Chapter 15 Sean/Beau
Sean/ Beau
SEAN
The morning started out normal. Or at least, as normal as mornings could be in Sugarpaw Springs these days. There was a hum in the air, excitement I could practically feel in my skin.
The bears were in high spirits, buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming baking competition this weekend.
Rafael had already put up a schedule on the back wall of the kitchen and was barking cheerful orders at Cassian and Leo, who were pretending to groan about the prep work but clearly loving it.
Even the town felt different. There were more tourists each day, slipping in with the regulars.
Humans with cameras, families dragging their kids to try the famous “bear claws,” and couples from the city looking for a slice of small-town magic.
Sugarpaw Springs was gaining attention. And so was Bear & Bun.
That should’ve made me happy. Part of me was.
But the other part, the deeper, more frightened part, couldn’t stop thinking about how attention was the last thing I needed.
Not when Orin was still out there. I’d checked the forums again this morning. Still nothing. No new posts. No new burner accounts.
Maybe… just maybe, he’d finally given up?
But the thought didn’t comfort me for long. My brain kept circling back to that night. That look in Orin’s eyes when he saw me.
Cold, seething rage behind a smile. Not like fire, no, it was quieter than that. More dangerous. A man like that didn’t just forget. He didn’t write people off as losses. He hunted. He waited.
He finished what he started.
And then there was that other piece of the puzzle, the one I hadn’t even told Beau yet.
The rumors.
Back when I was still a student, before everything went to hell, there were whispers that Orin had ties to a shifter crime family in the city.
That he’d done "dirty work" for them. Enforcement. Debt collection. Maybe even worse. He'd cleaned up well, became a respected chef, a mentor, but the stories never faded.
I didn’t know if they were true. Or if they were just the kind of tales people spun about scary men in kitchens to make themselves feel braver. But ever since I saw him again, the possibility haunted me.
“Sean,” a voice said, jolting me back.
I blinked and turned. Leo stood beside me, holding a tray of jam-stuffed croissants.
“Huh?” I asked dumbly.
“I said your name like three times. You okay?” Leo asked, looking concerned.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just spacing out.”
He gave me a look like he wasn’t convinced but didn’t push it. I turned back to my station, rolling out the dough for another round of bear claws.
The scent of cinnamon and butter filled the air, usually comforting. Today it felt far away. Get a grip, I told myself.
The bell over the bakery door rang. I glanced up, expecting more tourists, and I was right. A whole gaggle of them flooded in, cooing over the pastries and taking photos of the bakery’s rustic interior.
I spotted Beau behind the counter, his expression somewhere between polite and pained as an elderly human woman asked if she could take a selfie with him.
I bit back a laugh. His giant arms were crossed, and his brow was furrowed like he’d rather be anywhere else.
But when she fluttered her lashes and asked again, he relented with a sigh, leaning down so she could get her photo. I loved that about him. Big grumpy bear with a soft center.
Not that long ago, most of the human locals had looked at the bears like ticking time bombs. Now? They were taking selfies with them.
I turned back to my task, but my attention drifted again when I overheard Rafael speaking to someone by the register. The tone in his voice had shifted to less relaxed, more clipped.
Curious, I looked up. Rafael stood with a tall man in a sharp suit. I couldn’t see his face clearly from this angle, but everything about him screamed out-of-town food critic.
The kind who probably knew exactly how many Michelin stars were on his preferred restaurant’s last inspection.
Rafael’s body language was off, though. His posture was guarded, his arms crossed. That’s when I finally caught sight of the man’s face.
I froze.
Orin.
It was him. Older-looking, yes. His hair was shorter, styled differently. The beard trimmed. His suit screamed money and charm. But the eyes, they were the same. Cold. Calculating.
Watching everything.
It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. My lungs seized. I couldn’t breathe.
Every muscle locked up as the bakery’s warmth, so cozy and so familiar, vanished, replaced by an icy pressure that gripped my chest like a vise.
The scent of caramelized sugar and cinnamon faded, replaced by cold metal and bleach, by memory.
The edges of my vision began to dim, tunneling in, and in a blink I was no longer in Bear & Bun. I was back in that kitchen.
The air sharp with the scent of raw onions and burnt garlic. The metallic sound of a knife clattering against tile.
