Page 16 of Grizzly's Grump
As I shut the door to the truck, I realize he followed me back and is quietly stacking the firewood next to the truck so it'll be easy to get to if and when I decide I want or need it. Even after I lock the door, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still out there—lingering, quiet-eyed, and already far too close for comfort.
CHAPTER 6
CALDER
The damn bear won’t settle.
Even after I walk away. Even after I finish stacking firewood beside her truck and disappear into the trees like I was never there. Even though I try to pretend her scent hasn’t soaked into my skin like pine sap and wildfire.
She’s sunshine and sugar. And I’m one wrong move from losing my grip.
I pace the tree line for hours, watching the fog drift between the redwoods. There’s a pulse under the ground tonight—faint but rising. A telltale warning. The ley lines are waking again. I feel them the same way I feel a splinter under my nail: subtle, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
The bear doesn’t care. He prowls just beneath the surface, muscles coiled, breath hot and ready. All he knows is that she’s close—that the ferns have her scent tangled in them, her warmth still lingers in the air—and every part of him feels certain. She’s ours. Claimed, chosen, inevitable. And the lines feel it too. They’ve never flared like this around someone new—not like they’re waking up to her. Not like they’ve been waiting.
I grit my teeth and ignore the urge to circle back. She’s in her truck. She’s fine. Probably curled up with a mug of coffeeand that dog-eared recipe book, dreaming of cinnamon rolls and second chances.
But then the pulse surges—hard and sudden, like a drumbeat echoing through bone. The ground hums beneath my boots, a low vibration that climbs my spine and tightens the back of my neck.
The air thickens, heavy and charged. The trees tremble. Something ancient unfurls beneath the surface, no longer subtle, no longer quiet. It rises in the soil and bark and blood, calling out like a forgotten name whispered in the dark. The redwoods sway, their trunks groaning as the flare ripples through them like a warning too old for words.
My head jerks up. The air is wrong—buzzing low, charged like it’s bracing for lightning. The woods go still, sound swallowed by something deeper than silence, like the forest itself is listening for a whisper it dreads. And just like that, I know—she’s not in the truck anymore.
I follow her scent. It cuts through the damp, sharp and familiar, threading between the trees like a trail meant only for me. I move fast, feet silent on the mossy earth, eyes scanning for any flicker of movement. And then I see the shimmer—the faint, silver pulse of ley energy flickering through the trees—and I know she’s stepped too close.
I find her half a mile in. She’s standing too close to the break in the line, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, one hand reaching toward the silver strands of the haze drifting between the trees. Her skin glows faintly golden in the ley flare—beautiful and completely vulnerable.
“Cilla,” I bark.
She turns. Her pupils blow wide as she breathes in shallow gulps. Her hand is trembling.
“Calder?” she whispers. “What is this?”
I don’t answer. I scoop her up—arms under her thighs and back—and press her to my chest. Her warmth seeps into me, dangerous and bright. Her heartbeat flutters against my ribs.
“Don’t move,” I growl.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue. Just melts into me like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her arms slide around my neck, slow and certain, anchoring herself to me without hesitation. Her cheek brushes my collarbone, warm and trusting, and something in my chest pulls tight—like the part of me that’s always on edge just... lets go.
By the time we make it back to the food truck, she has her arms looped around my neck and her body is warm against mine, reluctant to let go. I ease her down gently, but her imprint clings to me.
I crouch beside the little firepit she’s tucked just off the gravel and get it going with dry kindling and pine shavings. It catches fast, flames curling upward like they’ve been waiting for something to burn. The crackle cuts through the quiet, and the fire’s warmth spreads slowly between us, pressing back the tension coiled in the air.
The soft orange glow dances across her face, catching in the curve of her jaw and the hollows beneath her eyes. Her curls are a wild halo around her face—tangled from the wind that’s swept in off the ocean and the charge of the ley line still clinging to her skin. Her cheeks are flushed, the color high and stubborn. Maybe it’s from the flare. Maybe it’s from the way I held her. From the way I haven’t stopped watching her since.
I don’t ask. I just keep looking.
“You could’ve been hurt.”
Her eyes flash. “I didn’t know. I was just... drawn to it. It felt like it was calling me.”
“It was.”
She frowns. “What is it?”
“Ley line. A flare. That kind of energy messes with people—especially ones like you.”
“Ones like me?” she repeats.
