Page 34 of Grizzly's Grump
I clench my jaw, the thought digging deep. No matter what the ley lines bring... she has to survive it.
Sawyer arches a brow. "You gonna tell her that’s what you’re doing?"
I shrug. "Eventually."
The pressure in my chest builds again. I can’t sit here. I can’t keep having the same conversation when my bear is pulling at something primal, deeper than instinct and older than memory.
I step outside without a word. The air is sharp; the night is thick with mist. My body knows what comes next. The pull is too strong.
The mist rolls up from the ground, swirling with thunder and lightning. It wraps around me, engulfing me in color and heat. The moment it clears, I’m on all fours, paws sinking into damp earth.
The shift is clean. Whole. Instant.
I charge into the woods, fury and confusion driving my limbs. The scents of damp earth and distant pine slam into me, raw and wild. My paws churn up soil, scattering leaves and twigs as I push deeper into the trees. Every sound sharpens—owl wings above, the skitter of small prey beneath ferns, the thud of my own pulse pounding in my ears. My bear isn’t just running—he’s hunting for clarity, for control, for the piece of me that feels like it's slipping.
The deeper I go, the more I feel the ley line's energy threading through the forest, not just humming, but thrashing like a thing alive. The vibration doesn't just brush against mysenses—it barrels through them, a primal force pushing upward like it wants to rip free from the soil. It doesn’t guide me—it hunts me, wild, chaotic pulses claw at my instincts, daring me to control what can’t be tamed. I can’t master it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The not knowing drives me faster, harder, until my lungs burn and my claws gouge deep, ragged trenches through the soft forest floor. The ley lines don’t just hum now—they writhe, coiling and twisting beneath the surface like living serpents, surging with energy that wants out. It feels like they’re trying to escape the earth itself, pushing upward with frantic urgency, clawing at the roots and stones, scraping toward the air as if the ground can no longer contain them. I swear I can feel them reaching for me—not just beneath my feet but inside my chest, invisible fingers dragging across nerves and instinct, primal and relentless.
But no matter how far I run, her scent lingers in my awareness. Cinnamon and honey. Warmth and storm. It roots in my chest like a brand. And nothing—not the trees, not the pain, not the wild pull of my bear—can chase it away. Branches whip past. The trees blur. I run until the burn in my muscles pushes back the storm in my chest.
It doesn't work. Not completely. Not this time. The gnawing restlessness still clings to my skin, threaded tight through muscle and bone, refusing to loosen its grip.
I can still feel her—every part of her echoing through me. The lingering trace of her scent, the warmth of her body against mine, the imprint of her smile. And the look she gives me—steady, unwavering—as if she sees something in me worth keeping. Worth fighting for.
I want to shield her from every threat, carve out a space where only we exist—where nothing and no one can get to her. Iwant to be the barrier between her and the chaos, the steady heat she can fall into when the world turns cold.
But the ley lines are humming again. And the past has not finished with me.
By the time I circle back, the mist is rising again. I step through it, shift back, drag on the clothes I left tucked behind a tree near the back porch.
The light's on in the kitchen. She’s standing at the window, looking out, with her arms folded across her chest and her expression unreadable. The soft glow of the overhead light frames her in gold, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. I catch the way her fingers tighten slightly on her arms, the smallest tell that she’s not as calm as she wants to appear. Her presence is like gravity—I feel it before she turns, before her eyes meet mine. And in that instant, the wildness in me settles just a little.
She’s waiting for me.
CHAPTER 13
CILLA
The moment Calder steps through the door, damp and shadowed from the woods, I know something’s changed. The air turns dense, laced with a wild tang that curls into my senses—earthy, feral, laced with something primal and charged. It fills my lungs, igniting something deep and instinctual. There’s a tension radiating off him, a current that prickles across my skin and lifts the tiny hairs at my nape. Not fear, not danger exactly, but a fierce awareness—like the forest itself has bled into him and now stands at the threshold.
The space between us tightens, humming with something unspoken and ancient, and I know, without a shred of doubt, that the Calder facing me isn’t the same man who stepped into the woods. He’s carrying something—some invisible burden that seems to weigh the very air around him. His eyes, usually shuttered and unreadable, flicker with something raw and unguarded—fractured and fierce, like a beast trying to hold the pieces of itself together.
There’s something different beneath the exterior—still Calder, but edged with wildness. His presence feels… expanded. Larger. Like he’s caught between the man and the mountain and not fully come back from either.
That look hits me hard, like a rogue wave slamming into the shore, knocking the breath out of me. My chest tightens, pulse thrumming with more than desire. It’s not just lust threading through the space between us—it’s recognition. Warning. A promise I don’t yet understand but feel deep in my marrow.
I don’t know what happened in those woods. I only know he came back looking like a storm barely held in check—shoulders tight, energy vibrating off him like static. Something wild clings to him, coiled and silent, desperate for release.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. Palms damp. Pulse spiking. Not with fear—but with readiness. He’s the wild thing now, not the forest. And he’s staring at me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
Whatever Calder faced out there didn’t stay behind. It followed him—woven into the way he moves, the way his gaze snags on me like he’s still half-lost in the trees. He’s raw, more exposed than I’ve ever seen him. Even more than that night beneath the moon.
And whatever storm still rages beneath his skin… it’s looking right at me.
I’ve waited long enough—watched him fight himself, hold back, pretend that what’s between us is just timing and tension. But I’m done with silence and hesitation. I want answers. I want him.
I cross the room, my feet silent against the floorboards, and press a hand to his chest. His skin radiates heat, a furnace burning low and fierce, deep in his core, and I swear I feel it pulse beneath my palm—raw, alive. "You’re back," I murmur, not just in body but in something deeper, more primal.
