Page 7 of Chasing Stripes

For an instant—so briefly she might have imagined it—she thought she saw a tall figure move inside the bar, passing near a window. Something about the silhouette—broad shoulders, confident posture—made her breath catch. Then the interior lights dimmed slightly, and whatever she’d glimpsed vanished from view.

Artemis rubbed her arms, surprised by the intensity of her reaction. What was it about that place—or whoever owned it—that set her magic humming?

“Curious and curiouser,” she murmured, channeling her childhood favorite Alice.

The streetlamps flickered, then steadied, as if echoing her thoughts. Something told her that crossing paths with Bartek Arbor would change things in ways she couldn’t predict—and despite her protests to Tilly and Kalyna, the prospect sent a thrill of anticipation through her that had nothing to do with bakery renovations.

A cool evening breeze carried the scent of autumn leaves and distant woodsmoke, reminding her that she’d been standing still for too long. Squaring her shoulders, Artemis turned back to Honeycrisp Bakery. One challenge at a time. Tomorrow, she’d start bringing her parents’ legacy back to life.

And if fate threw a brooding tiger shifter into her path along the way... well, she’d handle that when it happened.

After all, she was Artemis Blu—daughter of legendary fae bakers, creator of enchanted pastries that had made even the most jaded city-dwellers smile, and now the caretaker of a beloved small-town institution. Her magic might be stirring in unexpected ways, but she wasn’t some starry-eyed teenager swooning over a mysterious neighbor.

No matter how impressive his shoulders looked in silhouette.

SIX

Golden morning light sliced through the large windows of Tooth & Claw, illuminating swirling dust motes that danced across the freshly polished bar. Bartek Arbor stood motionless, his calloused palm resting on the cool granite surface. Every groove, every speckle in the stone spoke of quality, of permanence. The countertop had cost a small fortune to import from a quarry run by stone elementals in the north, but appearances mattered in this business.

Especially for the newest location in his growing empire.

His gaze swept across his domain with the methodical precision of a predator surveying territory. Rows of gleaming bottles stood at attention behind the bar, their contents capturing the morning light—amber whiskeys, ruby-tinted liqueurs, and crystal-clear vodkas distilled from enchanted grain. The custom taps—sixteen of them, each bearing a miniature fang and claw insignia—waited to pour his brewery’s craft beers. Hand-carved oak tables dotted the room’s expanse, surrounded by chairs upholstered in leather the color of midnight.

Bartek inhaled deeply, savoring the mingled scents of fresh wood, polish, and the lingering ghost of sawdust. His heightened tiger senses detected everything: the sharp bite of industrial cleaner in the back corner, the rich earthy aroma of the coffee brewing in the office, the faint whisper of mountain air slipping through the crack under the front door.

Perfect. Everything looked absolutely perfect.

So why did unease ripple beneath his skin like thunder before a storm?

He rolled his broad shoulders, muscles flexing beneath his navy Henley. The tiger within him—always present just beneath the surface—paced restlessly. Unusual. His inner beast typically maintained the same iron control he demanded of himself. Yet today, something stirred his animal side, making his skin feel two sizes too small.

The back of his neck prickled with awareness. Someone watched him.

“If you stare any harder at that counter, you might actually burn a hole through it.”

Bartek turned to find Haavi approaching, tablet in hand and amusement dancing in his eyes. His sister’s husband and righthand man moved with the fluid grace characteristic of their shared tiger heritage, though his lanky frame contrasted with Bartek’s more imposing build.

“I’m inspecting the finish,” Bartek replied, straightening to his full height. “The contractor swore this surface could withstand supernatural strength, but I’ve seen wolf shifters break sturdier materials during full moons.”

“Uh-huh.” Haavi’s knowing smirk suggested he didn’t buy it for a second. “And that brooding expression has nothing to do with opening-day jitters?”

“I don’t get jitters.”

“Right. And I don’t shed during summer.” Haavi tapped his tablet, the screen illuminating his face. “You’ve been doing that thing again.”

Bartek crossed his arms. “What thing?”

“That alpha-stare that makes the contractors think you’re about to rip their throats out and use their bones as toothpicks.” Haavi’s easy grin took any sting from the words. “Poor Elias nearly dropped a case of whiskey when you looked his way yesterday.”

“The electrician?” Bartek frowned. “He installed the dimmer switches wrong.”

“He fixed them, didn’t he?”

“After I pointed out the error.”

“After you growled the roof tiles loose.” Haavi shook his head. “Good thing this town’s used to shifters, or we’d have a labor shortage on our hands.”

A retort formed on Bartek’s tongue, but the hard truth stopped him. Haavi wasn’t entirely wrong. The last week had left him unusually on edge, his temper shorter than normal. Something about this location—this town—unsettled him in ways he couldn’t articulate.

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