Page 41 of On Tap for the Bear
"I'll explain later." I stop at the door, looking back at her. She's confused, hurt, beautiful in the morning light streaming through the windows. Leaving her here feels like tearing off my own arm. "Stay here. Lock the door behind me. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Eli...”
"Please, Quinn. Just trust me."
Then I'm out the door and running for my truck, the bear already surging to the surface. Quinn's face haunts me as I peel out of the parking lot—the hurt and confusion there, the questions I left unanswered.
The bear fights me every mile back to the compound, clawing to turn around. Doesn't understand why we're leaving our mate when she needs us to stay.
CHAPTER 12
QUINN
The tavern feels too quiet after Eli leaves.
I stand in the middle of the dining room, still holding the dish towel he handed me before his phone started buzzing. The omelet sits half-eaten on the bar, cooling. My coffee's gone cold in the mug.
Family emergency, he said. The look on his face when he read that text—not fear exactly, but urgent and desperate, the kind of look that made him bolt out the door without a backward glance.
I lock the door like he asked and turn to survey the empty space. Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating dust motes floating in the air. Everything smells like butter and peppers and coffee. Normal. Mundane.
Except nothing about this morning has been normal.
For us, he said. The land brought you here for us.
I sink onto the barstool and drop my head into my hands. Magic. Ley lines. Destiny. And now some kind of emergency that sent Eli running like the building was on fire.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
My phone sits on the bar where I left it, silent and accusatory. Three missed calls from my agent. Two texts from former colleagues asking where I disappeared to.
I swipe them all away without reading.
The truth is, I don't care about any of that anymore. The stolen byline, the lost reputation, the career I spent ten years building—it all feels distant. Like it happened to someone else.
All I care about is the man who just ran out of here, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I finish my coffee—still able to taste it, thank god—and wash both our plates. The domesticity of it should feel strange. We had sex once. One time. On this very bar, actually, which makes washing dishes here slightly surreal.
But it doesn't feel strange. It feels right. Like I've been doing this for years instead of hours.
The land brought you here for us.
I'm still turning that phrase over in my mind when I hear the truck pull up outside.
The door opensand Eli steps inside.
He looks exhausted. His hair is disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it. There's dirt on his jeans and a scratch on his forearm that wasn't there this morning. But he's whole. Safe.
Relief floods through me so intensely I have to grip the doorframe.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey." I step back to let him in. "Everything okay?"
"Define okay." He scrubs a hand over his face, and I catch the tremor in his fingers. "Everyone at the compound is safe. That's something."
"What happened?"
