Chapter 2
Elliott goes fishing.
Mother fucker. Crossing to his kitchen island, Elliott grabbed his bong.
He’d packed it but hadn’t had a chance to enjoy it before a car came crunching down his driveway, insanity blaring from its open windows.
Someone had made a wrong turn—obviously—since his was the only house on Potter’s Lane.
Turned out it was Olivia’s best friend, Fern Walsh, that annoying sexy brunette, showing up to completely rock his shit.
Watching her twenty-point turn was the purest form of entertainment he’d consumed all week.
He hadn’t realized a car that small could pull a trailer that big.
It was a wonder she hadn’t smashed into his front porch while trying to resolve her vehicular situation.
There was no way she could see out the back.
He’d debated telling her she could drive behind his studio and loop around, but by the time he worked up the courage to get her attention, she was three-quarters of the way out.
Plus, he hadn’t wanted to risk approaching her moving vehicle.
The way she was handling that thing, he’d have been dead before dinner.
Plopping down on the couch, Elliott fitted the bong to his mouth, covered the carb, and took a long pull. As his lungs filled with that familiar heaviness, he waited for his raging anxiety to calm into something manageable. If that was possible.
He couldn’t believe it—could not fucking believe it.
Fern was way too chatty. Way too extroverted for him.
Dude, ninety percent of her job was yakking to people, and she was stellar at it.
He’d heard it himself over months of Liv taking video calls around their friend group. Fern Walsh was not his type.
But there was no denying it, no matter what he wanted. The truth was clear as day the moment he got to her car and scented her. He was screwed.
Fern was his potential mate.
And for some fucking reason, she smelled like Able.
His bear had hated that, rearing up inside Fitz and forcing him to step away from her. Even now, the beast in his chest grunted in protest and scratched his ribs.
Why’d she smell like Adam?
Exhaling a cloud that hazed up his living room, Elliott tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling.
He should’ve hooked up with that raccoon shifter at the Stonecrop Cove Art Exhibition back in June.
She wasn’t a potential mate, just a normal potential hookup.
Those were the safest situations because they could have sex without risk of starting a mate bond.
She’d been cute and interested, but he’d been worn out from socializing at his booth all day and hadn’t had it in him. He should’ve rallied.
Now look at him, going feral for Fern? He’d definitely waited too long to meet someone new, and he was in such a pickle.
While she was gorgeous and smelled fucking fantastic, it was never a good idea to hook up with someone from town.
Beckett Falls was too small. And he didn’t want a mate regardless, so he’d have to stay far away from that woman.
That beautiful woman… with her shiny brown hair, bright blue eyes, and that smattering of freckles across her nose.
Positive or negative, it didn't matter, she'd captured his attention immediately, even through phone screens, even with her incessant chatter. And now she was here—the only human in town—all because she was friends with the alpha she didn’t know was an alpha.
God, this was going to be annoying. They couldn’t even have a rational conversation and come up with a plan to ignore the potential bond. He’d just have to do it himself.
Elliott’s bear rumbled and his stomach gave an encore. Familiar pressure built in his chest as his beast made his desires known, using Fitz’s ribcage like a tree trunk to scratch his back, rubbing up and down, side to side, incessantly.
“Oh my god, fine, let’s go fishing.” That always helped him relax, plus he hadn’t decided what to make for dinner. Two birds.
Elliott swung through the kitchen to the back porch where he stripped and piled his clothes on the daybed.
It was easier that way. He could shift while dressed if he wanted, but when he changed back to human form, his clothes would pop up nearby.
Never on, just nearby. And he had a habit of shifting in the water, especially when it was warm out.
The Potter’s Branch of the Wrentham River had claimed several pairs of his pants.
Sometimes they made it all the way out to the main flow before he tracked them down.
On the back lawn, Elliott gave over to his beast and stepped into the figurative back seat of his brain as his body contorted, morphing from man to grizzly. Stretching in animal form, his bear swung his big head from side to side and lumbered over to a tree, rising up for a real back scratch.
