Mated to the Wilde Bear

“Look, the rumors are true. I was called Wilde Bear for a reason in high school and it’s not because of my last name. But that’s my past. It’s not my present and it’s sure as shit not my future.” Guilt and regret rose up so fiercely he couldn’t breathe for a moment. His vision blurred as memories he’d buried long ago broke the surface, threatening to cripple him. “Tonight was fun, but it’s not a part of the plan. It can’t be.”

Laurel’s face swam in front of him and he grit his teeth to keep it together. When she came into focus again, a single tear tracked down her cheek.

He hated himself for hurting her. His bear wanted to roar and stomp at watching her cry. But better she heard it from him rather than someone else. The drawback of growing up in a small town: there was no escaping your mistakes. In fact, given long enough, they became you. It was only a matter of time before someone else told her and who knew what version she’d get from one of them.

Xavier shoved his hands into his pockets, hating himself for what he was about to say. “I’m telling you all this because you told me your stuff. And because my bear wants you.”

Laurel’s eyes widened at that and he felt that pull tugging at him. The same one he’d felt the moment they’d met. And every damn time he touched her. Earlier, when he’d been on the brink of coming, he’d wanted to bite her. Just a nip at her shoulder, but it would’ve meant so damn much. A claiming mark. He snorted at the impossibility of that choice. His bear was just itching for a mate, craving it, actually. But he couldn’t do it. Not to himself and not to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair. His job would always come first and last.

he felt the urge to claim her just by looking at her. She was killing

She

mate. It’s all I can think about. And it’s all I can do to resist. But… I don’t know if I can pick you, Laurel. I can’t pick anyone. I’ve chosen already. My job, my life is about rescuing people. No matter what time of day or night or what else I’m doing,

broke off and Laurel’s eyes flashed, cutting him. “For a quick screw,” she finished for

past him, nudging his shoulder as she went. He hurried to catch up with her, determined to somehow make it right. He couldn’t change how he felt, but he could still take care of her tonight. “At least let me

thanks. I’ll walk,” she said, still striding

his shirt—more like a mini-dress on her—and her bare legs and feet. Like hell he’d let