Page 18 of Grizzly's Grump
“I didn’t mean...”
“You didn’t mean to kiss me like you meant it?”
“I didn’t mean to lose control.”
Her face hardens. “Maybe I wanted you to.”
The bear growls low inside me, furious at the space between us. At the rejection I just shoved into her hands.
I turn away before I do something worse. "I’m sorry," I mutter over her shoulder.
“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “Be consistent.”
That hits harder than it should. I glance over my shoulder. She’s still perched on the edge of her truck’s step rail, hair wild, mouth kiss-swollen and arms folded. Her eyes are shining—but not with tears.
She’s angry... with me... with herself... with whatever this thing is we keep circling but won’t touch.
I walk away because I don’t trust what I’ll do if I stay.
The bear already chose her, and I’m not sure I get a vote.
By the time I make it back to my stone house tucked at the edge of our family compound, my pulse is still too fast and my skin still burns with the echo of her. I parked at the workshop and took the long way on foot, hoping the night air might cool something in me. It didn’t.
Now I lean against the porch rail, jaw tight, staring into the trees like they might offer answers. They don’t. But they do whisper—quiet and knowing—like they saw everything and won’t let me forget it.
The ley line has quieted.
But I haven’t.
Footsteps crunch over gravel, and a beat later, Beau's voice drifts up from the path. "You're radiating like a fault line, brother. Everything okay?"
I don’t turn. “Fine.”
“Uh-huh.” Beau steps onto the porch and leans against the rail opposite me. He smells of oil and pine tar; rust from the railcar he converted into his home dusts his boots. “The lines stirred tonight. I felt it. Even June Kessler had owls flying off schedule."
June’s our ley line archivist—an owl shifter who tracks energy patterns across this stretch of the Northern California Coastal Range. If her birds are acting out of rhythm, it’s never just coincidence. It means the lines are rising and rising fast.
I grunt.
Beau raises an eyebrow. “You gonna give me more than that?”
I push off the railing and rub the back of my neck, knowing that ignoring Beau is a waste of time. “Cilla got caught in the edge of a flare. Nothing serious. I pulled her out. But it wasn’t just that she was there. The flare surged when she stepped close. Like the line saw her coming and reached up to meet her.”
His eyes sharpen. “Is she okay?”
“Shaken. Drawn to it, though. Like the lines noticed her.”
He nods slowly. “You think she’s attuned?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. But her truck’s lights were flickering earlier. More than they should’ve. I want you to check it out tomorrow, along with the flat tire.”
“Sure,” Beau says. “But flickering lights? You think it’s just a wiring issue?”
“Could be… hopefully.”
“Or the ley lines are bleeding into the system,” he finishes.
We stare at each other. No need to say it out loud. If the lines are stretching further than they should—if they’re reaching for her—it means trouble.
