Page 39 of Grizzly's Grump
The mist dies away completely. The earth stills.
I shift back, the change rushing over me like a wave collapsing on itself—sudden, soundless, inevitable. Bones knit beneath skin in complete silence, the air around me cooling as the mist peels away in curling ribbons.
I drop to one knee, naked and heaving in the wreckage of what just was, lungs dragging in the sharp bite of scorched earth and ozone. Every muscle trembles with the effort of holding it all in—the shift, the fury, the bone-deep instinct to protect. The world around me has gone unnaturally still, as if holding its breath in the long pause after a scream.
She lets her gaze roam over me—scarred, unguarded, completely exposed—and when her eyes lift back to mine, there's no fear. Only understanding.
"You came back," she whispers.
I nod, still catching my breath. “You didn’t run.”
Her smile is tremulous, but sure. “You wouldn’t have let the maelstrom take me. I knew that.”
I reach for her then, and she comes willingly, burying herself against my chest like it’s where she’s always belonged. Her scent grounds me, pulling me out of the haze of violence and back into the warmth only she can give.
“We’re not safe out here,” I murmur, already lifting her into my arms. “Not with the lines acting like this.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home. The compound. Somewhere the ley lines won’t interfere.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “Then let's go home.” She looks down at my naked form. "But maybe let's get you some clothes first."
And those words—those simple, impossible words—settle somewhere deep in my chest, anchoring everything that nearly flew apart.
The compound is silent when we arrive. The truck’s engine cuts out, and for a beat, neither of us moves. The quiet here isn’t still—it’s expectant, as if the land is suspended on the edge of something. I carry her through the front gate and past the totems carved into the posts, relics from generations of shifters who’ve walked this same path. The scent of cedar and old stone greets us—familiar, grounding. But tonight, it feels different.
The thought of bringing her here—into this space—isn’t something I take lightly. Only a handful of outsiders have ever stood where she does now, and never like this—not as part of us. This place is a sanctuary. History. A sacred reminder that leyenergy and claw carved our kind and that oath and blood forged it.
I cross the threshold barefoot, heart thrumming. As I move through the door toward the hearth, every footfall echoes softly, grounding me in the weight of tradition. Those who came before carved the walls from old stone, cool beneath my fingertips, and etched them with ancient symbols that only awaken under ley pulses—faintly glowing now, as if aware of what’s coming.
The scent of earth and iron clings to the stones, dense and grounding, like the breath of something ancient that has waited centuries to be disturbed. Somewhere deeper inside, the fire waits to be lit. A tangle of memories prickles at the edges of my mind—my first shift, Beau’s near-death trial in this very space, the way Fen once collapsed here after a vision left her bleeding from the nose. This place has seen everything that matters.
And now Cilla’s here. The wind hasn’t followed us. Neither has the mist.
We’re already inside, and though she’s been here before, something about the space feels altered—weightier, pulsing faintly with the energy still lingering from the storm outside. Stone walls echo with memory, the hearth cold but waiting. This time, it isn’t just a visit. It’s a crossing over.
She turns to face me in the golden light from the hallway. “You okay?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I will be. If you’ll let me claim you.”
Her breath catches. “You mean… the real way?”
I nod, my throat thick. “The sacred way. Not just sex. A bond. Blood. Spirit. It’ll tie you to me. It’ll make you mine in the eyes of every shifter who’s ever walked these woods—and in the eyes of the ley lines themselves.”
She steps closer, and I see it—that spark of fear, not of me, but of what this means. Of how big it is. But I also see resolve.
“I’ve never belonged anywhere, Calder. Never felt like I could trust something enough to surrender to it.”
“And now?” I ask.
She lifts her chin. “Now I want to belong to you.”
I close the space between us, fingers grazing her cheek. “Then come with me.”
We leave my cottage and make our way to a sacred clearing at the edge of our compound. The stone walls pulse faintly with ley energy. Old marks, carved by claw and blood, flicker to life as we step inside.
My brothers and my nephew stand with me in a wide circle, their expressions solemn, the weight of the moment etched into every line of their faces. They light the candles from memory—each flame a thread tying us back to the first of our kind—and mark the ground with salt and ash. No words are spoken beyond the rites. The silence hums with old power.
