Then my captor does something I'd never expect in a million years. Both his big hands settle around my head, gently angling it back to study the old wound.
"Shhhh, easy, kit."
I blow out a long breath, willing myself to calm.
"That's it. Good girl."
When I open my eyes, he's studying my neck, his hands cradling my head.
"Scarred," he murmurs. "Takes a lot for a shifter to scar. There's only one way for sure to do it."
I nod. I know how shifters scar. The marks on my neck are like a brand, signalling my weakness. Telling any shifter who knows the signs that I'm vampire food. I'm scarred like a human.
I close my stinging eyes. I'm so sick of being a victim.
"Hey." His thumb strokes my chin. "It's okay. The scars aren't so bad. I didn't even notice them before."
My face crumples further, and he tugs me close, saying gruffly, "Didn't mean to hurt you." His voice is gravelly but his arms around me are gentle. "Now," he sets me back an inch so I can see his face, "we're gonna lie down and sleep. It's been a long night and you need it. No more running."
I bite my lip. I can't agree to that.
An avalanche-like rumble comes from his rock-hard chest. "You run, I won't like it. There'll be consequences. Understand?" His thick fingers squeeze my nape, not choking, but hard enough to make my spine go limp, signalling submission.
"Yes," I answer. "I understand." I understand consequences real well. I grew up in a clan of crazy, paranoid, in-bred fox shifters. The kind who sell their own to slavers because there are too many mouths to feed.
I wait but he doesn't move, doesn't change his grip. I'm beginning to think he's going to hold me like this all day when he kneads my neck a little and tips my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are light, his bear still close, but he looks calm, thoughtful. The rough stubble and jagged scar make him look rugged, not ugly.
That's when it really hits me: he's scarred, like me.
"Name?" he asks.
I blink at him, still wondering about the scar. Shifters don't scar easy, as he said. How did he get his?
"Name, kit. What do I call you?"
"Me? Oh. Jordy."
He grunts in acknowledgement and drops his hand. I immediately miss its comforting weight. I catch his hand before he can pull away. He stills as if my soft touch freezes him. Which I know it might-my hands are always cold. But I'm no match for a shifter, any shifter really, much less one of this bear's size and weight.
"What's your name?" I ask. A part of me is shocked by my brazenness. Another part of me is too curious to keep from asking, too eager to get to know him to let him go.
"Grizz. Short for Grizzly."
I cock my head to the side. "That your real name?"
"Nope." He moves away as if to underscore the point that his nickname is all I'm gonna get. I wipe my face of disappointment as he gets up from the bed.
"Here." He's back, shoving a carton of orange juice in my face. "You need to drink."
He watches as I drain half the carton. "You need the bathroom?" he asks as I hand it back.
"No."
He sits and turns off the light. In the darkness, my senses go on alert. Grizz is a big shape next to me, warm and golden. My fox sees the world through scent, and to her the grizzly is a softly glowing sun. He smells comforting and familiar, like sugar cookies or gingerbread.
The bed creaks as he sits down and I push back to the wall. "What are you doing?" I squeak. Not because I'm frightened of him, but because I'm excited, and my eagerness frightens me.
"Gonna get some shuteye. You too. We have a long day after this after an even longer night."
I lick my lips, considering. "You're keeping me here?"
"For now. No more roaming." He gives me a dominant push. "No sneaking out."
"What are you gonna do with me?"
"Nothing bad. Just sleep." His voice drops an octave. "Do I have to order you?"
If he does, I won't be able to wake up and try to get out of here. Until the order wears off, I won't be able to get up at all.
"No, no," I say. "I'll sleep." I burrow deeper into the covers, curling around a pillow. After a moment, the bed creaks as he does the same.
We both settle in side by side, back to back, and even though we're not touching, I can feel him close to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and just like that, I fall under into the darkness of my dreams. There's someone waiting for me there-a huge black presence with fangs and talons, reaching for me, watching with a single glowing eye.
"Jordy," someone calls from far away. "Jordy, wake up."
I come to with a gasp, my limbs thrashing. Someone's holding me tight, almost crushing me. I wheeze and the grip loosens.
"You're okay," Grizz croons, one arm wrapped around my shoulders, the other at my waist. His body surrounds me completely. As soon as I realize that, I go limp. I can't help crying a little, rubbing my face in Grizz's soft t-shirt. My fingers dig into the fabric, curling into fists resting against his firm, muscled chest.
"I'm sorry."
His big arms flex around me a second before relaxing. "It's okay."
"I had a bad dream," I whimper. I sound pathetic, even for me.
"Shh, you're safe here. It was just a dream." Calloused fingertips brush my forehead.
"It wasn't, though. It really happened. It was a memory." Waiting for me. As if my body knew I was safe so my mind served up the memory of that night, delivering it to my consciousness so I could process it.