Roaring Up the Wrong Tree by Celia Kyle

squeeze. “You need your rest and I’ll be there in case you have another nightmare.”
    Right. Nightmare. If only…
    When she hesitated, he spoke again. “You can trust me. Like I said, you have no reason to, but you can.”
    It wasn’t a matter of belief, but of desire. She didn’t want to put her faith in him.
    Swallowing the words, she simply nodded and allowed him to draw her toward the bathroom, through the small space and then further to the massive king-sized bed. His blankets and sheets were a tangled pile on the floor and he shot her a rueful smile.
    “I was in a hurry to get to you.” He reached down and snagged the ball, tugging and yanking until he had them fairly straight. When he leaned over the bed and began remaking it, she forced herself not to stare at his body.
    His body. She finally realized what had her so intrigued. Keen was shirtless, baggy shorts barely clinging to his hips as he moved around the furniture. His muscles flexed and stretched with each movement, outlining the dips and grooves of his body. Most shifters were fit, strengthened and body honed due to their inner-animal. But Keen seemed like he had so much more. More strength, more power, just… more.
    When he next tugged on the sheet and released a low groan, she went into action. She’d been standing there like an idiot and ogling the man when she could have been helping. Snaring one corner, she pulled it into place and then moved to the other corner as he did the same. In seconds they had the bed remade and they stood on opposite sides of the mattress.
    Unease that matched her own filled him and she realized that he was merely reacting to her emotions. She needed to get herself under control. She didn’t want this, and yet she did, and that indecision was tearing her in two.
    Taking a deep breath, she crawled onto the mattress and pulled the sheet atop her.
    Seeming to take her movement as silent permission, Keen did the same, resting on his side beside her. His gaze remained intent on her and instead of making her feel awkward, it gave her a sense of peace. He worried about her as if he cared, truly cared, about her.
    Without saying a word or uttering a sound, she slowly slid her hand toward him, fingers seeking out his skin. Just as gently, Keen did the same until their fingers met and twined beneath the sheet. They didn’t say a word and she was thankful for that.
    “Thank you,” she whispered, unwilling to break the soothing quiet.
    “For what?” He spoke just as low.
    For standing up for me. For protecting me. For letting me lean on you.
    Instead, she simplified her feelings. “For being you.”
    Pleasure flared in his eyes, his bear peeking out from behind his brown irises and darkening them to black. She didn’t want to see that, didn’t want to see her hope and attraction reflected back to her. Because then she’d come to depend on him, would allow herself to lean on him until she couldn’t live without him.
    And then he’d leave or disappear or die and then she’d be flat on her face and alone in the world. Again.
    So she closed her eyes, closed them and pretended to sleep, pretended not to feel his lips as they brushed her temple or the heat from his body as he eased closer.
    Most of all, she pretended not to like it.
    “Goodnight,” he murmured.
    Goodbye.

Chapter Seven
     
    Yelling woke him, a shout quickly followed by a bellowing roar. The sound had Keen rolling from the bed and landing in a low crouch as he sought out danger. Just like last night when he’d heard Trista’s scream, his bear stretched his skin, pulling and pushing at his flesh in an effort to break free. He’d been calm, content even, since being close to Trista and he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to fight his unstable beast. Facing off against his brother had been a controlled rage as he’d defended her, but this was wild and violent.
    Then a new sound, one that chilled him to his core, battled against those that’d woken