“You can’t know that,” he said.
“Ian. I am cursed. My Nan was,” Cleo winced, “probably evil. Likely evil. I’m a witch and a social misfit. I have no room to judge you.”
Ian stood and started to take off his shirt. Cleo kept her feet on the cushion where he’d been sitting, enjoying the residual warmth from his body. He tossed his shirt to the ground, and started to open the fly of his jeans.
“As much as I’m enjoying the strip show,” Cleo said, “I’m not sure this is exactly the time?”
“I’m an all or nothing kind of guy,” Ian said.
“And nudity proves that point how?” Cleo squeaked as his jeans slid down his nicely muscled, lightly furred legs. Cleo liked a nice pair of legs, and Ian had the thighs of a soccer player. She was so distracted, she almost missed him hooking his fingers into his boxer briefs.
“I’d say close your eyes, but you might want to see this.”
Cleo’s mouth went dry. She definitely wanted to see it. Ian’s face wasn’t sexy, though, he was tense and worried. She didn’t think it was due to his almost-nudity. His ‘please Goddess and thank you’ imminent nudity.
When he stepped out of his briefs, Cleo tried to keep her eyes respectfully up, she really did. She mostly failed, but she gave it an earnest go. He got to his hands and knees. Cleo looked down to the claw necklace and said, “Oh. Oh, no.”
Ian gave one short nod, and began to change.
Cleo had seen movies and television shows. She’d read books. None of them compared to the reality of Ian’s bones grinding, a horrible screech and crack. Ian gave a low hum of distress, which floored Cleo. She was horrified by the movements under his skin, the rippling and sudden jolting of bone, barely constrained by his poor, poor skin. The hair on his body darkened, then thickened. His breath came out in harsh, sharp pants, the pitch getting lower.
She wanted to avert her eyes, but Ian had asked her to watch. So she forced her gaze on him and kept it there. She was going to witness this. Cleo would do this for him.
A bear.
He was a bear.
Cleo had watched it happen, but a part of her mind rejected what she saw. Another part of her mind, a deeper, older part, froze in the presence of a predator.
The bear swung his head towards her. He was a mix of black and very dark brown fur, with his snout a lighter brown than the rest of him. Because Ian had a snout, Cleo thought hysterically. Because Ian is a bear. His eyes were bright and curious, and the same deep brown as Ian’s.
He clicked his tongue and grunted. His huge head swung towards her and bumped her knee gently. The bear wasn’t going to eat her, Cleo tried to reason with herself, because this bear is Ian. He bumped his head against her again, keeping his head tipped down.
“Ian?” Cleo whispered. Her voice was barely a wisp of air.
The bear’s head dipped up and down awkwardly.
Cleo reached out with one shaking hand and rested it gently on the bear’s head. Ian’s head. Because Ian is a bear, she reminded herself. Sweet mother moon, Ian was a bear.
His fur was soft and thick and slipped between her fingers. He hummed deep in the back of his throat, and Cleo froze. He bumped his head up a little, and she resumed running her hand through his fur.
They sat like that for a long time, long enough for full dark to come. The moon shone weakly through the window, but it was enough for Cleo to see Ian shift to get more comfortable. Something in her calmed, and as she reached back to stroke farther than his back, she felt something pop between her shoulders. He huffed in amusement.
Cleo slid down the coach further, tucking a pillow under her head.
“Now I know your secret, and you know mine,” she said softly.
Ian grunted. Her hand stilled on his back. She was falling asleep.
Her life was so bizarre. The best she’d felt in ages, and it was petting a bear. A bear who was her next door neighbor. She laughed a little at that, a tired chuckle.
She fell asleep like that, in the hush of a darkened room, her hand resting on a bear, on Ian.
Chapter Eleven
She woke slowly, her eyes opening first. She smelled coffee, and was warm underneath a thick wool blanket in a pretty Southwestern pattern. Cleo wasn’t sure what to do. She toyed with the thought that last night had been a dream, but the necklace still hung heavy around her neck. Her breath tasted terrible.
Ian popped his head out of the kitchen. He was unreasonably chipper for a guy whose bones had all broken and reformed into a bear. “Morning,” he said. “Want eggs? I’m having some.”
“Sure,” Cleo said. “Eggs, yeah, thanks.” Awkward. With her one-night stands, Cleo knew the protocol. But what was she supposed to do with an impromptu sleepover with her bear friend? She wanted to laugh but knew that if she started it was likely to turn weird. Weirder. So she kept quiet and went in search of the bathroom. She brushed her teeth with her finger, feeling ridiculous. Her house was next door. She should go home. She should drink some of that awful, wonderful tea and go home.
Back in the kitchen, Ian was busy spreading butter on toast. “Morning,” he said again. “I poured a cup for you.” His smile was warm, but his eyes were wary.
“It is morning, correct. Therefore, coffee is also correct,” Cleo announced.
She put in a little milk in the heavy bottomed mug, sipped it, and sighed in pleasure. She opened her eyes to see Ian staring at her mouth. He shook himself a little, then grabbed the kettle.
“You should probably have some more of the tea,” he said.
Cleo groaned. “Are you sure I couldn’t
