Stolen by her Bear (Black Ridge Bears #1) - Felicity Heaton
Chapter 1
The noise came again, dragging him up from a deep sleep. Saint’s ears twitched and he tried to shut out the sound, burrowed deeper beneath the pile of furs and shuffled the pillow over his head. He hooked his arm over it, pressing it to his ear.
His mind emptied, the waiting arms of sleep that hadn’t quite released him pulling him back into the darkness.
He sank into it.
Growled as the distant laughter pulled him back up.
They just weren’t going to shut up.
He needed them to shut up!
His thoughts blurred, heavy intangible things that bled together with his bear instincts, had his actions sluggish as he tossed the furs off him and tried to sit up. His whole body felt too heavy, his limbs like lead as he wearily blinked, as he fought to lift his right hand and rub the sleep from his eyes. Another growl rumbled from his chest as he heard the noise again, part of him straining to catch it whenever it happened now, so tuned into it that he could only focus on it, making sleep impossible.
Irritation flared hotter in his veins as he glared at the small window on the gable end of his cabin to his right.
A blackout blind obscured his view of the world, but he would bet his left nut that it wasn’t spring yet.
Saint yawned as he pushed onto his feet, grumbled a curse as he had to grip the pitched ceiling to stop himself from falling on his ass when his knees weakened, unused to bearing his weight. He must have been asleep for a while at least, possibly a few weeks. Not nearly enough of them to get him through the winter.
His bear side growled and swayed, filled him with a black need to roar and lash out at the world.
He just wanted to sleep.
Saint stumbled to the wooden spiral staircase that led down from his loft bedroom, took each step carefully as control of his body slowly came back to him and he began to shake off the effects of his winter sleep. His stomach growled as loudly as his bear instincts, and he rubbed it through his cream long johns, his mouth watering as his mind turned to steak. It would have to wait.
First thing he needed to do was find out who the hell was making that ruckus.
Maybe if he knew who it was, knew it wasn’t a threat to him and his kin, he could finally shift his focus back to sleeping.
He gripped the newel post at the bottom of the staircase and rubbed his dark eyes again, unleashed another yawn that was so big he was in danger of snapping his jaw off.
Saint grimaced as he placed one foot on the wooden floor of his cabin and quickly snatched it back to set it on the last step of the staircase. He glared at the freezing cold boards and then his gaze leaped to his slippers. A curse pealed from his lips. He had left them near the worn dark brown couch that had its back to him, faced the log burner and the wooden wall opposite him. He had always been the kind of bear to hibernate through the winter, sleeping the short frigid days away, dreaming of spring. He should have spotted the signs that the winter sleep was upon him, should have known it would be months before he woke again, and that the cabin would be freezing by the time spring roused him.
Saint switched the order of things.
First port of call was getting the fire going.
He pulled a face at the frigid floor and then went for it, swore when he tried to move too fast for his recovering body and slammed into the back of the couch, ending up bent over it. He huffed and grabbed his slippers, was swift to tug them on.
Saint scratched his backside as he yawned and trudged to the black log burner. He sank in front of it and cleaned it out, set up a new fire and lit it. Stared at it as the kindling caught and flames began to dance around the split logs. Warmth curled around him, tugged another yawn from him as a desire to go back to bed and back to sleep filled him.
Gods, he just wanted to sleep.
He dragged a hand down his face, over a month’s growth of beard. He couldn’t sleep though. Not until he knew the source of the noise.