Page 9 of Chasing Stripes

The effect slammed into him like a physical blow. His knees nearly buckled as every tiger instinct roared to life at once, clawing for release. Heat flooded his system, searing through his veins and pooling low in his belly. His canines lengthened involuntarily, pressing against his lower lip with painful insistence. His vision sharpened to supernatural acuity, the world narrowing to that single golden figure across the street.

Mine.

The thought—primal, possessive, absolute—shocked him with its intensity. He’d never experienced anything remotely like this overwhelming response. Not with any lover, not with any potential mate the pride had subtly pushed his way over the years.

With titanic effort, Bartek wrenched back control from his tiger side, forcing his canines to recede and his breathing to steady. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead from the exertion of containing the beast that had, until this moment, always submitted to his will.

“Well,” Haavi’s voice came from what seemed like miles away, though he stood just behind Bartek’s shoulder. “That answers that question.”

The amused observation snapped Bartek back to reality. Mortification crashed over him as he realized Haavi had witnessed his unprecedented reaction. He schooled his features into practiced neutrality, but the damage was done.

“What question?” His voice emerged rougher than intended, almost a growl.

“Whether the mighty Bartek Arbor, alpha of alphas, scourge of the Western Mountains, could possibly be affected by something as mundane as attraction.” Haavi’s grin widened. “Turns out the answer is yes—quite dramatically.”

Heat crawled up Bartek’s neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because your eyes are still glowing amber, and I’m pretty sure I heard wood cracking when you gripped the bar just now.” Haavi nodded toward Bartek’s hand, where his fingers had indeed left slight indentations in the supposedly indestructible surface.

Bartek pulled his hand away as if burned. “I’m surveying the competition.”

“Ah yes, the bakery-bar rivalry. Tale as old as time.” Haavi’s eyes danced with barely suppressed laughter. “Strange, I don’t remember you ‘surveying the competition’ quite so intensely at our other locations. Must be something special about Enchanted Falls bakeries.”

“Don’t you have inventory to check?” Bartek growled desperate to escape Haavi’s knowing gaze.

“Already done.” Haavi leaned against the bar, making himself comfortable. “Which leaves me plenty of time to enjoy this fascinating new development. Tell me, is it the apron that does it for you, or the flour dusting her nose?”

“Haavi.” The single word carried a weight of authority that would have sent any other tiger shifter scrambling for cover.

Haavi merely raised an eyebrow. “That’s the tone that makes new pride members pee themselves, but I’ve known you since you had braces and a regrettable haircut. You’ll have to try harder.”

Fifteen years of friendship had earned Haavi immunity to Bartek’s intimidation tactics. As both brother-in-law and trusted lieutenant, he occupied a unique position in Bartek’s life—perhaps the only person who could get away with such teasing.

EIGHT

Before Bartek could formulate a sufficiently cutting response, the front door chimed. A man in his mid-thirties with a neatly trimmed beard entered, carrying a padded case.

“Mr. Arbor?” The man approached with a deferential nod. “Marcus Thornwood, Enchanted Spirits. We spoke last week about the artisanal liquor samples.”

Saved by business. Bartek straightened, pulling his professional persona around him like armor. “Right on time, Mr. Thornwood. Let’s see what you’ve brought.”

They moved to the main bar area where Thornwood unpacked several elegant bottles from his case. “This gin is distilled with local botanicals harvested during the full moon. Adds a subtle magical kick without overwhelming human palates.”

Bartek examined the bottles with practiced scrutiny while Thornwood continued his pitch. The craftsmanship looked solid—hand-blown glass with tasteful labeling that would suit Tooth & Claw’s upscale aesthetic.

He reached for a crystal tumbler to sample the gin?—

A sudden gust through the open door carried a concentrated wave of cinnamon-vanilla-faedirectly to his sensitive nose.

The scent hit him like a physical blow. His tiger, barely contained from the earlier sighting, surged forward with such force that his vision flashed golden. Every muscle in his body locked tightly as primal need tore through him—the urge to track, to claim, tomateso powerful, it momentarily obliterated rational thought.

His hand spasmed, sending the half-full water glass tumbling. Water splashed across the polished bar top and dripped onto the floor.

Horror crashed through Bartek’s momentary haze. He, Bartek Arbor—alpha tiger, pride leader, business owner renowned for his control—had fumbled like a clumsy cub because of ascent.

“My apologies,” he managed, fighting the urge to look outside. To track the source. To cross the street and...

No.

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