Fealty Of The Bear Read Online Free Page B

tea down his throat, and spread a poultice across his closed wounds to encourage healing. If he was as strong as he looked, she would be able to take the stitches out in two days’ time.
    When he was all bandaged and not weeping red anymore, she cleaned up his leather jacket as best she could in the kitchen sink. Despite her efforts, it would probably always smell like blood.
    Logan’s sweater was ruined, so she threw it in the trash. Her gaze kept drifting to the steady rise and fall of his chest as she worked around his unconscious form. His chest muscles were cut and severe, pressing against his smooth skin, and even in his sleep, the mounds of his abdominals flexed with every exhale. A tattoo of a curving symbol she didn’t understand stained his shoulder and added another mystery to the pile.
    He needed a damned shirt on before she found herself humping his leg like a horny Chihuahua. Plus he would need meat when he woke up so he could heal faster, and thanks to her missed grocery run, she was fresh out of the good stuff.
    Did she want to leave him alone in her house? Hell no. He could be a sticky-fingered maniac for all she knew.
    But as she tried to pry her eyes away from the crease of muscle that delved into his dark jeans, escape seemed like a really appealing game plan. Plus, she was poor as dirt and two days behind on the rent payment and if he was going to rob her, he was going to have a time trying to steal her furniture and finding a buyer for the shabby chic theme she’d adopted as she pieced together her mother’s things with the possessions Bron had given her in the divorce.
    A light dusting of hair trailed from his belly button to the snap of his jeans and she tried again to take her eyes away from his beautifully sculpted body.
    She didn’t know much about this stranger in her house, but she did know one thing.
    Logan was trouble.

Chapter Three
     
    Logan bolted upright and hissed at the pull of fresh stitches across his chest.
    The house was dark, but that didn’t matter. Not with his shifter night vision. Gingerly, he stood and padded over to the wall to flick the light switch on.
    The woman, Muriel, had removed his shirt and shoes. And where were his damned socks? It felt too intimate for him to have spent God knows how long with a woman he’d never met before. The house smelled of shifter, so she definitely wasn’t human. Even if her scent hadn’t tipped him off, she hadn’t taken him to a hospital. Any human would’ve taken one glance at what Shira’s challengers did to him and then called an ambulance.
    She knew what he was too.
    He ran his hands through his hair as he studied her small home. A glance out the front window told him she lived out in the woods and probably didn’t have a neighbor for miles. Thick pine forest painted the landscape as evening shadows stretched across the yard.
    The cabin was small, and the only scent here was hers, so she must live alone. Maybe clan life was different and females didn’t mate until later in life.
    Mismatched furniture with colorful throw blankets gave the cabin a homey feel. The walls were wood, stained in a light color that made the space feel more open. Cheap, transparent curtains bracketed the windows, and an abstract painting of a red moose hung over the small television set.
    “Hello?” he called in a voice that sounded like he hadn’t had water in a week. His throat was on fire for a glass of cool water.
    The kitchen was crowded but not messy. Only a toaster and a coffee maker sat on the longest counter, but there was so little space, it looked cluttered.
    It smelled strange here—like plants.
    He followed the trail to a door across the living area and turned on the light. The single window in there was lined with strings of dried plants, and a long table took up an entire wall. The rest of the house was spotless, but maybe she’d cleaned up while he was passed out. He hadn’t really noticed much on his way inside earlier, other