I didn’t stay with Timber all night at his private den, although I should have. Instead, around four o’clock in the morning, snowflakes started to fall down from the heavens and melted against my face. We both yawned, exhausted from the festival, and he walked me through Skenandoa Deep, close to the lake and illuminated by the fall’s moonlight. As a gentleman, or gentlebear, he escorted me back to the run-down cabin. Once there, I asked him to spend the rest of the night with me, but he politely declined.
“I can’t. I want to, but…”
“You have your shifters. I understand that.”
We kissed inside the cabin where it was warm, and he apologized that he had to return to his kingdom of shifting bears, his family, and close knit clan. The kiss melted the falling snow outside the building. My leg
