Page 33 of Grizzly's Grump
I don’t answer.
"You remember what happened last time."
Of course I remember. I don’t need him dragging that ghost into the light.
"It’s not the same," I say.
Beau leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his brow furrowed and one foot tapping an uneven rhythm against the floor. His jaw flexes like he's biting back the words hereally wants to say, tension radiating off him in waves. "You sure? Because it feels the same. Ley lines spiking. Animals going weird. Storms rolling in without warning."
I grit my teeth. "She’s not her."
"No. But the energy… it's similar."
I scrub a hand down my face. "I don’t know what she is. I only know I can’t stay away from her."
Beau nods slowly. "And what if that’s the problem? Sawyer lost his mate. You remember that? You remember what it did to him?"
"Don’t." The word comes out low, almost a growl.
"I’m just saying—maybe we’re cursed. Maybe whatever runs under this town doesn’t like us loving anyone."
His words hit harder than I expect. Not because I believe in curses—but because, sometimes, in the quiet moments when the ley lines hum and the air feels too heavy, I wonder if they believe in us. If they sense our hopes and fears, and twist fate around them just to watch us break.
Footsteps echo from the far end of the open room. Sawyer steps into view, his son trailing close behind. My jaw ticks as he watches the boy—a flash of guilt and something softer tightening in his chest. Then Tanner’s wide eyes scan the room before he presses himself closer to Sawyer, fingers fisting in his dad’s flannel. My bear settles slightly, sensing the vulnerability in the boy, the delicate thread of fear and innocence.
I don’t speak; just adjust my stance—shoulders loosening, posture settling into something less rigid, fists unclenching. I give Tanner a small nod, a silent offering of acknowledgment, before his gaze locks with Sawyer’s. Tanner stays quiet, half-hidden behind his father’s leg, clearly picking up on the tension hanging in the room even if he doesn’t understand the cause.
"Fen thinks the ley lines are angry," Sawyer says without preamble. "That Cilla might make it worse."
That lands like a gut punch.
"She’s not doing anything on purpose," I snap.
Sawyer holds up his hands. "Didn’t say she was. Just relaying what Fen told me."
"Cilla belongs here."
Beau snorts. "You decided that already?"
"Yeah. I did."
Silence falls. Tanner tugs at his father’s hand, and Sawyer murmurs something quiet before he sends him toward the far corner of the great room, where two leather wingback chairs are tucked near the fireplace.
"I could build something," I say after a minute, voice low and gritty with the weight of the choice clawing at me. "A shelter. Out near Workshop Row."
Beau frowns. "You think you’ll have time for that? Wouldn’t it be smarter just to get her out of here?"
I shake my head. "Run where? The ley lines stretch beyond this town. If they’re reacting to her, it could follow. At least here, we know the ground. We can prepare."
Sawyer crosses his arms, studying me. "You really think a building will stop what’s coming?"
"No," I admit. "But it gives us a chance. Gives her something stable to hold on to when everything else is falling out of balance. It’s not just about walls. It’s about control. About trying."
I look toward the darkened windows, the image of a shelter forming clearer with every breath—timber and stone, old as the mountain itself. Not just walls and roof, but a foundation rooted in the ridge’s bones. Something human-built and wild-proof. Something that says: 'you’re not alone here.'
"I can’t protect her from everything," I murmur, my voice rough. "But damn it, I have to try."
The vision sharpens: iron brackets hammered into thick beams, rock fitted by hand into the timber frame, every jointwhispering intent. It’s not just protection—it’s defiance. A place close to the convergence, grounded and real, a tether between this world and the one she’s trying to understand. A haven not just for her body, but for her spirit. A place that holds when the rest breaks wide open. Even if I’m gone. Even if this all burns down around her, that place will still stand.