Blood, a growing pool of it, dark and viscous, spreading like ink across the white linoleum. And Orin’s voice, his voice, a calm, venom-laced whisper in my ear:
“You saw something you shouldn’t have.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
My hands trembled violently over the station, the torn dough beneath my fingers crumpling like wet paper. I couldn’t even feel my hands anymore.
My sense of touch abandoned me, replaced by numbness. Static flooded my ears.
The gentle chatter of the customers, the soft clatter of plates, Rafael’s calm voice. All of it sounded like it was coming from underwater.
I wasn’t safe. I had never been safe. The walls were closing in. My chest screamed for air that wouldn’t come. I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason past the cold, brutal instinct clawing up my spine.
Run.
“I—” My voice cracked in my throat, raw and distant. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
I didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t.
I pushed away from the counter, stumbling past trays and coworkers and the sudden blur of movement and color. Someone called my name. Maybe Leo. Maybe Beau. I couldn’t tell.
The bell above the back door jangled as I shoved it open, and the cold air outside slammed into me like a slap.
I staggered out into the alley, into the narrow sliver of space behind the bakery where deliveries were dropped off.
The second the door shut behind me, cutting me off from the noise and the smells and the false security of the bakery, I collapsed against the brick wall.
I doubled over, gasping. My hands clutched at my chest as if I could pry it open, could force my lungs to work. But every breath came in broken, jagged gulps.
My body trembled like it was going into shock. My vision blurred again, this time from the burn of tears I hadn’t meant to cry.
I slid down to the ground, crouched in the shadows between a stack of crates and a dumpster, curling my arms around my knees. I couldn’t stop shaking.
My ears rang with white noise. My stomach twisted. I felt nauseated. Cold sweat drenched my back.
I was drowning in it. In him. In the memory of his eyes, the sound of that voice, the way he looked through me like I was prey. Like I was nothing but a loose end waiting to be cut.
My wolf, buried deep inside, was no comfort. Even he was caged. Pacing, wild-eyed, frantic. Cornered.
I wanted to be normal. I wanted to go back to the version of myself that laughed with Rafael and rolled dough with Beau and handed pastries to little kids with sticky fingers.
But I couldn’t unsee the blood. I couldn’t ignore his voice.
I just wanted to feel safe.
I just wanted him gone.
Tears streaked down my cheeks, hot and humiliating. I didn’t even know if I was crying from fear or frustration anymore. Probably both. I wiped at my face with a trembling hand, but it wouldn’t stop.
I can’t do this.
I don’t know how long I stayed there.
A minute? Ten? An hour?
The world had no meaning beyond the crushing weight of fear. Even time seemed afraid to move forward. Then the door creaked open again. The sound made my blood freeze.
I flinched hard, scrambling back against the brick wall. My nails scraped the rough surface as I curled in tighter, ready to run or scream or fight, but unable to do any of it.
My heart thundered against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest.
For a split second, my mind conjured his face—Orin, calm and cruel, closing in with that quiet, mocking smile.
He’s found me.
He’s finally come for me.
My entire body locked up. Even my wolf, my usually restless, ever-present companion, was silent now, ears back, tail tucked, frozen with dread.
BEAU
Movement caught my eye.
Sean.
He looked pale, his eyes wide and glassy, like a deer right before the hit. His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out, but I caught the word bathroom before he turned on his heel and practically bolted.
My stomach dropped.
Something was wrong. Really wrong.
But before I could go after him, another tourist stepped into my path. An older man this time, grinning ear to ear, holding up his phone.
“Sorry, sir, Beau, right? Do you mind? My wife’s not gonna believe I met you!”
He shoved in closer before I could answer, the scent of aftershave and airport food heavy on his coat.
Every part of me, the part that was used to being calm and composed, used to playing nice with the locals, used to not scaring humans, had to clamp down hard on the sudden, violent urge to snarl and shove him away.
I couldn’t afford a scene. Not today.
I forced a polite smile, teeth clenched tight. “I’m needed elsewhere right now. Thanks for coming by. Hope you enjoy your stay in Sugarpaw Springs.”
He blinked, thrown off by how fast I shut him down, but I didn’t stick around for the response. I was already moving.
Sean’s face was seared into my mind, how white he looked, how hollow, and my bear was pacing under my skin, ears flat, sensing danger we hadn’t seen yet.
I scanned the bakery, trying to retrace what the hell might’ve set him off.