Page 32 of Grizzly's Grump
I smile and chat, heart thudding like a drumbeat echoing through my ribs, each word shared loosening something tight in my chest. Warmth spreads—slow and steady—as faces soften, as laughter rises around my table like steam from a fresh loaf. This. This is what I came here for. Not just survival, but connection. A place to root. A chance to be seen—and to stay.
A woman I don’t know presses a hand to my arm. "We’re glad you stayed."
A young boy tugs on his mother’s sleeve, pointing at the almond bread like it’s made of gold.
Even June Kessler, who appears at my elbow like a ghost, murmurs, "That’s the best scone I’ve ever had."
The fire burns lower. The air cools. People shift into their animal forms one by one—some gracefully, some suddenly. Calder is nowhere in sight, but I feel him in the dark. A hum that gets louder. Closer.
Then the quake ripples beneath our feet—gentle at first, like the slow exhale of something vast and ancient stirring deep below. The vibration hums through the ground, rising like a warning whisper up my spine and knotting unease throughout my system. I stiffen, breath hitching. The fire crackles louder in the sudden hush.
Murmurs sweep through the clearing. Something primal stirs in my belly, a flutter of fear tangled with awe. This isn’t normal, not even for Redwood Rise. It’s a warning. And I can feel Calder’s presence grow sharper, closer—like the earth itself is calling him.
The low rumble rolls through the clearing, barely louder than a sigh, but it’s enough to startle the youngest kids. Wide eyes snap upward, tiny shoulders stiffen. A hush falls, followed by a ripple of murmured unease.
Every instinct I have bristles. You don't have to be a shifter to know something is definitely wrong.
Those at the gathering scatter quickly and quietly, as if practiced. Only Calder and his brothers remain. Marcy tries to pull me away, but I break away from her, moving towards Calder. I move past him and his brothers, toward the edge of the clearing, toward the trees—toward the sense of what's coming that’s grown so strong it feels like a tether.
And then I see it.
Huge, golden-brown. Watching from the shadows. Its eyes catch the moonlight.
My heart slams against my ribs. I take a step.
It doesn’t move.
Another step.
Stillness.
But there’s something darker in the way it watches me. Something deeper than instinct.
Calder takes hold of my arm and gently moves me away. I hear the soft crack of underbrush behind me.
It’s moving, not following, but tracking us. Silently. Closely... It's as if something primal has finally decided it’s time to claim what belongs to it. And I know—whatever that thing is, it isn’t finished. Not with me. Not with any of us.
CHAPTER 12
CALDER
Cilla doesn’t say a word as I guide her away from the clearing. Her silence says more than any words could—heavy, layered, and echoing the strangeness of what we just witnessed.
My thoughts churn with what it means, what the others might have seen. I keep glancing down at her hand in mine, needing the anchor, needing the contact. There’s something fragile between us now—new, uncertain, but real. Her fingers are tight in mine, her steps steady, but the air hums with tension.
I glance at her profile, at the set of her jaw and the way she keeps her gaze forward like she's trying not to give anything away. The silence between us stretches taut. It’s heavier, tangled with everything unsaid and everything that’s changed.
My gut knots with the need to say something, but I don't trust my voice not to betray the maelstrom inside me. She's not pulling away, but she’s not leaning in either, and it leaves me suspended somewhere between hope and dread. Not fear—not exactly. Something deeper, older. The kind of charged silence that settles just before a storm.
I don’t speak until we’re back at the compound. The walk is quiet. She keeps her gaze on the woods, eyes tracking everyflicker of shadow between the trees. I want to reach for her, but my bear is pacing too close to the surface. The shift simmers beneath my skin, coiling hot and urgent inside me—a pressure building behind my ribs, growing tighter, heavier, impossible to ignore
When we get inside, I make sure to close the front door behind us. Not that a door would stop anything determined, but it gives the illusion of safety. Cilla heads straight for the primary bedroom without asking, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. I hear the bathroom door shut and the shower start a few seconds later. The scent of her wafts into the open space of the great room, warm skin and soap and something spiced.
It guts me I can’t follow her. That I have to let her go instead of chasing after her, wrapping her in my arms, and telling her I won’t let the world—ley lines, angry bears, or the ghosts of my past—come near her. The need to follow, to protect, claws at me, but so does the fear that if I push too hard, I’ll lose whatever fragile trust we’ve begun to build. So I stay rooted here, aching with restraint and hating every second. That I can’t sink into that warmth and pretend like the world outside isn’t unraveling.
A soft creak of the floorboards cuts through the quiet, drawing my attention. I don’t have to look to know it’s Beau, his presence as familiar as the worn wood beneath our feet.
"You sure about her?" His voice is low, rough. No accusation. Just a brother being a brother.
