Chapter 7
ELI
I'm pouring coffee when Calder, Beau, and Sawyer walk into the Bear Claw at seven in the morning. The sight of them together, this early, with those expressions on their faces—this can't be good.
Calder's jaw is set in that way that means he's been practicing his lecture. Beau has his arms crossed, which never bodes well. Sawyer looks worn, like he's already played peacekeeper once this morning and failed.
"We need to talk," Calder says.
The coffee pot hits the counter harder than necessary. Dark liquid sloshes over the rim of the mug I'm filling. "Good morning to you too."
"Don't." Beau's voice cuts through the room. "You were in the forest last night. In bear form. Following her."
My hand tightens on the edge of the bar, knuckles going white against the scarred wood.
Of course they know. We can sense each other's bears, especially when we're close to the ley nodes.
And last night, when Quinn wandered straight toward the convergence point like a moth to flame, I'd had no choice but to follow.
"She was in danger." The words come out flat, final.
"She was wandering through the woods at midnight." Sawyer moves to lean against one of the tables, his mind already analyzing the problem. "Because the ley lines are pulling at her. Just like they pulled at Cilla. Just like they pulled at Anabeth. You know what that means."
"It means she's mine." The admission tears out of me harsher than I intend, my bear pressing close to the surface despite the bone-deep weariness.
I spent half the night in fur, watching Quinn's window after I'd guided her back to the Pinecrest, making sure she stayed safe.
Making sure she stayed put. The other half I spent pacing my cabin, my bear too restless to let me sleep.
Calder's alpha energy fills the room like a change in air pressure. The hanging glasses behind the bar rattle slightly. My teeth ache with the need to submit or challenge, and I'm too exhausted to do either.
"You revealed yourself to her." His voice is quiet, which is somehow worse than if he'd yelled. "You let her see you in bear form before she knows what we are, before she understands what's happening to her. That's not how this works, Eli."
"I didn't reveal anything." I grab a rag and wipe up the spilled coffee with more force than necessary. "I kept my distance. I made sure she got home safely."
Beau pushes off from where he's been standing by the door, moving into my space. "She knows. Maybe not consciously, but she knows something is off. Cilla said Quinn asked Evelyn about the wildlife here. About whether the animals are different."
Of course Cilla told them. The mates talk. They always do.
I throw the rag into the sink. "What was I supposed to do? Let her wander into the convergence point? Let the ley lines overwhelm her before she's ready? She doesn't know what's happening to her, doesn't understand why this town is affecting her the way it is. Someone had to protect her."
"Someone does." Calder's voice drops lower, and I hear the weight of experience in it. The memory of his own failed attempt at revealing the truth. "But not by showing her your bear before you've told her the truth. You remember what I went through."
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
I do remember. The woman Calder had been involved with before Cilla. The way she'd looked at him with horror when he'd revealed the truth. The restraining order, the accusations, the months it took before Calder could shift without his bear flinching.
"Quinn isn't like that." My hands grip the edge of the sink hard enough that I feel the porcelain crack under my fingers.
"You don't know that." Calder crosses his arms. "You barely know her."
"I know enough." I can still smell her—that scent that clung to my jacket last night.
Cedar and something uniquely her, crisp like autumn leaves and woodsmoke.
I can still feel the ghost of her lips on my cheek, soft and hesitant.
Still remember the way she'd looked at the bear—at me—without fear.
Confused, yes. Shaken, absolutely. But not afraid. "She's different."
Beau's voice gentles. "That's what you're hoping. But hope isn't certainty."
"She's my mate," I finally admit out loud what Beau already guessed. The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.
Silence. They exchange looks, the kind of wordless communication that comes from growing up together, from living as a clan for decades. I see the moment they accept it—the slight relaxation in Calder's shoulders, the nod Beau gives Sawyer.
Sawyer speaks for the first time, his voice quiet. "Then you have to tell her. Soon."
I look at my brother, taking in the hollow spaces under his eyes, the tension that never quite leaves his shoulders.
Sawyer knows better than any of us what silence costs.
