Page 10 of Bound to the Beast

“Thanks, Adrian,” I say, standing up. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Good luck,” he replies, giving me a nod. “And be careful. Rogue shifters are dangerous. Keep Grace safe.”

I nod. Instead of leaving, I decide to stay at the bar for a while, nursing a drink. The warmth of the whiskey burns a path down my throat, momentarily distracting me from the turmoil inside. The low hum of conversation around me feels distant, as if I’m in a bubble of my own making.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, watching the way the light catches and refracts within it. The decision weighs heavily on me, and I know I can’t delay it much longer. Grace is too important, too special. I need to protect her from the rogue shifter, but I also need to be honest with her. It's a delicate balance, and one wrong move could shatter everything.

7

GRACE

Arriving at work in the nick of time, I plop gracefully onto my seat, checking my emails for any urgent messages before my meeting with Adam. He’s my main rival for investigative pieces, but our editor wants us to work together to avoid repetition. It’s an unavoidable irritation.

In journalistic circles, Adam is like a predator. He has a nose for stories that the public just gobbles up. He could find the most obscure detail and sniff out any anomalies. But his methods leave a lot to be desired.

For example, he deliberately woos the female clerks in city hall, so he can get first dibs on any cases that will come up. He shamelessly bribes them with flowers, gift cards, vouchers to restaurants… Anything to get ahead of the competition – not just me, but reporters from other publications, too.

I don’t understand what they see in him. He’s a misogynist, chasing every person in a skirt. I can never forget how shamelessly he flirted with me when I first started. He mistook me for an intern and thanked me for wearing a skirt to work.

Shaking my head at the memory, I decide to grab myself a cup of coffee before the meeting. Knowing Adam, he’ll likely argue over any pieces I get assigned to write. I grab my notebook and pens, passing by the pantry to brew myself a cup.

“Meeting with Adam?” Betty, the administrative assistant, whispers to me.

I give her a wordless yes, raising my eyebrows in confirmation.

“You better take a large,” she says, exchanging the cup I got.

“Thanks,” I tell her gratefully.

To my surprise, the meeting goes off without a hitch. Adam barely argues when Don, our editor, gives me the seven-car pileup to write about. He must be up to something, I think. He’d never give in so easily unless he had a prior motive.

During the meeting, I’ve been receiving emails from one of my contacts in the coroner’s office. He gave me the name of a park ranger who had mentioned a woodcutter. This woodcutter may be willing to talk. And I can hardly wait to finish the meeting myself, so I can check out what he had to say.

Don seems pleasantly surprised to have the meeting so short. He’s probably blocked out an hour at least, expecting Adam to argue about his assignments. His expression of relief as we adjourn is almost comical.

I settle back into my seat, the office buzz humming around me as I open the email from my contact at the coroner’s office. My heart skips a beat when I see the name and number of the park ranger he mentioned. Without wasting a second, I dial the number, my fingers tapping anxiously on my desk.

"Hello?" a gruff voice answers.

"Hi, this is Grace from the Pilham Herald. I got your number from a mutual contact. I was hoping to ask you a few questions regarding some recent activity in the forest."

The ranger lets out a sigh. "Look, I haven’t seen any potential shifter activity myself, but there’s a woodcutter named Matthew who mentioned something suspicious. He’s on break in fifteen minutes. If you can make it to the forest by then, he’ll meet you at the gas station near Pilham's woods. He doesn’t want to speak over the phone."

I scribble down the details, my pulse quickening. "Thank you so much. I’ll be there."

I grab my bag and head out, my mind racing with possibilities. As I drive to the gas station, I can't help but wonder if Ethan knows anything about this. He was so cagey about shifters when we talked. Maybe he’s heard the same rumors.

The gas station comes into view, and I pull in, parking my car and scanning the area. A man in his late forties, with rugged features and a wary expression, stands near the entrance. He looks around before making eye contact with me and nodding subtly. This must be Matthew.

“Grace?” he asks as I approach.

“Yes, Matthew, right?” I confirm.

He nods again, glancing around nervously. “Let’s walk,” he says, leading me towards a more secluded area behind the station.

“What did you find?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Matthew exhales sharply. “I’ve been working in Pilham’s woods for years. Recently, I’ve found random articles of clothing strewn around. Jackets, shirts, even shoes, torn to shreds. It’s not normal.”

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