Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
T hora scrambled backward, but the golden tether stretched only about ten feet before pulling taut. When she tried to move farther, an invisible force yanked her forward, nearly sending her sprawling.
The man rose to his full height—even taller than she’d estimated—and glared down at her with eyes that flashed between deep brown and molten gold. Heat radiated from him in waves, his fury a palpable force.
But beneath the anger, her enhanced senses detected something else—the continued simmer of attraction, seemingly intensified by their conflict. Her sabertooth responded instantly, pushing against her human control with unprecedented strength.
Yes. Strong mate. Worthy challenge.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice controlled thunder. “And why have you attacked me in my town?”
My town. The possessive phrase registered first, followed by the implication. “ Your town?” Thora’s mind raced, confusion momentarily overwhelming her professional demeanor. “You’re not Ajax Blackwater?”
“I am Artair Maxen.” He spoke the name as if it should mean something to her, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. When her expression remained blank, his scowl deepened. “CEO of Maxen Enterprises and part of the founding family of Enchanted Falls.”
Oh no.
The crowd around them had grown, faces peering with undisguised curiosity and, in many cases, barely suppressed glee at the unfolding drama. Someone had produced a smartphone, capturing her humiliation for posterity.
“There’s been a mistake,” she admitted through gritted teeth, tugging futilely at the magical tether. “I’m tracking a bounty?—”
“A bounty hunter?” Artair Maxen’s expression darkened further, but his scent betrayed him—beneath the anger lay intrigue, and beneath that, the continued simmer of unwelcome attraction. “In Enchanted Falls? Who authorized this?”
Before she could answer, a plump older woman with silver-and-black hair pushed through the onlookers, her eyes bright with excitement. She clutched a small notebook and pen, scribbling frantically as she approached.
“Agatha Plumthorn, dear,” the woman introduced herself to Thora, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Town historian and newsletter editor. Could I get your name and why exactly you’ve tackled our illustrious Mr. Maxen in broad daylight? Is this some kind of courtship ritual from outside shifter communities?”
“Courtship?” Thora sputtered, heat rushing to her cheeks. “No!”
But her sabertooth disagreed, purring with satisfaction at the suggestion. Yes. Strong mate. Claim him.
Shut up, she growled internally. Not helping.
Agatha seemed undeterred. “No? Such a shame. It would make a wonderful addition to my column ‘Supernatural Courtship Through the Ages.’ Though I must say, the chemistry between you two is simply electric! I haven’t seen sparks like this since the Great Wolf-Fox Mating Scandal of ‘87!”
“Mrs. Plumthorn,” Artair cut in, his tone brooking no argument despite the faint flush creeping up his neck. “I’m sure you have market preparations to document.”
“Oh, but this is much more interesting!” Agatha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “The newcomer who dared tackle mighty Artair Maxen! When was the last time anyone saw our bear brought low? Solstice wrestling match of ‘98, wasn’t it, Greta?” she called to someone in the crowd.
“And even then, he let Fenris win because of the bet on Moonflower honey!” a woman’s voice called back.
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the onlookers. Thora wanted nothing more than for the cobblestones to open up and swallow her whole. Her professional reputation would never recover from this.
“We need to fix this,” she said to Artair, gesturing at the golden cord. “Now.”
He nodded curtly, his eyes still blazing with barely contained anger. Yet his scent told a more complex story—frustration and attraction warring for dominance, underscored by confusion that mirrored her own.
“Kalyna’s shop,” he said. “This way.”
Every step required coordination. The tether allowed about ten feet of separation before pulling them together with increasing force. After several awkward attempts to walk independently, they fell into an uncomfortable rhythm.
The whispers followed them:
“Did you see how fast she moved?” “Never seen Maxen caught off guard like that!” “Five silver says they’re mated by next full moon...” “Bear and tiger? Not in a thousand years...”
Thora blocked out the gossip, focusing on the problem at hand. The magical tether pulsed with energy, responding to their emotions. When her frustration spiked, the cord glowed brighter; when Artair growled under his breath, it vibrated subtly.
More disturbingly, whenever their mutual attraction flared—a stolen glance, an accidental brush of clothing, a shared rhythm in their steps—the tether hummed with something that felt disconcertingly like satisfaction.
“What exactly are these cuffs?” Artair demanded as they navigated the winding streets.
“Shifter-dampening restraints,” she replied, professional embarrassment coloring her tone. “Custom-made for high-level targets.”
“Clearly not custom-made well enough.”
Despite the situation, Thora’s lips twitched at his dry delivery. Her sabertooth practically preened at his display of strength—breaking enchanted restraints designed to hold alpha shifters wasn’t a common feat.
Good match, it insisted again.
He’s a bear, she countered silently. We’re cats. Not compatible.
This one different, her sabertooth insisted. Smell him. Perfect.
Thora couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward Artair’s scent. Beyond the specifics of woodsy cologne and bear musk lay something else—a base note that resonated with her own personal scent in a way she’d never experienced. Like complementary notes in a chord, their scents seemed designed to harmonize.
She risked a glance at his profile as they walked. The anger had subsided somewhat, replaced by focused determination. His jaw remained tight, shoulders squared beneath his expensive suit. Authority radiated from him in waves—not the forced dominance of someone with something to prove, but the natural command of a born leader.
Despite her predicament, Thora found herself... appreciating the view. She’d encountered plenty of attractive men in her line of work, but none had triggered such an immediate, visceral response in both her human and shifter sides.
As if sensing her appraisal, Artair’s eyes slid to meet hers. That same electric connection sparked between them, momentarily halting her breathing. His nostrils flared slightly as he caught her scent—undoubtedly betraying her unwilling attraction.
A flash of heat entered his eyes, pupils dilating slightly before he forcibly looked away. The tether between them pulsed with golden light, responding to the spike in mutual awareness.
They arrived at a narrow storefront wedged between a bookshop and a café. The hand-painted sign above the door read “Magical Mishaps & Remedies” in flowing script that occasionally rearranged itself into different fonts. Beneath this, smaller letters warned: “Solutions Guaranteed (Results May Vary).”
Artair pushed open the door, a small silver bell announcing their arrival with a musical chime that transformed into the sound of a cat’s meow mid-ring.