Polar Bared Read Free Page A

an oomph, she landed on her bum, and that should have been the end of it, except she landed hard enough to cause a chunk of ice and snow to crack off from the edge she stood on.
    Uh-oh.
    Before she could yell, off she went. On her makeshift sled, she tobogganed, down the sloped embankment, which might have been fun in other circumstances, but as she eyed the killer cold water lapping at the edge of the ice, which she skidded toward with no means of slowing down or stopping? Yeah. Not a good scenario. She would have screamed if the cold air she sucked in didn’t have her choking.
    Throwing herself to her side did nothing, and neither did flipping to her tummy, other than throw snow into her face and fogging her glasses so she could only perceive her imminent demise in blurry snatches. She tried to slow her rapid flight, digging for purchase on smooth ice with her gloved fingers.
    Ha, that did nothing to reduce her speed, but the wild flailing did somewhat veer her trajectory, aiming her toward a white, snowy hump, which if she was lucky— Please please please— would jolt her to a stop or, if her clumsiness prevailed, would launch her rocketing body and send her plunging to an icy-cold death.
    Curse you, vivid imagination!
    Unable to watch, she closed her eyes just before impact. She hit the furry mound, and the breath was knocked out of her, but, good news, she stopped. She panted, hair-like strands sticking to her lips and getting inhaled with each breath.
    Wait a second. Furry mound?
    Face buried in what was most definitely hair, she stopped breathing. Only one animal with this kind of mass had thick fur of snow white. She would have gulped if she wasn’t so terrified.
    When she’d come on her expedition to study polar bears in their natural habitat, she’d meant to do so from afar, where it was safe. Or approaching after nailing it with a few tranquilizer darts to ensure it was sleeping soundly.
    With her backpack who knew where, the putting-it-to-sleep option was out. She could think of no Plan B.
    But maybe she panicked for nothing. Perhaps this bear was dead. After all she’d hit it pretty hard, and it hadn’t budged. Could be the bear is sleeping deeply and won’t wake up? Maybe—
    Massive muscles shifted against her buried face as the mound moved, and she craned her head to peek, morbid curiosity not allowing her to stay hidden. Even through her blurry lenses—her glasses miraculously still on her face—she noted the bright blue eyes glaring at her and the lips on a muzzle pulled back in a vicious snarl.
    Wow, what big teeth it has.
    It growled.
    She fainted.

Chapter Three
    Nothing like napping in the sun.
    Much like a lazy pussy, Gene basked in the warm rays that would last only a few hours this early in spring.
    A part of Gene knew he should move or maybe at least take a sniff around and make sure where he’d passed out the night before was safe. And he meant passed out, as in snookered-out-of-his-mind wasted. Last thing he recalled was collapsing flat on his belly with no real thought other than, ‘Hey, this piece of ice is comfy’.
    Now, you might wonder, how did a big ol’ fucking polar bear get his paws on some booze somewhere in the Arctic Circle far from annoying reminders of his past? Simple. This time of the year saw plenty of explorers pitching a tent in the hopes of bragging rights.
    He gave them something to brag about, although, he doubted many included the part where they pissed their pants when he sliced open the side of their tent, stuck his head in, and roared. While they scurried off screaming, he nosed around, not really interested in their food—icky freeze-dried rations—but they often had the one thing he did want. Pepper.
    While he did so love a yummy fresh seal, he preferred it with a dash of the peppery stuff. Too lazy to head to his hidey-hole and his stash of goods, in case he had some company he preferred to avoid, he currently found it easier to raid campers for