her mug. “Or every clan in town?”

“Every clan with proper standing,” Eira declared as if it were obvious. “This union represents a historic alliance.”

Beside her on the couch, Artair’s amusement flowed through their bond. “Grandmother, it’s not a coronation.”

“When the heir to the Tiikeri pride mates with the leader of the Maxen clan, it may as well be,” Eira countered. “This has historical significance.”

Thora suppressed a groan. She’d wanted their mating private and personal, not turned into a political spectacle. Through their bond came Artair’s perspective—his understanding of clanprotocols, the importance of ceremony in shifter communities, the potential for healing ancient rifts.

“Fine,” she relented, nudging Artair with her elbow when his satisfaction flooded their connection. “A simple ceremony. Minimal spectacle.”

Eira’s triumphant smile suggested “simple” might have different meanings to different bears.

The planning expanded despite Thora’s best efforts. Aleksander Tiikeri arrived with Louisa and a delegation of pride members, bearing ancient regalia and speaking of “proper observances.” Their excitement at officially acknowledging her—an heir they’d thought lost forever—penetrated even Thora’s resistance to pomp.

“They need this,” Artair murmured as they escaped for a quiet moment on the porch after another overwhelming planning session. “The ritual affirms what magic already knows—that we belong together, and that two historically divided clans can find harmony.”

“When did you become so diplomatic?” She settled against his side, head resting on his shoulder.

“Around the time I fell in love with a sabertooth tiger who hates formality.” His arm circled her waist, drawing her closer. “Speaking of which, did you know bears traditionally have seventeen different ritual garments for mating ceremonies?”

“Seventeen?” Horror widened her eyes. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

His laughter rumbled through his chest. “Mostly. Though Grandmother did mention something about ceremonial cloaks.”

Thora groaned, burying her face against his neck. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”

His hand tilted her chin up, eyes serious despite his smile. “Because you love me?”

“I do.” The admission came easily now, no longer frightening but liberating. “More than I thought possible.”

The kiss that followed tasted of promises and belonging, sweetened by the knowledge that this—this connection, this home, this union—was entirely her choice.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

---