Page 94 of Bearly Out Loud

He followed her over. His body curved around hers, his mouth gentle on the mark he’d made, the sound in his chest deepening into the full, resonant purr that he refused to call a purr and that she would call a purr until they were old and gray and arguing about it on a porch.

He was curledaround her from behind, enormous and careful, his mouth soft on the mark at her shoulder—kissing it, soothing it, the way he soothed: with proximity and patience and an attention so thorough it bordered on devotion. His chest hummed against her spine. The sound filled the bedroom, low and steady, the acoustics of a creature at absolute peace.

She reached back. Threaded her fingers through his hair. Let herself exist in this—the late light, the wrecked sheets, the man whose heartbeat she could now hear inside her own chest. Not metaphor. Literal. A second pulse, layered beneath hers, steady and deep. The bond, alive.

“How does it feel?” His voice was low. Lazy. Demolished.

“Like I can hear your heartbeat inside my chest.”

He pulled her tighter. His arm across her waist, his nose buried in her hair. “You can.”

“That’s either beautiful or a cardiology concern.”

“It’s both. We’re both.”

She smiled into the pillow. The mark at her shoulder pulsed—warm, steady, synced to the heartbeat she could hear inside her own chest. Outside, the sun was setting. The loft’s tall windows framed a sky going copper and rose. Her clothes were on the living room floor. His shirt was in two pieces. The sheets were a landscape of destruction.

“Dojin?”

“Hmm.”

“The purring is very loud right now.”

The sound did not decrease.

“Resonance frequency.”

“Of love.”

Longer pause. His arm tightened around her. His face pressed deeper into her hair. The sound intensified by several unmistakable degrees.

“Yes.”

She turned in his arms. Faced him. His eyes were amber again—the gold receded, the tension released, the man returned with all his patience and warmth intact. She traced the line of his jaw with one finger. He caught her hand. Kissed her knuckles.

“I’m going to be insufferable about this,” she informed him. “The mark. The bond. The fact that you purr. I’m going to tell everyone.”

“You’re already insufferable.”

“Yes, but now I’m insufferable withevidence.I have abite mark.From abear.Whopurrs.Takumi is going to lose his entire mind.”

“Takumi already knows.”

“Takumisuspects.There’s a difference. Now I have proof.” She grinned. Wide. Unrepentant. She had cried in a recording booth and been claimed by a bear and intended to be spectacularly loud about both. “You know what this means.”

“That my sleuth will never let me live this down.”

“Thatnobodywill let you live this down. You purr, Dojin. The most powerful bear shifter in the northeastern United Statespurrsafter sex. That information has a market value I intend to exploit.”

He rolled her onto her back. Covered her with his body. The rumble in his chest buzzed into her breastbone—deliberate, pointed, unmistakable as a dare.

“You were saying?”

“I was saying—” She lost the sentence. His mouth was on her neck, on the mark, and the bond lit up like a circuit and her brain shorted out mid-word. “That’s not fair.”

“Bears don’t play fair.”

“Neither do voice actresses.” She dropped her voice low. The bedroom pitch—the one she’d discovered reduced him to a non-verbal state. Whispered into his ear exactly what she planned to do to him next, in precise and filthy detail, using terminology that would have made Priya raise both eyebrows.