Two days later, Dolores’ period came. She let out a long breath of relief. At least she wasn’t about to become a single mom. A single mom who’d have to hide the fact that she didn’t know whether her baby was conceived willingly or not. She hated the fact that she still couldn’t remember anything about that night. Her bruises had deepened in color, blooming black and blue, and she made sure she wore long-sleeved shirts to hide the fingerprints on her upper arm. She also had some weird red marks on her sides, kind of like rope burns. As if her shirt had been torn off of her.

Her evenings were lonely now, without Olsen turning up on her doorstep, blue eyes narrowed, lips curled in a self-conscious greeting. But she was determined not to think about him. And she deleted Shiftr from her phone. She wasn’t cut out for shifter men. Or any men. Men just hurt you, she reminded herself. They just take what they want. And then they leave you in ruins.

Days passed, and her mood sunk lower and lower. She loved being at the school, but as soon as she got home, emptiness washed over her. Maybe it was time to get another cat. But she still missed Mr Tiddles so much. She’d sustained the burns on her face and body from going back into the house to try to find him. The firefighters had done their best to stop her, but she’d been determined not to leave him alone. It had been too late though. The house was too smoky and hot, and her shirt caught fire. In the end, a firefighter with breathing equipment had dragged her out, just as one of the upper floors collapsed. They never found Mr Tiddles among the charred remains, but she knew it was because he was so tiny. The thought that the man responsible for torching her home and killing her innocent little cat was walking free made her so sick that she could hardly eat or sleep.

* * *

One morning in late July, Dolores dragged herself downstairs to make breakfast. Opening the fridge listlessly, she reached for the milk. But she misjudged the distance and it slithered out of her hands. As it hit the floor, the plastic cracked, splattering milk all over the floor. She gasped. And then she sat down hard on the floor – and she remembered. She’d been so sick. More sick than she’d ever been in her entire life before. In the bathroom. Olsen holding her hair back and rubbing her back. Her clothes were soaking wet? Did I shower in them? Everything came in flashes. Tripping over something in the street. Going down hard, but being caught by huge hands at the last moment. Then being clean, in a crisp, white shirt, hair wet and being combed out tenderly. Wait? My hair was being combed out? That means? “Oh, god!” she said aloud. He did everything for me. Turned up like my knight in shining armor in the bar, scraped me off the ground, cleaned up my vomit, then washed and dressed me. And all he got for his troubles was me accusing him of taking advantage of me. She gave a dry laugh. He must’ve laughed his ass off when I freaked out the next morning. What a moron I am.

She threw a towel down on the spilled milk, and took off up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, she was in her car, on the way to Olsen’s place. Waves of embarrassment rolled through her, but she pushed them aside.

She parked the car outside his cabin, ran up his porch steps and tapped on the door a little shyly. In a few seconds, there were heavy steps, and the door swung open.

“Dolores?” His sparkling blue eyes were narrow with uncertainty. He was wearing a navy, V-neck T-shirt and faded gray jeans. He looked great, as raw and rugged and damn sexy as ever.

“C-can we talk?” she stuttered. He threw a look over his shoulder, shrugged.

“Sure. It’s kind of untidy in there, but come in.”

There’s something different about him, she thought, as she followed his large frame through a not-at-all-messy house, to a basic kitchen. He seemed more relaxed, somehow, those broad shoulders not as tense.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you?” she said. In the car, she’d rehearsed exactly what she needed to say to him, but now she was tongue-tied.

“Nope. I was just reading.”

“Reading?”

He gestured for her to sit down at the table and picked up a newspaper. He cleared his throat, and began to read slowly, one word at a time.

Mr Dwayne Carter, of Deep Cut Park, has been charged with producing and supplying crystal meths in one of the largest drugs busts ever seen in the county. Police confirm that he was caught following an anonymous tip off. Following a spell in the hospital while he recovers from a number of wounds sustained from an unspecified incident prior to his arrest, he will be transferred to county jail. Dwayne Carter had only recently been released from jail after serving a sentence for an arson attack on schoolteacher, Dolores Martin. The attack left Ms Martin badly burned and Mr Carter’s own son dead. Early reports indicate that he’s likely to serve a sentence of at least 50 years, without parole.

“Oh my god.” Dolores placed both hands over her face and began to cry. “Olsen, what happened? How did you even know about him? Tell me?”

Olsen sat down beside her.

“That night in the bar. You told me what had happened to you.”

“I did?”

