Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
D usk settled over Enchanted Falls, painting the quaint storefronts in shades of amber and gold. Thora crouched on the rooftop opposite Maxen Jewelers, her dark clothing blending into the growing shadows. From this vantage point, she had clear sightlines to both the front entrance and the service alley behind the shop.
The boutique itself exuded old-world elegance—hand-carved wooden display cases visible through leaded glass windows, discreet magical wards shimmering faintly around the perimeter. The sign above the door featured the Maxen bear clan crest rendered in gold leaf.
Thora set up her surveillance equipment with practiced efficiency. Directional microphones to catch conversations near the doors. Thermal imaging to detect movement inside the building after hours. Motion sensors along the most likely entry points.
The familiar routine should have grounded her, pushing away thoughts of tethers and tiger prides and unexpected friendships. Instead, snippets of the morning’s conversation kept intruding.
“Have you considered that you might deserve to be chosen anyway?”
Bryn’s question echoed in her mind as she adjusted a sensor. Deserve to be chosen? The concept seemed alien. In her experience, people didn’t choose each other out of some inherent worthiness. They used each other, abandoned each other, betrayed each other. Her entire career consisted of hunting down people who had betrayed someone’s trust.
Yet something about Artair Maxen defied her cynical worldview. His straightforward manner, his protectiveness toward his family, his surprising gentleness despite his imposing strength—all hinted at a man who took commitment seriously.
“Bear shifters mate for life.”
Her sabertooth stirred at the thought, a purr building in her chest that she ruthlessly suppressed. This was ridiculous. She didn’t want a mate. She didn’t need a permanent attachment complicating her life. She had a job to do, and after it was completed, she’d move on to the next bounty, the next town, the next temporary dwelling.
So why did that future suddenly feel hollow?
A phantom sensation brushed the nape of her neck—ghost fingers tracing the grooming pattern Artair had used during their night of partial shifting. Her sabertooth rumbled with pleasure, and Thora nearly dropped her binoculars.
“Stop it,” she hissed at her animal side.
A soft thud behind her sent her spinning, knife already drawn. Artair Maxen stood there, two coffee cups in one hand, a paper bag in the other, looking irritatingly unruffled by her blade.
“Peace offering?” He extended one of the coffees.
Thora sheathed her knife with a scowl. “How did you find me?”
“You’re staking out my family’s jewelry store. There are exactly three viable surveillance spots within line of sight.” His slight smile transformed his serious face. “Process of elimination.”
Reluctantly, she accepted the coffee. The warmth seeped through the cup into her fingers, the rich aroma tempting her despite her annoyance. She took a sip—perfect, with just the right amount of cream.
“I told your sister I work alone,” she said.
“You mentioned that.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I brought honey croissants from Honeycrisp Bakery.” He held out the paper bag. “Best in town.”
Her traitorous stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast with the “girl squad.” Her sabertooth practically purred at his offering of food, a primal response to being provided for that she refused to examine too closely.
“Fine.” She took the bag, careful to avoid touching his fingers this time. She’d learned her lesson about that particular fire.
“I ran into Bryn earlier,” Artair said as he settled beside her at a respectful distance. “She mentioned you had breakfast together.”
Thora grunted noncommittally, biting into a croissant to avoid responding. The pastry was heavenly—flaky, buttery, with threads of honey that melted on her tongue.
“She also mentioned the Tiikeri envelope.”
Thora paused mid-chew. “Has everyone in this town been discussing my mail?”
“Small town,” Artair shrugged, but his expression grew serious. “The Tiikeris aren’t known for reaching out to newcomers. They’re... selective about their associations.”
“So I’ve heard.” Thora pulled out the envelope, which she still hadn’t opened. “Any particular reason they’d contact me?”
Artair studied the gold seal. “The Tiikeris are the oldest tiger shifter family in the region. They’ve always been secretive, especially about their bloodlines.” His dark eyes met hers. “Sabertooth shifters are rare, Thora. The fact that you’re one without knowing your lineage would interest them.”
“You think they know something about my family?” The question emerged more vulnerable than she intended.
“It’s possible.” His voice gentled. “The Tiikeris keep extensive records of shifter bloodlines, especially feline ones.”
Thora turned the envelope over in her hands. Her sabertooth stirred beneath her skin, curious and eager in a way it had never been about her mysterious heritage. She’d long ago accepted her orphan status as immutable fact—no parents, no family, no connections. The possibility of answers after twenty-eight years of questions made her heart race.
Her finger slid along the back, prying the flap up. She slowly pulled out the thick paper. She read, “Your home awaits.”
They remained quiet, letting the implication settle.
“You don’t have to go alone,” Artair offered quietly. “If you decide to meet with them.”
The genuine concern in his voice caught her off guard. “Why would you help me with this?”
“Because—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Because everyone deserves to know where they come from.”