Chapter 11
ELI
Istand at the window long after Quinn disappears into the Pinecrest Inn, watching until Evelyn's porch light flicks off and the building goes dark. My bear paces inside me, restless and protective, wanting to follow her upstairs and guard her while she sleeps.
Mine. The word pulses through me with every heartbeat. Mate. Safe. Ours.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to settle the animal instinct roaring through my blood. The tavern smells like her now—vanilla and wine and sex. The bar top is sticky where we didn't bother to clean up. The broken bottle still glitters near the beer taps where it shattered.
What the hell did I just do?
I showed her the ley lines. Told her about the magic. Had sex with her on the bar like I couldn't control myself for five more minutes to get her somewhere private, somewhere comfortable. My bear had taken over, demanding and possessive, and I'd let it happen.
But she chose this. Chose me. Said the words out loud even when I gave her the chance to walk away.
I grab the broom and dustpan, sweeping up glass and straightening bottles.
My hands shake slightly as I work, adrenaline still coursing through my system.
The flannel she wore smells like her when I pick it up from behind the bar.
I hold it for a moment before folding it carefully and setting it aside.
The drive home feels longer than usual. The compound is quiet when I pull up, most of the lights already off. My brothers' vehicles are scattered across the gravel lot. Everyone's asleep.
I let myself into my A-frame and stand in the dark, listening to the forest settle around me. Owls hoot in the distance. A rabbit or possum rustles through the underbrush. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
But nothing feels normal anymore.
I strip off my clothes and fall into bed without bothering to shower, too exhausted to care. Quinn's scent clings to my skin—a reminder and a promise and a complication I'm not sure how to handle.
The animal inside me rumbles contentedly as I close my eyes. For the first time since Quinn arrived in Redwood Rise, it isn't fighting for control. Isn't demanding I go to her, claim her, make her understand what she means to me.
The bear is satisfied. We mated. She's ours now, even if she doesn't know it yet.
That should terrify me. Instead, I sink into sleep with her name on my lips.
Sunlight streams through the A-frame windows when I wake, harsh and bright. I squint against it, disoriented for a moment before memory floods back. Quinn. The bar. Her gasping my name as she came apart in my arms.
The bear stirs inside me, pleased and possessive. Mate. Go to her.
I roll out of bed and head for the shower, turning the water as cold as I can stand. It does nothing to calm the animal or the very human need twisting in my gut.
I have to tell her. About shifters. About what I am. About the fact that my bear has decided she's our mate and there's no going back from that.
She'll run. Or worse—she'll look at me with fear instead of desire. She'll pack her car and leave Redwood Rise and I'll spend the rest of my life knowing I found my mate and lost her in the same week.
The water beats down on my shoulders, scalding now that I've adjusted the temperature. I brace my hands against the tile and force myself to think rationally instead of letting instinct drive every decision.
She deserves the choice. To know what I am before this goes any further. To walk away if bear shifters and mate bonds and territorial instincts are more than she can handle.
Even if losing her destroys me.
I dress quickly—jeans, a clean t-shirt, boots. Run a hand through my damp hair and grab my keys. The Bear Claw opens at eleven, which gives me a few hours to figure out what the hell I'm going to say.
The compound is quiet as I head to my truck. A few of my brothers are already up, moving through their morning routines. Calder nods at me from across the lot but doesn't ask questions. Thank god for small mercies.
I head for the tavern without looking back. Quinn has to choose this—choose me—knowing exactly what it means. Anything else is just me forcing my will on her, and I won't do that. Can't do that.
Even if it destroys me.
The tavern smells like cleaning solution and coffee when I let myself in through the back. I must have locked up properly last night despite the distraction because everything's secure. Small mercies.
I start prep work on autopilot—chopping vegetables, checking inventory, firing up the grill. My mind won't settle, thoughts racing between what I need to say and all the ways it could go wrong.
The knock on the front door comes at nine-thirty.
My heart kicks against my ribs. Through the window, Quinn stands on the sidewalk, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks nervous. Beautiful. Mine.