“Yup. You’d just had a big shock when you heard he was already out of jail. You were hurting so much, and I was so mad that I almost shifted right then and there. But instead, the next day, I went to kill him. He deserved to die for what he did – to you, and to his son. But when I got my hands on him, I changed my mind, and I realized he should live with the knowledge of what he’s done, every single day. I’m a man, now, not just a violent bear. You’re the one who’s made me a man, and I wanted to get human justice for you. I saw that he had a meth lab in a trailer out the back of his house, so I just called it in and walked away. After I’d made sure that he wasn’t going anywhere fast.”

Dolores’ eyes got very wide. “Olsen, I remember now. I remember how you took care of me, all night long. There’s still a lot of gaps in my memory, but I know now that you’d never hurt me. I was covered in bruises, but I remember falling and you catching me.”

“At least a half-dozen times,” he said with a grin.

“I’m so sorry that I accused you of taking advantage of me.”

“Dolores, it’s okay. I get it. You woke up and you were confused and scared because you didn’t remember anything. Anyone would have felt like that. And actually a few other people reported vomiting and blackouts to Clementine’s the next day, and it turned out that, unknowingly, they’d been serving fake tequila. They’d recently gotten a whole batch from a new supplier and all of it seems to be who-knows-what, produced in someone’s back yard.”

She allowed herself a quick smile. “Gosh, this is awful! But it explains things. And thank you. Thank you for accepting my apology and for protecting me.”

His irises turned to pure cobalt fire. “I’ll always protect you, Dolores. If anyone hurts you, let me know and I’ll be there.”

A small sound escaped her lips. She wanted him there all the time, not just when things went wrong. “You’re reading so well,” she said, to distract herself.

“I’ve been practicing a lot. All those evenings when I wasn’t seeing you any more, I sat here and worked. I’m still slow, but I did a test on the Internet and it said I have the reading age of a 12 year-old, which means I can read most things.”

“That’s fantastic, Olsen. You learned so fast. You should be so proud of yourself!”

“I had a big incentive,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Which was?’

“To be a man. A real man.”

“Oh, Olsen. You’ve always been a man. The best man I ever met.” As if it was moving independently of her thoughts, her hand shot out and stroked his thick, muscular thigh. He jumped and she pulled it back again.

“The truth is, I haven’t. Most of my life, I’ve been a bear.”

“Like all of you shifters?”

He shook his head. “No. Until I was 18, I never even knew I was a shifter. I just thought I was a bear. Just a regular bear, living in the forest, communicating in grunts and rumbles and roars, and sleeping with my family in a big den. Then one day all of my family got killed, in a forest fire. Except me. And I shifted for the first time. I don’t even know why I’m a shifter, where that part of my genes come from. But there I was, stuck in my human form.”

“Oh my God! You poor thing. That must’ve been so traumatic. I’m so sorry to hear you lost your family.” Her heart ached for him.

He made a rumbling noise through his nostrils. “It was rough, very confusing. But Connor found me, and taught me to speak. That’s why I talk slow sometimes. I’ve only been speaking for 12 years or so.”

“And that’s why you never learned to read.”

“Yup. Learning the human tongue was hard enough. I never saw reading as that important. Until –”

“Until a schoolteacher stuck her nose in your life?” she said with a laugh.

“Until I wanted to make myself good enough for her.”

His face was inches from hers, and impulsively, she reached up and took it between her hands. Then she pressed her lips to his. He didn’t pull away, his mouth soft, yet so hungry. She gave a ragged moan. So much need and confusion and rejection had mingled in her mind over the past few weeks. Every part of her ached for him, her nipples pushing at the fabric of her bra, that spot between her thighs beginning to tingle. His breath was heavy and rough as he lifted her up and put her on the edge of the table, pushing himself between her thighs, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth. It felt so good, good enough to make her lose control. But she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back. “I can’t take you rejecting me again. I’m not strong enough for this, Olsen.”

His broad, smooth forehead crinkled. “Why would I reject you?”

“Because you rejected me before. You kissed me like you wanted me, then you said you didn’t mean it.”

Recognition passed across his eyes. “I wasn’t good enough for you then. You deserved more than a dumb bear who couldn’t read.”

She blinked fast. “You’re telling me you almost broke my heart for my own good.”

“Yup.”

“Well that’s dumb. But it’s the only dumb thing about you.”

“I hurt you?” he said quietly, his thumb chafing her lip.

“Of course. I liked you. A lot.”

“And now?”

“I guess I still like you.”

He gave another rumble. “Well you better start liking me a whole lot more.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re my mate.”

As she watched, the bones in his face widened and his eyes assumed that animal look she’d seen before. But now she was fascinated, not afraid. “I am?’

“Yup. You’re mine. All mine.” His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her close. “And I’m going to claim you.”

A shudder ran through her at his words. “Now?”

“Now,” he growled, and he lifted her up, off the table, and in the direction of the stairs.