Before Rae understood what was happening, Zander had her sweater, tank top, and bra off her, exposing her to the empty bathroom. He unbuttoned and yanked down her jeans then her underwear. Rae was already kicking off her boots. Mating frenzy in the shower could be great. Hot water, soap, maybe some shower gel if the guys on this boat weren’t too macho to have it.
Zander looked Rae over once she was naked, a wild light in his eyes. Then he clenched his jaw and pushed her against the far wall of one of the showers.
Rae landed against the tile, which was cold, and bounced right back off . . . in time for Zander to yank the water on and then get the hell out of the way.
A stream of ice-cold liquid poured over Rae’s bare body. Zander spun away and was out the door so fast an equally icy draft slammed through the room as the door banged shut.
Rae screamed. And screamed. The water was damn cold.
But Zander had known what he was doing. Frenzy left Rae’s body as survival instincts took over, along with rage. Rae slapped off the water with a blue-fingered hand.
“I hate you, Alexander Fucking Moncrieff!” Her words echoed in the bare tiled room.
“Yeah, I know.” His voice came from down the hall, then there was another slam as Zander left the cabins for the outer deck.
Rae turned to the wall and beat on it a few times with her fists. It hurt—blood stung as it flowed back into her hands.
“Hate you,” Rae whispered to the wall, then groaned. “And I want you so much, you stupid, crazy, big-ass bear.”
* * *
Zander dealt with his frenzy by stripping off in the cabin he’d chosen for himself, walking out to the stern of the boat, and diving into the freezing waters. If he’d remained in the bathroom with Rae, cold water or no, he’d have taken her up against the wall.
His frenzy was so high he could taste it, like blood burning his mouth. Shit.
The waters of the Pacific woke him out of the haze of need, but only so much. He loved the way Rae tasted—saltiness laced with cinnamon and desire. Before today, Zander would never have been so poetic to say someone tasted like cinnamon and desire, but Rae did.
Zander shifted to bear almost immediately, the only way he could survive a dunk in the icy water. His libido calmed slightly as he started to swim, diving under the boat and making schools of fish explode away from him.
He noticed abstractedly that the boat was a good one. The tight hull had been worked on and painted recently, almost pristine except where rocks in the Graveyard had scraped it. The engines were powerful, strong enough to get them through heavy seas. Zander preferred his fishing boat, but this one would do for a longer journey.
Zander swam for a while longer then finally heaved himself back on deck and shook himself from head to tail.
Rae had come out of the cabins in time to be sprayed all over. She shrieked. “Damn you, Zander. I just got dry!”
Zander huffed a laugh, which came out a growl. He shook again, more lightly this time, as Rae wiped the water from her skin in irritation.
Zander knew that if he shifted to human right now the frenzy would return with blasting fury, so he sauntered past her to the closed door to the cabins. Rae made no move to help him open the door, only watched him, her arms folded across her water-spattered sweater.
Zander hid another laugh, reached out with his paw, and opened the door—just to show her that bears had figured out doorknobs.
Zander heard Rae stomping away as he entered the cabins . . . or attempted to enter. The doorway was narrow—a polar bear was a tight fit, and Zander got stuck. He tried to force himself through but only succeeded in wedging himself more firmly.
Zander heaved a sigh and shifted to human form. The doorframe released him but he fell to his hands and knees before he could catch himself.
Please, Goddess, don’t let Rae be seeing this. She’d lose her anger at him and laugh her ass off.
But he heard nothing. Rae had gone, leaving Zander to pick himself up, rub diesel grit from his knees, and saunter to his cabin, his need for Rae not soothed one bit.
* * *
Zander redressed in his cabin then took up his samurai swords, including a bamboo one his friend had also left him, and returned to the deck.
“Rae,” he said to her where she sat in the wheelhouse with Miles and Ezra. “Come on. Let’s keep training.” He signaled to Rae to follow him and disappeared back into the sunshine.
He heard Rae emerge behind him. “How am I supposed to fight?” she asked after she closed the door. “My sword is, you know, broken.”
“With mine.” Zander held the sheathed samurai sword out to Rae.
At that moment, Miles accelerated. He did it gradually, smoothly, no jerking, but Rae stumbled. Zander reached to catch her, but she lithely regained her balance, grabbed the sword, and spun away from him.
“Nice footwork,” Zander said.
Sunshine glistened in the water droplets in Rae’s hair and burnished her skin where she’d rolled up her sleeves. “What footwork?” she asked. “I almost fell.”
“But you caught yourself right away. You’re learning.
Rae held the sheathed sword at her side. “I thought we’d fix the Sword of the Guardian before we did more training.”
“You thought wrong.” Zander swung the bamboo training sword at his side, making the air hum. “Sword craft isn’t something you learn overnight. It takes years. We might as well get started. Besides, it will take our mind off our other problem.”
Rae flushed scarlet. Her reaction to him had been unashamed but now she looked everywhere but at him.
Zander found her sudden shyness cute. She’d been beautiful rising to his touch, gray eyes half closed as she wrapped herself around him.
Zander’s frenzy immediately flared, his cock going stiff. He was never going to make it. The Graveyard had been a good diversion but now the sun was high, the seas calm, the boat rumbling along at a nice pace. He figured the only way he’d cool down was by letting Rae try to kick his ass.
“Just a warning,” Zander said as Rae unsheathed the bright curved blade and he raised the bamboo one. “If you drop that sword overboard, I’m throwing you in to get it.”
* * *
For two days, Miles steered them through the waters along the coast, treating Rae to sights seen only by tourists on cruise ships or the fishermen who plied these waters.
The tall majesty of Glacier Bay curved down to become green and brown mountains and coastal inlets. This long stretch was still Alaska, Miles told Rae, a thin finger of land between the Yukon and the Pacific.