I cross the dining room and unlock the door.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey." Brilliant conversation, Hayes. "Come in."
She steps past me and I catch vanilla and something floral—her shampoo, maybe. The bruise on her neck where I sucked too hard last night makes the bear rumble with satisfaction. Marked. Ours.
"I wasn't sure if you'd be here," Quinn says, not quite meeting my eyes. "Or if you'd want to see me. After last night."
"Why wouldn't I want to see you?"
"Because I showed up and threw myself at you?" She finally looks at me, uncertainty clear in her expression. "Because I pushed for answers you might not have wanted to give? Because...”
I cross the space between us and kiss her. Not demanding like last night, but firm enough to cut off whatever spiral she's heading down. When I pull back, her eyes are wide.
"You weren't drunk," I tell her. "You were brave. And I wanted you here. Wanted you."
"Oh." Color rises in her cheeks. "Okay."
"Have you eaten?"
She shakes her head.
"Come on." I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. The touch sends warmth up my arm, quiets the restless animal pacing inside me. "Let me make you breakfast."
Quinn follows me into the kitchen, settling onto the stool near the prep station. She watches as I pull out eggs, cheese, peppers, onions. Her gaze tracks my movements with an intensity that makes me hyperaware of every action.
"What are you making?" she asks.
"Omelets. You allergic to anything?"
"No."
I dice peppers and onions while butter melts in the pan, the familiar routine helping settle my nerves. Quinn's presence in my kitchen feels right in a way I can't articulate. Like she belongs here. Like she's always belonged here.
"Can I help?" she offers.
"Sure. Want to grate this cheese?"
She moves to stand beside me at the counter, our shoulders brushing as she works. The casual intimacy of it—cooking breakfast together like we've done this a hundred times—makes my chest tight.
"I can taste it," Quinn says suddenly. "The butter. The peppers. Everything."
"The ley lines are strongest here in the tavern. Food prepared here carries that energy." I crack eggs into a bowl and whisk them smooth. "But you'll probably find you can taste more than you could before, even outside of Redwood Rise."
"Why?"
"The land opened something in you when you crossed into town. Made you sensitive to the magic here in a way most people aren't." I pour the eggs into the pan, watching them sizzle and set. "Some people are just more receptive. Like Cilla. Like Dorothy at the bookstore."
"Dorothy? The woman who runs Between the Pages?"
"Yeah. She moved here about twenty years ago. The land called to her the same way it called to you."
Quinn's quiet as I add the vegetables and cheese, folding the omelet with practiced ease. I plate both omelets and slide one in front of her with a fork.
She takes a bite and closes her eyes. A small sound of pleasure escapes her throat—the same sound she made last night—and heat floods through me.
"This is incredible," she murmurs.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I watch her savor each bite, the way her expression softens with different flavors. She looks content. Happy. Not like someone about to run.
Maybe this won't be as bad as I think.
"Eli," Quinn says eventually, setting down her fork. "You said the land brought me here. What did you mean?"
Here it is. The opening I need. I set down my own fork, meeting her eyes.
"Redwood Rise sits on a convergence of ley lines.
Old magic, like I told you. But it's more than just energy in the ground.
" I choose my words carefully. "The land is.
.. aware, in a way. It recognizes people who need sanctuary.
Who need healing. Who need to find something they didn't know they were looking for. "
"And you think that's me? That I needed to find this place?"
"I think you needed to find yourself again," I say quietly. "The person you were before everything went wrong. Before you lost your taste and your career and your trust in people. The land gave you that opportunity."
Quinn looks down at her plate. "By letting me taste food again."
"By giving you a place where you could be safe. Where you could rebuild." I reach across the counter, covering her hand with mine. "Where you could belong."
"Do I?" Her voice comes out small. "Belong here?"
"What do you feel when you're here?"
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers curling around mine. "Like I can breathe for the first time in months. Like the static in my head finally went quiet. Like...” She stops, biting her lip.
"Like what?"
"Like I found something I didn't know I was missing." She looks up at me, vulnerable and uncertain. "Is that crazy?"
