Page 31 of Chasing Stripes

“It’s not about happiness,” Bartek countered, his voice roughening. “It’s about focus. The pride deserves a fully committed alpha.”

“Not one distracted by a potential mate who makes your magic flare and your tiger purr?” Haavi suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

Before Bartek could deny the accusation, Haavi slid an official envelope across the counter.

“From the town council,” Haavi said. “Arrived this morning at pride headquarters.”

Bartek eyed the envelope with suspicion. The council seal depicted the nine emblems arranged in a circle around the town’s sigil.

“You should open it,” Rust suggested, his tone suspiciously light. “It concerns your bakery neighbor too. The council wanted to tell you this at the integration meeting, but other matters seemed more important.”

Bartek broke the seal and unfolded the letter, eyebrows rising as he read its contents.

By unanimous vote of the town council, Tooth & Claw and Honeycrisp Bakery are hereby directed to collaborate on a special menu for the upcoming Spring Festival. The council believes the combination of shifter spirits and fae-infused confections will showcase our town’s commitment to cross-species harmony while providing a unique festival experience.

As businesses located in the Borderlands district, your cooperation will demonstrate the positive integration possible between traditionally separate communities.

Representatives from both establishments should begin preparation immediately with weekly progress reports to be submitted to Council Elder Willow Waters.

A personal note had been added at the bottom in flowing script:

Bartek – Some partnerships transcend business, my son. The pride benefits from strong alliances. -Tygra

The handwriting belonged to Tygra Fangcross, the tiger elder on the council. Her meaning couldn’t have been clearer if she’d drawn mating marks around the words.

“They can’t be serious,” Bartek muttered, struggling to ignore the sudden acceleration of his pulse.

“Completely serious,” Rust confirmed, golden eyes dancing with barely suppressed humor. “The council vote was unanimous—nine to zero. How unfortunate for you, being forced into weeks of close collaboration with the fae baker.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Bartek’s tiger side rumbled with anticipation even as he maintained his scowl. The prospect of extended proximity to Artemis sent heat coursing through his veins.

“Fine,” he said, folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll speak with her today about establishing a schedule.”

The words emerged too quickly, his acquiescence too immediate. His friends exchanged knowing glances.

“Such sacrifice.” Haavi pressed a hand to his heart, expression solemn though his eyes sparkled with mirth. “How will you possibly endure spending hours developing flavor combinations with a woman whose scent makes your claws pop?”

“Professional courtesy,” Bartek insisted, ignoring the flutter in his chest. “Nothing more.”

“Professional,” Rust echoed. “Which must explain why you’ve memorized the exact scent profile of her hair—cinnamon, wild honey, and ‘just a trace of vanilla when she’s concentrating.’“

Bartek froze. “I never said that.”

“Three drinks in at poker night,” Artair corrected with infuriating precision. “Right after you mentioned how she hums an old fae lullaby when working with dough and how her left ear has a more pronounced point than her right.”

Heat crept up Bartek’s neck as he realized how closely he’d been observing her—far more intimately than a passing business acquaintance would notice.

“You learned all this during your one-minute flour disaster?” Rust asked, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

Haavi burst into laughter. “He’s been watching her through the windows. And don’t forget the nightly ‘security patrols’ past her apartment above the bakery.”

Bartek gripped the edge of the bar, forcing himself not to react to their needling. The truth was both embarrassing and undeniable—he’d been orbiting Artemis Blu like a planet circling its sun since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“By the way,” Haavi added with deliberate casualness, “Mimi called this morning. She’s been talking to your mother about the ‘bakery girl.’ They’re planning something.”

Cold dread replaced embarrassment in an instant. His sister and mother conspiring meant trouble of the highest order.

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