Chapter 3 - Cole
I pace the living room, my footsteps silent despite my size—a predator's habit. My bear is restless, prowling beneath my skin, demanding I return to her. To Ruby. My mate.
The recognition was instant, primal. When our eyes met, something clicked into place that I've waited forty years to feel. The beast recognized what the man couldn't comprehend.
This woman is mine. The other half of my soul.
And she has no idea.
I pour myself a whiskey, knowing it won't dull my senses but needing the ritual. The amber liquid burns down my throat as I stare into the dying fire. Two days before the full moon is the worst possible time to discover my mate—when my control is at its weakest and my bear is strongest.
"Relax," I mutter, running a hand over my face.
Her scent still lingers. My bear draws it in greedily. I can hear her heartbeat from across the cabin, already slowing as she drifts toward sleep.
I add another log to the fire, trying to focus on practical matters. The audit. The paperwork. The fact that this woman is here to save my business, not to have a stranger tell her she's his destined mate. That shifters exist. That I turn into a 900-pound black bear under the full moon.
Yeah, that would go over well.
I stretch out on the couch, too long for it by at least a foot, and stare at the ceiling. The storm continues to rage outside, rain pelting against the windows like it's trying to get in. Like nature itself reflects the turmoil inside me.
What am I going to do? I can't send her away. Not with the audit looming and the roads unsafe. But keeping her here, in my territory, with my bear so close to the surface... it's asking for trouble.
Dad's voice echoes in my head: "When you find her, you'll know. And then all the rules change."
He never told me what to do after that.
I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to soothe my bear. He's impatient, wanting to claim what's his. But Ruby isn't just my mate. She's a human woman who came here to do a job. A woman who knows nothing about shifters or mates or the beast that lives inside me.
Her heartbeat has steadied now, deep in sleep. The sound is hypnotic, drawing me toward unconsciousness despite my racing thoughts. For the first time in years, my bear settles, content just to be near her.
As I drift off, one thought circles in my mind: how do I protect her from the storm that's coming? Not just the one outside, but the one within me?
Next Day
Morning light filters through the cabin windows when I wake, my bear instantly alert to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Ruby.
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, and check the time. 6:18 AM. The storm has passed, leaving behind a washed-clean world and the scent of rain-soaked earth.
I pull on a fresh shirt and make my way to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to watch her. She’s dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, her hair twisted up in that messy bun. Two mugs of coffee sit on the counter, and she's examining my sparse refrigerator contents with a critical eye.
"Morning," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
She startles slightly, turning to face me. "Oh! Good morning. Hope you don't mind. I made coffee."
"Never mind coffee." I step into the kitchen, drawn to her like gravity. "But you should have slept longer. It's early."
"Early is normal for me." She hands me a mug, careful not to let our fingers touch. Has she sensed something? Is she afraid of me? The thought makes my bear growl internally. "Besides, we have less than 36 hours until the IRS arrives. Sleep is a luxury."
I take a sip of the coffee. Stronger than I usually make it, but good. "Did you eat?"
"Not yet. I was just looking for—"
"Sit." I gesture to the kitchen island. "I'll make breakfast."
She raises an eyebrow but takes a seat on one of the wooden stools. "Do you always order guests around, or am I special?"
My bear preens at the word 'special,' and I have to turn away to hide my reaction. "Force of habit. Construction site mentality."
I busy myself with breakfast preparations, pulling eggs, bacon, and vegetables from the refrigerator. Cooking gives me something to focus on besides her scent, her heartbeat, the way her eyes follow my movements.
"I organized about a third of your paperwork last night," she says, opening her laptop. "I've started categorizing expenses by quarter, but I need to ask you about some of these receipts."
I nod, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Ask away."
"There are several large cash withdrawals—five to ten thousand each—with no corresponding receipts or explanations."
My hands pause for a fraction of a second. Those are the months I've needed to disappear deep into the national forest for the full moon. When my bear is too restless to be contained near town. I book remote cabins under different names, pay cash.
"Emergency funds," I say, keeping my voice even. "For jobs that need immediate materials or labor. Construction can be unpredictable."
She makes a note, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "We'll need to document that better. The IRS doesn't like unexplained cash movements."
"Noted."
"And these medical supplies? They're consistent monthly purchases."
My first aid supplies. Shifter healing is accelerated but not instantaneous. Wounds from the forest, from my bear's adventures, need tending.
"Job site safety requirements," I answer, which isn't entirely untrue. "OSHA compliance."
She nods, accepting this. "Smart. That's deductible as a business expense."
I slide a veggie-packed omelet onto a plate, add bacon, and set it before her. Her eyes widen.
"This looks amazing. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."
"Not trouble." I turn back to make my own, larger portion. "Need to eat properly when you're working hard."
When I join her at the island with my plate, I notice her watching me with a curious expression.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"You're not what I expected," she says, taking a bite of omelet.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. When Jim said 'construction company owner in the mountains,' I pictured someone... rougher. Less domestic."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her assessment. "My mother taught me to cook before she died. Said no son of hers would live on takeout and frozen dinners."
Her expression softens. "She sounds wise. My mom was the opposite. Burnt water and ordered pizza three times a week."
The casual mention of her family makes my bear curious. Is her pack nearby? Will they approve of me? I shake off the thought. She's not thinking in those terms.
"This paperwork," I say, redirecting the conversation to safer territory. "Can we fix it before Monday?"
Ruby straightens. "Yes. It'll be tight, but if we work through the weekend, we'll make it."
"We?"
"I'll need you to verify expenses, explain business decisions, sign documents. It's a partnership."
The word sends a shiver through me that my bear responds to eagerly. Partnership. If only she knew how right that felt.
"Whatever you need," I say, perhaps too intensely, because she looks up from her food with a slightly puzzled expression.
"Great. After breakfast, I want to start with your expense categories and vendor relationships." She takes another bite, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. "This is really good, by the way."
"Thanks."
We finish breakfast in silence. I clear the dishes while she reviews notes on her laptop, the whole scene feeling so natural it makes my chest ache. This is what it could be like. Every morning. If she knew. If she accepted.
"I should probably head into town later," she says as I load the dishwasher. "Check into the inn, get some things from my car."
My bear rises up so forcefully I have to grip the counter. "Roads might still be bad."
"The sun's out. Surely they've cleared—"
"Stay here," I interrupt, more command than suggestion. I soften my tone at her startled expression. "It's more efficient. All the paperwork is here. You'd waste time driving back and forth."
She looks at me, those warm brown eyes surprisingly perceptive. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose."
"You're not imposing. You're saving my business." And you belong here, my bear adds silently.
After a moment's consideration, she nods. "Okay. If you're sure."
Relief floods through me, my bear settling. She's staying. In my territory. Where I can protect her.
"We should get started," she says, gathering her laptop. "The office still looks like a paper hurricane hit it."
I follow her down the hall, keeping a short distance. Two days until the full moon. Two days to figure out how to tell her what I am. What she is to me. Or to let her go without ever knowing.
The thought makes my bear howl in protest. Now that we've found her, letting her walk away feels impossible. But forcing this knowledge on her, this destiny she never asked for, seems equally wrong.
As Ruby settles at the desk and begins sorting through papers, I watch her from the doorway, caught between man and beast, between duty and desire.
Whatever happens after the audit, one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same again.