Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I skid to a stop when I catch Miranda’s scent, but not the scent of evil.
Which one do I follow? Charging at Miranda as my full, nine-foot-bear self will scare the piss out of her. But at least I would know she’s safe. On the other hand, if I find the source of the evil, I can stop it forever. I won’t have to play guardian to every female who enters these woods.
I circle around and retrace my steps, seeking out the scent.
There.
There it is.
Down by the river.
Fuck. It’s disguising its scent in the water. Maybe that’s how it eluded me all this time.
Upriver, I hear the dog bark. My ears prick in that direction, listening to the pitch of the bark.
Shit—he’s frightened. I charge toward the sound, staying on the edge of the river bank and weaving in and out of the trees.
Miranda screams something.
Her dog yelps—a cry of pain.
“Bear! Bear, no! Oh my God!”
I see two things at once: the dark body of a flailing animal rushing down the river, and Miranda’s running form racing along the bank in my direction.
“Bear!” The screech of fear in her voice unnerves me.
The river’s running fast under the icy surface and the poor animal sweeps past me before I can decide who needs saving.
I roar and charge down the steep riverbank.
Miranda screams again.
I stop to look over my shoulder, only to realize she’s screaming because of me. She thinks I’m hunting her dog.
Fuck. More lost seconds. I race on the shore until I’ve overtaken the dog, then dive into the water, blocking the shepherd’s body from going further.
It’s not easy, but I get my footing on the slippery rocks and stand, scooping the flailing dog and tossing him to the shore in one motion.
The rescue comes too late, though, because Miranda’s cut down to the shore where she loses her footing. She plunges headlong into the water with a scream.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
No.
This female is determined to die on my watch.
I bellow, my roar echoing off the banks of the river, shaking the whole damn forest.
Miranda comes up for air, scrambling to catch a fallen log before she’s swept down the river.
I fight the currents to wade upstream to save her. The water’s to my waist, freezing my lower limbs.
“Miranda!” At least I try to yell Miranda. Of course, it comes out not as words, but as another terrible bear-roar.
Her scream splits the air a second time as she clings to the log, lips blue, eyes wide with terror at my approach.
* * *
Miranda
Bear attack. Bear attack! This bear is fuck-nuts crazy and he’s coming for me.
I think of all the things you’re supposed to do if you run into a bear. None of them are applicable in this situation. No one said what to do if you’re in the middle of a freezing river in the winter and a crazy non-hibernating bear thinks you’re a giant salmon.
I’m hyperventilating as it reaches me. I try to huddle down and play dead, but my entire body is shaking with cold and I can’t protect my head or neck because I have to hang onto the log or I’ll be swept downstream. My hands barely hold on. I lose my grip right as it arrives.
Maybe it’s a blessing, maybe I’ll sweep past the bear. Of course that probably means I’ll die from the freezing water.
The bear stoops down and catches me in a smooth arc. Like snatching his dinner from the currents. His claws don’t tear me, though. Nor does he bare his teeth or roar. I swear to God, he lifts me into a cradle carry and strides right out of the river. It’s such a human hold, it unnerves me completely.
My heart pounds a mile a minute and I’m too stunned at first to do anything. I don’t know whether to be scared or to celebrate. I’ve been saved from the water by a bear.
But saved for what?
Was it truly a rescue or am I his prey? I regain my wits and try to squirm out of the bear’s arms, but it tightens the grip, snorts and turns amber eyes on me.
I freeze. Its black nose is centimeters from mine. Breath is hot against my cheek.
I’m not sure I’m breathing. I will myself to become invisible.
But then I forget my fears for my own safety. “Bear!” I catch sight of my dog running toward us, tail tucked, body slinking from the wet and cold. “Oh my baby puppy. Are you okay? Thank God, you’re okay.”
And then it hits me like a bat over the head. The bear—the real bear, not my dog—saved Bear. He saved Bear and then he saved me.
This bear isn’t crazy. It’s highly intelligent. And it’s lumbering fairly fast on two legs.
I go still, awed by what’s taking place. This incredible giant black bear chose to rescue a human and a dog from their deaths. I feel like I’m witnessing one of those rare wildlife scenes—like when elephants are caught on video picking up trash with their trunks.