Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
A rtek completed his morning security sweep. Dew dampened his boots, the crisp air carrying hints of pine and woodsmoke. His bear’s heightened senses cataloged every detail—the squirrel rustling through fallen leaves, a hawk circling overhead, the distant rumble of approaching vehicles.
The first wave of retreat participants wound up the mountain road in a caravan of paint-splattered cars. Artek’s position on the cabin’s wraparound porch gave him a clear view of Meara emerging to greet them. His breath caught at the sight of her—dark hair escaping its messy bun, paint-stained overalls somehow making her more beautiful. She’d rolled the sleeves up, revealing the delicate infinity symbol tattooed on her wrist.
The memory of kissing that spot this morning, of her sleepy smile and wandering hands, threatened to derail his focus. But his bear demanded vigilance. Too many threats lurked in these woods to let desire cloud his judgment.
“Welcome to Crystal Lake Arts Retreat!” Meara’s voice carried across the parking area, warm and inviting. “Let’s get you settled in and—oh!” She laughed as an enthusiastic guest nearly dropped an oversized portfolio. “Here, let me help with that.”
Artek moved to intercept, lifting the heavy case easily. Meara’s fingers brushed his arm, a casual touch that still sent electricity through his blood. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“My hero,” she murmured, close enough that only his enhanced hearing caught it.
“Behave, little artist.” He kept his voice low, enjoying how her pulse jumped. “We have guests.”
“Speaking of guests!” Frenchy burst through the front door in a whirlwind of purple silk and expensive cologne. “Darlings, you’re going to absolutely adore the setup arrangements. I’ve coordinated the space by artistic medium, lighting preferences, and—” he paused dramatically, “zodiac compatibility.”
An older woman clutching what appeared to be a bundle of pine needles perked up. “Oh! I’m a Sagittarius with Pisces rising?—”
“Perfect for the east wall, honey. This morning light will speak to your soul.” Frenchy linked arms with her. “Now tell me everything about these gorgeous pine needles. Are they locally sourced? Free-range? I simply must know.”
Artek shook his head, amused despite himself. Frenchy’s theatrical nature somehow put people at ease, though the security chief in Artek noted every unlocked door, every shadowy corner that needed surveillance. He’d stationed men at key points around the property, but the Lopez family’s resources ran deep. One mistake could prove fatal.
“Stop brooding.” Meara squeezed his hand. “The security measures are solid. Let’s focus on getting everyone settled.”
He brought their joined hands to his lips. “I’ll try. But my bear?—”
“Is overprotective.” She stretched up to kiss his jaw. “In the sexiest possible way.”
A throat cleared behind them. “If you two are finished being disgustingly adorable,” Trey drawled, “we’ve got movement in the south woods.”
Artek’s muscles tensed. Meara pressed closer, concern replacing the playfulness in her eyes. “Lopez’s people?”
“Just some hikers. But...” Trey’s expression hardened. “Found fresh tracks by the generator housing. Someone’s been scouting.”
“Increase patrols,” Artek ordered. “And check all the locks again. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
The morning flowed into afternoon, filled with the scratch of charcoal on paper and enthusiastic discussions about light and shadow. Artek maintained a vigilant presence while Meara worked her magic, drawing shy students out of their shells and gently redirecting more dramatic personalities.
The pine needle enthusiast—Martha—had set up near a window, earnestly explaining her sustainable art philosophy to anyone who wandered close. “The forest speaks through natural mediums,” she insisted, carefully arranging needles on her canvas. “Traditional brushes block the creative flow.”
“Fascinating!” Frenchy perched on a nearby stool, somehow making his raised eyebrows look supportive rather than skeptical. “We should call it eco-therapy art. Much trendier. Though personally, I prefer my therapy with a side of martinis.”
A thunderous crack split the air.
Artek moved before conscious thought, covering the distance to the dining area in three long strides. A heavy wooden beam crashed where a guest had stood seconds before, the decorative archway above hanging precariously.
Screams erupted. Meara rushed forward, but Artek caught her waist, pulling her back from the unstable structure. His hands shook with the effort not to shift, his bear raging at this threat to their mate and territory.
“Everyone stay back,” he ordered, voice rough with suppressed growls. The nearly-hit guest—a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses—trembled violently, clutching his sketchbook like a shield.
Artek examined the beam while Trey helped the shaken artist to a chair. The supporting nails hadn’t failed naturally—clean cuts marked where someone had deliberately weakened the metal, leaving just enough to temporarily hold the weight.
Meara’s sharp inhale told him she’d noticed too. She pressed against his side, seeking comfort even as she projected calm for their guests. The dual nature of her strength and vulnerability made his bear pace restlessly.
“Well!” Frenchy’s voice cut through the shocked silence. “I always said this place needed redecorating, though perhaps with less dramatic flair. Who’s ready for an inspirational tea break? I have lavender chai that will absolutely change your life.”
He shooed everyone toward the kitchen, dropping his usual theatrical tone to add quietly, “I’ll keep them occupied. Do what you need to do.”