Page 24 of On Tap for the Bear
"Like they did with Cilla," Calder confirms, his hand reaching out to touch one of the glowing threads. It pulses brighter at the contact, then fades. "And with Anabeth."
Sawyer moves closer to the access point, his bear visible in his eyes for just a moment—a flash of gold-brown, wild and assessing. "But this is different. This is stronger. More... deliberate."
"What does that mean?" I ask, though part of me already knows the answer. Already feels the truth of it singing through my bones.
Calder pulls his hand back from the ley line, and the light dims slightly. "It means that whatever connection Quinn has to this place, to the ley lines, it's significant. The land doesn't just recognize her. It's calling to her."
The vibration fades, leaving only the normal background hum of magic that's always present in Redwood Rise. But the message is clear. Quinn isn't just my mate. She's tied to this place in ways we don't fully understand yet.
Calder's voice is firm. "You need to tell her. Soon. Before the ley lines pull her into something dangerous and she has no idea what's happening."
I close the cellar door, the lock clicking into place with a finality that echoes in the sudden quiet. "I will."
"When?" Beau presses.
"When the moment is right. When she's ready to hear it." The stairs creak as I head back up, the others following behind me.
Calder stops at the top of the stairs. His hand lands on my shoulder, heavy with the weight of brotherhood and concern."And if that moment doesn't come? If she leaves before you tell her?"
My chest constricts. I can't breathe around the thought. Quinn, driving away from Redwood Rise, from me, still broken and lost. Never knowing that she'd found her home, her mate. Never knowing that she's the reason I can barely sleep, barely think, barely breathe without wanting to claim her.
"She won't leave." The words taste like a promise I'm not sure I can keep. "She's healing here. She can taste again, even if she doesn't understand why. She'll stay."
Beau's voice is quiet. "For now. But eventually, she'll want answers. And if you don't give them to her, she'll find them somewhere else."
He's right. They're all right. But the thought of telling Quinn the truth, of watching her face transform from curiosity to fear to revulsion, makes my bear want to retreat into the mountains and never come back.
"I'll handle it," I say finally. "Trust me."
Calder studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Alright."
They file out, Sawyer pausing at the door to look back at me. Morning light filters through the windows, catching the exhaustion in his face, the understanding. "For what it's worth," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I think you're right about her. She's different. I can feel it."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the empty tavern.
The silence presses in. I stand there for a moment, surrounded by the smell of coffee and old wood and the faint ozone scent the ley lines left behind. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror behind the bar—shadows under my eyes, tension in my jaw, the look of a man balanced on a knife's edge.
The next few hours pass on autopilot. My hands know the motions—restocking the bar, prepping ingredients, checkingthe beer lines. I chop onions for the French onion soup, the rhythmic thunk of the knife against the cutting board almost meditative. I check the taps, making sure each beer pours clean and clear. I wipe down tables, arrange chairs, unlock the front door.
But my mind is elsewhere. With Quinn. Wondering if she slept after I left her window. Wondering if she remembers the amber-flecked eyes that watched her in the forest. Wondering if, when I finally tell her the truth, she'll run.
The tavern starts to fill around eleven thirty. Locals mostly. Old Tom takes his usual seat at the end of the bar, his gnarled hands wrapping around a mug of coffee. The Henderson sisters claim their favorite table by the window and talk quietly over their menus.
They all know what I am. What my family is. Redwood Rise has always had a way of attracting people who can accept the strange, the magical, the impossible. Or maybe the town chooses them. The ley lines pulling at those who can handle the truth.
I'm behind the bar pulling a pint when the door opens and Quinn walks in.
Everything stops.
My bear surges forward, recognition and need slamming through me with enough force to steal my breath. The glass in my hand threatens to shatter. I set it down carefully, because I don't trust myself to hold it steady.
She's wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater that makes her eyes look even more grey-green than usual, like storm clouds over the ocean. Her hair is down, falling in waves around her shoulders, and she looks tired but determined. Like she's come here with purpose.
Our eyes meet across the tavern, and I feel it again. That pull, that certainty. Mine.
She crosses the room, weaving between tables, and the world narrows to just her. The way she moves, fluid and unselfconscious. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, nervous. The way she slides onto a barstool directly in front of me, so close I can smell her—that same crisp autumn scent, now mixed with the faint trace of Evelyn's lavender soap from the Pinecrest.
Up close, I can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She didn't sleep well. Neither did I.
