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Timber was constantly surprised by his new wife in the most beautiful and romantic ways. She was not only charming and an utter bombshell but was also creative, vivacious, and full of energy, even at the most difficult times. Lyra supported him like no other woman … or shifter or person, for that matter … had ever before in his life.
And that didn’t mean that she was a doormat; quite the contrary. Lyra had no problem telling him exactly what she felt and thought. It made it easy for him to voice his feelings, making communication flow as smoothly as a river.
They had been married for four blissful months, with Lyra acting as Marigold’s official mother, literally and figuratively. Timber had created the habit of tapping the photo of the three bears that his wife had made when the adoption papers went through, often kissing his fingertips and placing them on the photo. It was a lovely ritual to start his day, especially when he woke at the break of dawn before they were awake.
The morning of their four-month anniversary, he went into the kitchen to make his usual breakfast before tending to the council, floating in the dark after kissing Lyra’s bare shoulders in bed. He stuck his hand out as he often did, sliding it along the wall and expecting his fingers to catch along the outline of the picture frame.
But it didn’t.
Timber stopped for a moment in the dim lighting, thinking his fingers were placed too high or too low. He scowled to himself, backing up and investigating thoroughly while squinting into the darkness.
The frame wasn’t there.
Timber looked around in a panicked frenzy. It was highly irrational to worry about something in such an extreme manner, but the photo had become a kind of totem to him, sending him enchanting waves of energy of their love before emerging into the real world, ready to take on any challenge that was thrown his way.
But without the photo, he felt like a shipwreck, lost at sea.
When he looked around the floor in the hallway, then the kitchen, thinking Marigold had somehow knocked it over or snuck it somewhere, he retreated to her bedroom. He crept around silently, the glow of her night light illuminating her little, soft, slumbered face.
When he once more found nothing, he returned to their bedroom. Lyra was still sound asleep, on her side of the bed away from him, with the comforter curled around her body like a dress. He drank her in for a moment, her peaceful perfection, then climbed back into bed.
Timber wrapped his arms around his wife, fragrant, stunning, and serene. He tucked one arm under the pillow where her head lay, then tangled the other around her waist. He then settled his crotch against her bum, flawlessly spooning her awake.
He kissed her shoulders as he had fifteen minutes earlier, tracing his nose along her sublime valleys.
“Mmm …” she groaned.
It hurt him to wake her, but he was alarmed. The sight of her in bed, his queen relaxed and calm, had remedied some of the fear, but not entirely.
“Baby,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m sorry to wake you. But the picture is gone. I don’t know where it is.”
He tried to conceal the worry in his voice but was failing miserably. Lyra stirred, then turned over to face him, her eyelids still glued shut as she replied to him in her low, dreamy voice.
“Gone?” she repeated back. “What do you mean?”
He pushed her hair back from her face, kissing her forehead. She let out a satisfied moan, which made his cock hard for a second.
“It’s not on the wall,” he said, feeling a bit calmer.
Lyra's bright, surreal eyes began to flutter open. Even in her semi-unconscious state, Timber could see her lips beginning to curl on their ends. She shifted closer to him, burying half her face into the pillow as she whispered.
“Look next to you, on the table.”
Timber did as she asked, feeling her ankles curl around his leg. After looking for only two seconds, he saw what she was referring to. He must have missed it in the routine of his early rises.
Another picture frame was sitting there, wrapped up in the same tissue she had used the first time. He tore it open, the sunrise beginning to spill into their private paradise.
Timber poured over the photo again, but he knew that there must be something different. He scanned it multiple times, frowning.
“I don’t understand …"
“Look closer,” she said sleepily, her eyes beginning to stay open longer.
He did as she asked again, and the realization hit him like a lightning bolt.
The photo was identical except for the image of a little cub drawn over Lyra’s momma bear’s belly.
Timber carefully placed the photo on the nightstand, threw the comforter off of his wife, and then crawled down to her belly. She began giggling as he kissed it delicately, running his hands along it like she was made of glass.