"No." My thumb traces circles on the back of her hand. "That's exactly how you're supposed to feel."
"So the land thinks I belong here?"
"I think the land brought you here," I tell her. "Same as it brought Cilla. Same as Anabeth. Same as everyone else who's found their way to Redwood Rise when they needed it most."
"For what?" Quinn asks. "Why did it bring me here specifically?"
This is it. The moment where I either tell her the truth or let the lie grow bigger. The bear pushes at me, demanding honesty. Demanding I claim her properly, tell her what she means to me.
But the words stick in my throat. Because once I say them, once I tell her about shifters and mates and the fact that my bear has decided she's ours forever, there's no taking it back.
"For us," I say finally.
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. Quinn's eyes search mine, looking for something. Understanding, maybe. Or confirmation of what she already suspects.
"Us," she repeats.
"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "The land doesn't just call people who need healing, Quinn. It calls people who are meant to find each other. To build something together."
"Like soulmates?" There's skepticism in her tone but also hope. Fragile and tentative.
"Something like that."
Quinn pulls her hand back slowly, wrapping both arms around herself. "That's a lot to process."
"I know."
"And you believe this? That some magical land decided I'm supposed to be here? With you?"
"I believe the land brought you to Redwood Rise for a reason." I hold her gaze, willing her to understand what I can't quite say yet. "What you do with that information is up to you."
She stands abruptly, pacing to the window. Her reflection in the glass looks torn, conflicted. "This is insane. Magic and ley lines and destiny. People don't actually believe in this stuff."
"People here do."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Quinn turns to face me. "Why? What makes you so sure?"
Because my bear chose you the moment you walked into this tavern. Because I can feel the mate bond forming between us, tying your soul to mine. Because I've been waiting my whole life for you without knowing it.
But I can't say any of that. Not yet. Not until she's ready to hear it.
"Because I've lived here my whole life," I say instead. "I've seen what the land does. How it protects people. How it brings the right people together at the right time. I've seen it work too many times to doubt it."
"And me? You think the land brought me here for you?"
"I think the land brought you here to heal. What happens after that is your choice."
She studies me for a long moment, her brow furrowing. "You're holding something back."
My heart stutters. "Quinn...”
"I can tell. There's something you're not saying." She crosses back to me, stopping close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "What is it?"
Tell her. The bear demands it. Tell her what she is to us. Tell her everything.
But the fear of losing her is stronger than the instinct. Fear of seeing acceptance turn to horror. Fear of watching her walk away from the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"It's complicated," I manage.
"Everything about this is complicated." Quinn reaches up, cupping my jaw the way she did last night. "But I'm still here. I'm still choosing this. So tell me what you're afraid to say."
The words rise in my throat, fighting to get out. She deserves the truth. Deserves to know what I am, what we could be together. Deserves the chance to make an informed decision.
But before I can speak, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
I pull out the phone, read the message from Calder. Six words that make my heart stop.
Ley line surge. Jonah's signature detected.
"Eli?" Quinn's watching me, concern replacing her earlier intensity. "What's wrong?"
"I have to go." I'm already moving toward the door, grabbing my keys. "Family emergency. I'm sorry, I...”
"Is everything okay?"
No. Nothing's okay. If Calder's detecting Jonah's signature in the ley lines, it means something massive just happened.
Either my missing brother is trying to reach us, or— I can't let myself think about the alternative.
And Quinn's standing here with questions I can't answer while my clan needs me.
"I'll explain later." I stop at the door, looking back at her. She's confused, hurt, beautiful in the morning light streaming through the windows. Leaving her here feels like tearing off my own arm. "Stay here. Lock the door behind me. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Eli...”
"Please, Quinn. Just trust me."
Then I'm out the door and running for my truck, the bear already surging to the surface. Quinn's face haunts me as I peel out of the parking lot—the hurt and confusion there, the questions I left unanswered.
The bear fights me every mile back to the compound, clawing to turn around. Doesn't understand why we're leaving our mate when she needs us to stay.