Page 58 of Chasing Stripes

“I was being thorough,” Bartek muttered.

“You wore a path in the carpet outside her door,” Mimi countered with a grin.

Artemis glanced at him, surprised. “You were guarding my room?”

A faint flush colored his cheekbones. “I couldn’t sleep. The tether... it pulls.”

The simple admission touched her more than grand declarations might have. For someone so controlled, so focused on duty and responsibility, acknowledging vulnerability didn’t come easily.

“It does,” she agreed softly. The gentle tug between them had strengthened overnight like an invisible cord connecting their bodies.

Bartek cleared his throat. “Would you like a tour of the grounds after breakfast? If you’re feeling up to walking.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled, ignoring Mimi’s exaggerated wink from across the table.

Under the table, hidden from view, Bartek’s hand finally settled on her knee—warm, solid, possessive. The contact sent waves of golden light rippling beneath her skin, and for the first time since the handprints appeared, the restless energy inside her settled into contentment.

FIFTY

The pride house grounds stretched for several acres, bordered by dense forest on three sides. Morning dew still glistened on grass as Bartek guided Artemis along winding paths through gardens designed for shifter relaxation—open spaces with natural features that appealed to their primal instincts, interspersed with comfortable seating areas.

“Most of the pride lives in their own homes in town or nearby,” Bartek explained as they walked. His voice took on a deeper resonance when he spoke of his responsibilities, pride evident in each word. “The main house serves as our gathering place for celebrations, full moon runs, and pride meetings.”

“It must be nice having everyone so close,” Artemis said, thinking of her solitary apartment above the bakery. “After my parents died, it was just Aunt Tilly and me. The bakery became our gathering place.”

“I remember your parents,” Bartek said unexpectedly. “Your mother used to make these incredible solstice cakes with edible sparkles. My father would bring them home for special occasions.”

Artemis stopped walking, surprise flooding through her. “You knew my parents?”

“Not well. I was just a cub when going to the bakery.” He paused, regret crossing his features. “But I remember your mother’s laugh. It filled the whole bakery.”

Emotion tightened Artemis’s throat. Few people mentioned her parents anymore as if their absence had gradually erased their presence from the town’s memory. “People say I laugh like her.”

“You do.” His voice softened. “I noticed it that first day in your bakery.”

Their hands brushed as they walked, each contact sending visible ripples of gold and amber energy between them. After the third such “accidental” touch, Artemis found herself fighting a smile. This powerful alpha tiger, who commanded respect with a single look, was acting like a shy teenager.

On the fourth brush of their hands, Artemis decided to be bold, taking his hand in hers. The immediate relief was palpable—like a muscle finally relaxing after being tensed for too long. Bartek’s fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand, each stroke sending currents of warmth up her arm and straight to her core.

“Better?” she asked, glancing up at him.

The tension in his shoulders visibly released. “Much.”

They followed the path to a small pond where tiger lilies grew along the water’s edge, their orange petals vibrant against dark water. Dragonflies skimmed the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.

“My mother planted these,” Bartek said, leading her to a curved stone bench overlooking the water. “She said every pride house needs something beautiful that isn’t just functional.”

“She was right.” Artemis watched a dragonfly hover over the water. “Beauty feeds the spirit.”

“My practical father argued that the space could have been used for combat training.” A rare smile crossed Bartek’s face. “Until he caught my mother sitting here alone during a full moon, and realized some things matter more than practicality.”

The vulnerability in his voice drew Artemis’s gaze to his profile. Light caught in his hair, highlighting strands of gold among the darker blonde. Without the stern set to his jaw that he typically wore in public, he looked younger, more approachable.

“The handprints,” she began hesitantly, voicing the question that had lingered all morning. “They’re not fading at all.”

Bartek turned to face her, uncertainty flickering across his features—an expression she suspected few ever saw from the confident alpha.

“Do you want them to?” he asked quietly.

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