I meet his eyes, seeing the understanding there.
Sawyer lost someone too, years ago, before any of us found our mates. He knows what it costs to let fear win.
The cellar door rattles. Once. Twice. Then a low vibration rolls through the floor, making the bottles behind the bar clink together in discordant symphony.
The ley lines.
We all freeze. The vibration intensifies, and I feel it in my bones, in my teeth, in the marrow-deep place where my bear lives.
My brothers feel it too—Beau's eyes flash gold for a second, Sawyer's hands curl into fists, and Calder's alpha energy spikes hard enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
I move toward the cellar stairs, my brothers following without a word.
The old wood creaks under our combined weight as we descend into the cool darkness below.
The door at the bottom leads to the storage area where I keep my kegs and supplies, but it also opens onto one of the smaller ley line access points.
Nothing like the convergence deep in the forest, but enough to feel the pulse of magic that runs beneath Redwood Rise.
My hands shake as I unlock the door. The sensation hits immediately—a wave of energy that makes every hair on my body stand at attention.
The air tastes electric, like lightning about to strike.
The ley lines hum with power, visible as faint blue-green threads of light that pulse and writhe like living things along the stone walls.
Not dangerous. Not yet. But stronger than they should be this early in the morning.
"That's not normal." Sawyer moves closer to the access point, his analytical mind already working through the problem. "The nodes are stable. We've been monitoring them. This shouldn't be happening."
"It's her." The certainty settles over me like a physical weight. "Quinn. The lines are responding to her presence."
"Like they did with Cilla," Calder confirms, his hand reaching out to touch one of the glowing threads. It pulses brighter at the contact, then fades. "And with Anabeth."
Sawyer moves closer to the access point, his bear visible in his eyes for just a moment—a flash of gold-brown, wild and assessing. "But this is different. This is stronger. More... deliberate."
"What does that mean?" I ask, though part of me already knows the answer. Already feels the truth of it singing through my bones.
Calder pulls his hand back from the ley line, and the light dims slightly. "It means that whatever connection Quinn has to this place, to the ley lines, it's significant. The land doesn't just recognize her. It's calling to her."
The vibration fades, leaving only the normal background hum of magic that's always present in Redwood Rise. But the message is clear. Quinn isn't just my mate. She's tied to this place in ways we don't fully understand yet.
Calder's voice is firm. "You need to tell her. Soon. Before the ley lines pull her into something dangerous and she has no idea what's happening."
I close the cellar door, the lock clicking into place with a finality that echoes in the sudden quiet. "I will."
"When?" Beau presses.
"When the moment is right. When she's ready to hear it." The stairs creak as I head back up, the others following behind me.
Calder stops at the top of the stairs. His hand lands on my shoulder, heavy with the weight of brotherhood and concern. "And if that moment doesn't come? If she leaves before you tell her?"
My chest constricts. I can't breathe around the thought. Quinn, driving away from Redwood Rise, from me, still broken and lost. Never knowing that she'd found her home, her mate. Never knowing that she's the reason I can barely sleep, barely think, barely breathe without wanting to claim her.
"She won't leave." The words taste like a promise I'm not sure I can keep. "She's healing here. She can taste again, even if she doesn't understand why. She'll stay."
Beau's voice is quiet. "For now. But eventually, she'll want answers. And if you don't give them to her, she'll find them somewhere else."
He's right. They're all right. But the thought of telling Quinn the truth, of watching her face transform from curiosity to fear to revulsion, makes my bear want to retreat into the mountains and never come back.
"I'll handle it," I say finally. "Trust me."
Calder studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Alright."
They file out, Sawyer pausing at the door to look back at me. Morning light filters through the windows, catching the exhaustion in his face, the understanding. "For what it's worth," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I think you're right about her. She's different. I can feel it."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the empty tavern.
The silence presses in. I stand there for a moment, surrounded by the smell of coffee and old wood and the faint ozone scent the ley lines left behind.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror behind the bar—shadows under my eyes, tension in my jaw, the look of a man balanced on a knife's edge.