No small creature, his grizzly stood about four feet at the shoulder, a solid eight on his hind legs.
Far larger than his black bear father, somewhat larger than his mother, and the same size as his grizzly best friend, Adam Ableman, it was a wonder no tourists had ever caught on to the invasive brown bears in their part of the state.
In a frantic mood, Fitz’s beast ignored his request to head to the river and instead looped around front to sniff the driveway where Fern had been some twenty minutes before.
“Come on, dude. We’re hungry. Let’s go see what we can catch.”
His bear rumbled and scratched at the gravel.
“Fishing. I know you want to.”
With a huff, the beast turned to head down the slope to the water.
The situation with Fern was going to be fine.
Elliott wouldn’t say or do anything; he’d wait it out, and the potential bond would fade.
It usually took a month if a bond was ignored.
He could manage that. It wasn’t like she had any idea what was going on, and as long as he didn’t tell his friends, the secret would remain his alone.
Shifters could find a potential mate in anyone, regardless of their magical status.
But his people mainly kept to themselves, and mating with a human wasn’t all that common.
However, the magic wanted what it wanted, and her sweet, enchanting scent, like fresh berries and a garden picnic, put a damper on his never-changing plans.
He was screwed for the next thirty days, minimum.
He hoped it wouldn’t take longer than a month.
His damn bear had gone from napping to feral at first sniff, and Elliott nearly lost control of his shift.
That hadn’t happened since he was a teen.
It must’ve been the combination of his and Fern’s potential mate status mixed with Able’s scent on her.
Adam was working at the gatehouse and probably saw her when she got to town.
It was nothing, Elliott was sure it was nothing.
After a final longing glance over his shoulder at the empty road, he was able to coax his bear into the river and upstream, where the fishing was best. There were no guests over at the Lodge this time of year anyway.
Even if Able had been around, he wouldn’t think twice about seeing Fitz out for a romp at dusk.
In fact, he’d probably join… and give Elliott a chance to ask what the fuck was going on.
No, it was really no big deal. He bobbed his non-existent human head and focused on the water through his bear’s eyes.
What would Fern do if she saw him? Had Liv warned her of the wild animals in town?
She obviously didn’t know about shifting; very few humans did.
Exhaling within his bear, Elliott wished he could pace to burn off some stress.
He gave it a month, tops, for Fern to stay clueless about the true nature of everyone around her in Beckett Falls.
His grizzly spotted movement and swiped his paw with a splash. The catch was a success, and the first trout went right down his throat.
“I wanted to cook that, dude,” Elliott grumbled.
His grizzly captured the second fish with a particularly fine pounce, then caught a faint whiff of berries and jasmine in the air. Spinning from where he’d been eyeing the waterfall, he stood to sniff the breeze coming down from town.
The fruit could have been wild raspberries and early blackberries, and the jasmine could have been from someone’s garden, but the combination?
The undertones of vanilla? It was Fern. Probably walking from her car to her apartment, hauling boxes.
He should’ve gone to help. Would that have been weird? Too pushy?
Pointless. It would’ve been pointless. And she was annoying, anyway. The alphas would be there. He doubted she was working alone.
“Back to business, I’m hungry,” Elliott coaxed his bear to action, and the animal begrudged him three trout, carrying them to shore in his teeth.
Fern’s scent carried down from town again, and his bear rumbled before dropping off the final fish and lumbering south toward the house. It only took a second for Elliott to realize his animal had no intention of returning home. The fucker was taking them toward the village.
“Ah! Stop. Shift back. Come on, we need to make dinner.”
His bear snorted, stood on his hind legs, and scented her again.
“Trout. Come on, dude. Let’s cook now, and you can sniff around all you want tomorrow.”
The grizzly huffed and puffed before shifting back eventually—and abruptly—Elliott’s consciousness flinging to the forefront as he reformed naked in the woods behind his studio.
Good god, his bear was being difficult. Was he really so horny the animal didn’t trust him to take back over? He’d have to be careful next time he shifted.
