It's at least a mile through the storm, over terrain that's dangerous in good weather and potentially deadly now.
The bear surges forward. *Let me out. I can carry her. I can keep her safe.*
For the first time in five years, I don't fight it.
"Okay," I whisper. "But you follow my rules. You protect her. You don't lose control. Understood?"
The bear rumbles agreement, and I let the shift start.
It's agony. After so long repressing it, forcing it down, the change feels like being ripped apart and reassembled wrong. My bones crack and reform. My skin splits and knits with fur. My hands become paws, claws extending.
But I don't go all the way. I stop at the halfway point: more bear than man, but still enough man to think, to plan, to control myself.
My senses explode. Every scent is amplified a hundredfold. Every sound clear despite the rain. I can feel the tremor of her weak heartbeat like it's my own.
I gather her in my massive arms, cradling her against the fur of my chest. She's so small like this, so fragile. I could break her without trying.
But I won't.
I step out into the storm and start running.
The world is different through the bear's eyes. Clearer in some ways, more instinctual in others. I don't think about where to put my feet, they know. Don't worry about finding the path, I am the path.
Trees blur past. I leap over obstacles that would have slowed me as a man. My paws find purchase where boots would slip. The rain doesn't blind me because I'm not relying on sight.
She makes a sound against my chest, a tiny whimper. Her body is trying to warm itself, trying to shiver, but it doesn't have the energy.
*Faster,* the bear urges.
I pour on speed, pushing past exhaustion, past the burn of muscles worked too hard. Nothing matters except getting her somewhere safe.
The cabin appears through the trees like salvation.
I barrel through the door, not bothering to slow down, and lay her on my bed: the only bed, a rough frame with a mattress and blankets that are cleaner than anything else I own because I'm particular about where I sleep.
Human again. I need to be human again for this.
The shift back is easier, faster. My body remembers this shape better than the other. Within seconds I'm a man again, naked and dripping but functional.
I light the fire first, building it high and hot. Then I turn back to her. Her clothes have to come off. There's no way around it. Wet fabric will keep leeching heat from her body until she dies.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, even though she can't hear me. "I'm not… This isn't… Fuck."
I'm as gentle as possible, peeling off her jacket, her shirt, her boots and socks and pants. I try not to look, try to be clinical about it, but it's impossible not to notice the curves of her body, the freckles scattered across her shoulders, the sports bra that's somehow both practical and beautiful.
I leave her underwear. That's the line I won't cross.
There are injuries: scraped palms, a bruised knee, a cut on her cheek. Nothing life-threatening, but they'll need attention once she's stable.
I wrap her in dry blankets, layering them thick, then add my own body heat because it's the fastest way to warm someone. I climb into the bed behind her and pull her against my chest, wrapping myself around her like a shield.
She's so cold. Dangerously cold.
"Come on," I murmur into her wet hair. "Come back. You don't get to die. Not after bringing me chocolate. That would be a waste of perfectly good chocolate."
The fire crackles and pops, filling the cabin with heat and light. I adjust the blankets, tuck them tighter, press her closer.
Minutes pass. Five, ten, fifteen.
