Page 7 of Awakened By the Guardian

Massive paws. Fur. Claws, each the length of his phone. All right there, inches away.

He jumped backward—actually jumped—then half scrambled, half crawled until the couch got in the way. It toppled beneath him. Unfortunately, the paws moved too. Frantically flapping, they were a bizarre flurry of motion.

What the hell? The paws were faced outward. As if…

He looked down, feeling his head about to explode. The claws were definitely where his hands were supposed to be. And his arms were massive, with coarse fur of brown and tan.

Another animalistic sound cut through the air. It held panic and terror, and the smells… God, there were a thousand of them: The food they’d eaten. Chocolate. Margaret’s perfume. And the acrid scent of her fear.

He heard her soft whimper. She wasn’t behind him anymore. She was to the side, plastered against the wall, caught between his desk and the window. She was shaking and pale, her hands outstretched as if to ward him off.

He opened his mouth to reassure her, but when he spoke he didn’t hear words. He heard a kind of bark. Not like a dog. Deeper. Weirder. And the sound rose on the end, a yip of surprise.

What the hell? He couldn’t talk? His mouth felt weird, and he reached up to touch it but a paw came at his face with huge, sharp claws. He jerked backwards, his body thick and clumsy, like he had double his weight in muscle. Each movement had immense power, but nothing felt right. Nothing was right.

Then he saw the mirror to his right, a large one hung beside the loft door. In it, he saw fur and a body. A bear. But⁠—

He swallowed and heard another plaintive whimper. Had he made that sound? He couldn’t have. It was the anguish of a terrified animal. He took a step forward, closer to the mirror.

No!

He felt the physical urge to close his eyes. He didn’t want to see, but he needed to know. So he stepped right up to the mirror and stared at the bear who looked right back. Full grown, brown and tan, with a grizzly bear hump. Dark, wide-set eyes and a long muzzle. Full ruff, and two rounded ears. Fur that made the face look huge.

He opened his mouth to speak then froze. Sharp, white teeth. A long dark tongue. A gullet the size of a Volvo.

Gary jerked back, and the reflection did, too. The mouth shut with an audible snap.

“Oh God.” Margaret’s voice cracked with strain.

He turned, his mind fighting itself. He knew the truth, but he couldn’t process it. So he turned to Margaret instead. Help me, he thought. At the very same second, he tried to say, Stay back. Stay safe. All that came out was a sharp bark.

Margaret cried out. She was still plastered in terror against the wall, looking like she wanted to climb right up to the rafters. Anything to get away.

He didn’t want her afraid, but he didn’t know how to help. Not when—his gaze turned back to the mirror—he was a bear. He’d turned into a freaking bear.

He dropped down on his haunches, a heavy animal giving up the last of its strength. The plop thudded through both his body and the loft. His gaze caught on his wheelchair, tucked in its spot beside the couch, the only thing in the room that was still in place. It sat there waiting for a crippled man. But he wasn’t that. He wasn’t even a man anymore. He was a bear.

His mind reeled. How many times had he wished for a new body? Thousands. But never in a million years had he thought of this. A grizzly bear? What did grizzly bears even eat? And where would he shit? In the woods, like the joke? After three years of fighting to understand the requirements of his broken human body, suddenly he was faced with a whole new set of questions. Crazy ones.

One question rose above the others: What happened? It echoed over and over in his brain. He didn’t have an answer, though, only emotions. Terror, horror, and vague revulsion.

He didn’t focus on them. Instead, he thought of Margaret who was still cringing against the wall. For the last two years she’d been the bright spot in his very bleak world, and so he went to her as any animal goes to its most comforting place.

She squeaked in alarm as he lumbered to his feet and crossed to her, and he could smell her terror. She held out a hand, not to him, but palm extended to ward him off.

Part of his mind fought what he was doing. What if whatever was happening to him was contagious? What if Margaret turned into a bear, too? How would she work? How would they live? How would they get out of this loft when neither of them had fingers to press the remote that opened the lock? Part of him wanted to laugh at the insanity of every ridiculous question.

He finally made it to her side and rubbed his face against her outstretched palm. She cried out and pulled back, but he pursued. He pressed his face against her wrist where it was clutched tight to her chest, and he inhaled her scent, bitter with fear but floral and sweet. He inhaled it greedily.

She whimpered. Instinctually, he lifted his head and licked her chin—a long wet swipe from chin to ear that didn’t have the intended effect. Instead, Margaret sank down the wall, her legs giving out, sliding into a crouch. Gary touched his nose to her hand again, nudging it gently, trying to reassure her.

Heat. He felt her fingers on his…muzzle? Snout? Whatever it was called, her touch soothed him. Her breath puffed out in short panicked gasps until he maneuvered his face under her palm. When she didn’t fight, he rubbed his head upward, and her fingers brushed across his nose, over his eyes, and eventually sank into the thicker ruff behind his ears.

Her breathing eased—at least, the tempo slowed. And then she sank her fingers into the fur behind his right ear and scratched.

Oh yes!

The pleasure was stunning. No wonder dogs loved this. Every part of Gary twitched with happiness, and his eyes drifted closed to appreciate the feel.