Luckily, their town’s short tourist season was starting in three weeks, and with it would come at least one single bridesmaid looking for a quick fling. That had to help break the potential bond.
Most of the human visitors to Beckett Falls were wedding parties and guests with many singles looking to mingle. Chuckling to himself, Elliott carried his catch inside, thinking of the mildly annoying wedding season ahead.
The whole town was in on the scheme, opening up just two months per year when the trees were at their most colorful to host high-end weddings at Adam’s exclusive Lodge.
They all made a killing that carried them through those ten peaceful months between seasons.
He worked alongside Noa most often, throwing vases for her floral arrangements and sculpting other wedding decor.
The visitors loved a good artisan-made souvenir.
With his music blaring and his trout rinsed and waiting, Elliott snagged his phone from the living room and fired off a text to his alphas. It would’ve been rude not to check in.
Elliott
Did the yapper make it up to town?
Beck
Yup
Okay, okay, that was good. His foot tapped faster than the beat of the song as he took a knife to his fish. Elliott got their heads off before snatching up his phone again.
Elliott
And she got dinner, right?
Liv
Why? Are you planning to cook for her?
Beck
Is this an offer for all of us?
Liv
She’d probably be into it
Elliott
No. I was just asking
Liv
Your loss
Beck
Your loss
Elliott
Do you have to pile on?
Aren’t you together?
Beck
I’m at the bar with Noa. Come meet up
Liv
I’m with Fern. Come over here
Shit. Of course Liv was with Fern. Now she probably knew he was asking after her. He needed to ignore, not engage. He would not be heading up to town, not to the bar, and definitely not to Fern’s apartment.
Fitz valued his solitude, focusing on his art away from judgment. He texted them back to say he was busy, then shoved his phone face down on the counter and went into the living room to smoke a bowl before cooking.
His bear grumbled when he abandoned the fish. All that snorting was driving Elliott nuts, but the grizzly got on board with his idea, and they both calmed down again when he picked up his pipe.
Fern was clearly into smoking. He could always swing by to give her some bud. It would be the perfect excuse to visit without being weird. A housewarming gift—and an apology for being unapproachable when she came down his road.
With a long exhale, tension floated from Fitz’s shoulders and he hopped to his feet, feeling better than he had a minute before. He didn’t need to pursue their potential bond. He could just give her a friendly gift.
His grizzly liked the plan—probably because he was horny and wanted to smell her up close.
Snorting at himself, Elliott got to work on his meal: a nice trout and risotto. He liked to cook, loved it really, and he could throw a beautiful pot, but aside from that, what did he bring to the table—hypothetically—if he was looking for a relationship?
Not much.
Not nearly as much as Able… for example. Not that he compared himself to Adam that often, it’s just that he couldn’t stop wondering: Why had Fern smelled like him?
Either way, Elliott wasn’t looking. He wasn’t considering the potential bond.
And it didn’t matter. She was way out of his league, far too hot and outgoing for the slice of the world he stuck to.
He preferred things quiet, and he recognized his flaws: He was a big lug, a stoner, a man with very little motivation outside of his hobbies.
Oh, and his hair was too long.
Flaws aside, he liked his life. He made a passable income, lived a quiet existence, and there wasn’t room in it for anyone else.
Alone with three empty chairs staring back at him, he ate while reminding himself all the reasons he kept his status quo:
One: He liked to sit on his sofa naked, and no one else needed to know that.
Two: Socializing exhausted him, and roommates brought conversation. He hardly even talked to his family.
Three: Ceramics were a fragile craft. The risk of a visitor breaking something was stressful enough. Having a partner, a mate around all the time? Not worth the trouble.
He liked to sleep in and stay up late. A mate might wreck his proofing bread, choose the wrong music, leave a mess where he needed his mess to go.
It just wasn’t reasonable. This is why he kept things casual, why he kept things to hookups, why he’d ignored every other potential bond that had popped up in his life.
Things were good. He wasn’t going to rock the boat.