Page 41 of Grin and Bear It

“How romantic,” Thora said dryly.

“It’s also worth about six million dollars on the black market,” Bryn added. “Artair will want to know about your stakeout plans.”

“I work alone.” The words came automatically.

“Keep telling yourself that, honey.” Kalyna patted her hand condescendingly. “Meanwhile, your pupils say otherwise.”

“They do not?—”

“Forty-five percent dilation that time.” Kalyna winked. “I’m keeping a chart for scientific purposes.”

Thora scooted Bryn out of the seat and stood, dropping enough cash to cover her meal plus tip. “Thanks for breakfast. It was... unexpected.”

“That’s us,” Bryn beamed. “Your unexpected girl squad. Same time tomorrow?”

Before Thora could decline, Lucella cut in. “We’re having book club at the library tomorrow evening. Nothing fancy—wine, cheese, magical literary discussion. You should come.”

“I don’t read much fiction.”

“Good thing we’re discussing ‘Advanced Tracking Spells for Supernatural Entities’ then,” Kalyna countered. “Right up your professional alley.”

Thora hesitated, caught off guard by their persistence. “I’ll think about it.”

“Progress!” Bryn pumped her fist victoriously. “Next week, we’ll have her at spa day.”

“Don’t push it,” Thora warned, but her tone lacked its usual edge.

As she left the diner, the envelope in her pocket seemed to weigh heavier. The Tiikeri envelope, the strange connection to Artair, the unexpected “girl squad”—Enchanted Falls kept throwing surprises at her. Yet for the first time in her nomadic life, Thora found herself not immediately planning her escape route.

The realization unsettled her more than any magical tether could.

THIRTY-NINE

Dusk settled over Enchanted Falls, painting the quaint storefronts in shades of amber and gold. Thora crouched on the rooftop opposite Maxen Jewelers, her dark clothing blending into the growing shadows. From this vantage point, she had clear sightlines to both the front entrance and the service alley behind the shop.

The boutique itself exuded old-world elegance—hand-carved wooden display cases visible through leaded glass windows, discreet magical wards shimmering faintly around the perimeter. The sign above the door featured the Maxen bear clan crest rendered in gold leaf.

Thora set up her surveillance equipment with practiced efficiency. Directional microphones to catch conversations near the doors. Thermal imaging to detect movement inside the building after hours. Motion sensors along the most likely entry points.

The familiar routine should have grounded her, pushing away thoughts of tethers and tiger prides and unexpected friendships. Instead, snippets of the morning’s conversation kept intruding.

“Have you considered that you might deserve to be chosen anyway?”

Bryn’s question echoed in her mind as she adjusted a sensor. Deserve to be chosen? The concept seemed alien. In her experience, people didn’t choose each other out of some inherent worthiness. They used each other, abandoned each other, betrayed each other. Her entire career consisted of hunting down people who had betrayed someone’s trust.

Yet something about Artair Maxen defied her cynical worldview. His straightforward manner, his protectiveness toward his family, his surprising gentleness despite his imposing strength—all hinted at a man who took commitment seriously.

“Bear shifters mate for life.”

Her sabertooth stirred at the thought, a purr building in her chest that she ruthlessly suppressed. This was ridiculous. She didn’t want a mate. She didn’t need a permanent attachment complicating her life. She had a job to do, and after it was completed, she’d move on to the next bounty, the next town, the next temporary dwelling.

So why did that future suddenly feel hollow?

A phantom sensation brushed the nape of her neck—ghost fingers tracing the grooming pattern Artair had used during their night of partial shifting. Her sabertooth rumbled with pleasure, and Thora nearly dropped her binoculars.

“Stop it,” she hissed at her animal side.

A soft thud behind her sent her spinning, knife already drawn. Artair Maxen stood there, two coffee cups in one hand, a paper bag in the other, looking irritatingly unruffled by her blade.

---