Page 3 of Bear Love's Hidden Destiny
The fire flickers behind me, and her voice breaks the silence. She says, “You’re not telling me everything. And I’m going to find out why.”
Chapter Three
Isabella
I couldn’t sleep. The cabin was too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears and made every creak sound like a warning. I lay on the bed, the blanket heavy, my fingers tracing the edges of my grandfather’s journal. I flipped it open to the last page, where my name was written next to a symbol I didn’t recognize, a swirling design that looked like a claw curled around a flame. My grandfather never mentioned this place, never talked about Fir Hollow or anyone like Benedict, but lying here, I felt like I’d stumbled into a story that had been going on for years. Benedict was hiding something, I was sure of it. His calm voice and steady hands didn’t fool me. The way he dodged my questions about the ridge, about the bear, it all added up to a secret bigger than a bad fall. I sat up, the moonlight casting shadows across the room, and decided I wasn’t going to wait for him to come clean. I’d find answers myself.
As the first light of morning crept through the window, I got up, careful not to make the floorboards creak. The cabin was small but solid, everything built with care. A rack of dried herbshung by the window, filling the air with a faint earthy scent, like sage and something sharper I couldn’t place. Above the door, a row of wooden carvings caught my eye, small animals, a bear, a wolf, a hawk, each one etched with strange runes. I stepped closer, running my fingers over a bear carving. The rune on its side was sharp, precise, and my stomach dropped. I pulled out the journal and flipped to a page of sketches. The symbol was there, identical, right down to the angle of the claw. I stood there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t a coincidence. I checked the other carvings, my fingers brushing the rough wood. Each one had a rune that matched something in the journal, like my grandfather had been here, or at least knew this place existed.
I slipped on my boots and stepped outside. The air was cool, the forest still wrapped in mist. Benedict was out back, splitting wood with an axe, his shirt hanging open as he swung. The motion was steady, practiced, his muscles flexing with each strike. I paused at the corner of the cabin, my breath catching. He was tall, broad, with dark hair falling into his eyes, and there was something about the way he moved, confident but not showy, that made it hard to look away. The morning light caught the sweat on his skin, and I realized I was staring. I shook it off, embarrassed, and focused on the tattoo on his forearm. It was the same symbol, the claw and flame, etched in black ink, standing out sharp against his skin. I walked over, the journal clutched in my hand, and cleared my throat. He looked up, setting the axe against a stump, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Morning,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You sleep okay?”
“Not really,” I said, holding up the journal. “Where’d you get that tattoo?”
He glanced at his arm, then back at me, his face unreadable. “It’s old. Family thing.”
“Family thing,” I repeated, stepping closer. “This symbol’s in my grandfather’s journal. Same one’s carved over your door. You going to tell me that’s just a coincidence?”
He didn’t flinch, but his shoulders tensed. “Lots of old symbols around here. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Did you know him?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant. “Edgar Washington. My grandfather.”
“No,” he said, picking up the axe again. “Never heard of him.”
I watched his eyes, searching for a lie. Something flickered there, just for a second, before he turned back to the wood. “You’re not telling me everything,” I said, folding my arms. “I’m not stupid, Benedict. This place, that ridge, it’s all connected to this journal. And you know more than you’re letting on.”
He split a log with a single swing, the crack echoing in the clearing. “You’re chasing shadows, Isabella. Go back to town. It’s safer.”
I wanted to push harder, to demand answers, but his tone told me I wasn’t getting anything else. Not yet. I nodded, letting him think I was dropping it, but my mind was already racing. I leaned against the porch railing, watching him work, trying to piece it together. The axe rose and fell, his movements steady, and I found myself distracted again. He was handsome, more than I’d let myself notice before, with a quiet strength that made the air feel heavier. I caught myself staring at the line of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the axe, and I looked away, my cheeks warm. What was wrong with me? I was here for answers, not to gawk at some park ranger.
“You heading back to town soon?” he asked, not looking up from the wood.
I crossed my arms, leaning back. “Why? You don’t want me here? I just want to rest here if it’s okay with you.”
He paused, the axe halfway through a swing, and looked at me. His eyes were steady, searching, like he was trying to figureme out. “It’s not that,” he said, setting the axe down. “Just thought you’d want to get back to your life.”
“My life’s in that journal right now,” I said, tapping the book. “I’m not leaving until I figure out what it means.”
He nodded, slow, like he was weighing his words. “Fair enough. Stay as long as you need. But stick close to the cabin. The woods aren’t safe.”
I didn’t answer, just watched him go back to splitting wood. His warning sounded like more than just concern for a clumsy hiker. I spent the rest of the morning pretending to relax, flipping through the journal while he worked outside. The symbols were starting to feel familiar, like a language I’d forgotten. I traced the claw-and-flame rune with my finger, my mind turning over the carvings, the tattoo, the way Benedict’s eyes had flickered when I mentioned my grandfather. He was part of this, whether he admitted it or not. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, I had a plan. I wasn’t waiting for him to tell me the truth. I’d find it myself.
When the fire in the cabin burned low and Benedict stepped outside to check the perimeter, I grabbed my flashlight and the journal. I slipped out the door, moving quietly, the night air cold against my skin. The forest was darker than I expected, the mist swallowing the moonlight. I followed the journal’s map, the trail unmarked but clear enough under my flashlight’s beam. The symbols on the page seemed to glow faintly, guiding me deeper into the woods. The silence was heavy, like the forest was holding its breath. My pulse raced, but I kept going, the pull in my chest stronger than ever. The map led to a circle of trees, their branches woven together like a natural cathedral. In the center, the air shimmered, bending the light in a way that made my head spin. It wasn’t a heatwave, not in this cold. It was something else, something impossible.
I stepped closer, my breath catching. The journal trembled in my hand as I reached out, my fingers brushing the shimmering air. It felt warm, alive, like it was pulsing with energy. I was about to step through when a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. I stumbled, crashing into a solid chest, the journal slipping from my grip. Benedict’s hand held my arm tight, his breath coming fast, his eyes blazing in the moonlight.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his voice low and rough.
I pulled against his grip, my heart slamming in my chest. “Let go of me! You’ve been lying since I woke up, Benedict. This place isn’t what it seems, and I’m done with your half-answers.”
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” he said, his grip tightening. “Go back to the cabin. Now.”
“No,” I snapped, yanking my arm free. “I know there’s something here. The journal, the symbols, this place, it’s all connected to me. And you’re hiding it. Tell me the truth.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us felt charged, like a storm about to break. His hand was still close to my arm, and where his fingers had touched, my skin felt warm, almost burning. I could see it hit him too, his breath catching, his eyes widening for a split second. I glanced down at the journal, lying open on the forest floor. The page with my name was glowing faintly, and a new word had appeared beside it, one that hadn’t been there before. I couldn’t read it, but it looked like the other symbols, sharp and ancient.
I looked up at him, my voice shaking. “What am I?”
