Chapter 3 Tolin
TOLIN
ONE WEEK LATER
The cabin looks like a storm tore through it. Again. Dishes in the sink. Laundry piling up in the corner. Dust settling on every surface Mother scrubbed clean seven days ago.
I don’t have time for this.
The ax bites into the log, splitting it clean down the middle. I toss the pieces onto the growing pile and reach for another. My breath fogs in the cold air, my muscles burning with the kind of work that usually quiets my mind.
Usually.
Today, nothing is quiet.
The singing started an hour ago. Drifting up from town, carried on the wind, faint but unmistakable. Children’s voices raised in some kind of Christmas carol, pitchy and enthusiastic and completely off-key.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...
I grit my teeth and swing the ax harder.
My bear grumbles beneath my skin, irritated by the noise. We have two days to finish stocking the clan’s shed and our own cabin before the storm hits. Then hibernation—at least a full month when my bear slumbers and I’m left vulnerable, unable to shift, living like a human while he rests.
It’s the way of the bear shifter. We don’t fight it. We prepare for it.
And I cannot prepare with that infernal noise rattling around in my skull.
Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh...
The ax slips. The blade glances off the log at a bad angle, sending the whole thing tumbling off the stump. I curse and grab it, setting it back up, trying to focus.
The snow is coming. I can smell it on the wind, feel it in the drop of pressure. A big storm, probably the worst of the season so far. It won’t stop me. I know these mountains better than I know my own face. But the humans in Shadow Wolf Creek will be trapped in their homes for days, maybe longer.
Part of me thinks I should volunteer to help when it hits. Check on the elderly. Clear roads. Do something useful with the strength I have.
Then I remember that I’m the grumpy bear shifter who lives alone on the mountain, and no one wants my help with anything.
Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh...
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
The singing swells, a dozen little voices hitting a note that makes my bear want to burst out of me just to make it stop. My next swing goes wide, nearly taking a chunk out of my own boot.
That’s it.
I slam the ax into the nearest tree trunk, burying the blade deep enough that it sticks. I don’t bother pulling it out. I’m too angry to care about retrieving my tools like a civilized person.
I stomp toward my truck, yanking open the door and climbing inside. The engine roars to life, and I tear down the mountain road faster than I should, chasing those voices like they owe me money.
By the time I reach town, the singing has stopped.
I pull into the parking lot of Shadow Wolf Creek Elementary just in time to watch a yellow school bus pull away from the curb. The children are gone. Headed home to their families, their warm houses, their lives full of people who actually want them around.
Good. Fine. At least the noise stopped.
But I’m already here. And I have words that need saying.
I park the truck and get out, slamming the door hard enough to make the frame rattle.
The school is a squat brick building with cheerful decorations in every window.
Paper snowflakes. Construction paper wreaths.
A banner that reads “Happy Holidays from Shadow Wolf Creek Elementary!” in letters that look like a child drew them.
I hate all of it.
The front doors bang open under my hands. The lobby is quiet now, empty except for a few stray backpacks and the lingering smell of cafeteria food and paste. The main office is right ahead, a glass-walled room with a counter and a sign that reads “Visitors Please Check In.”
A woman stands behind the glass doors, watching me approach. She doesn’t come out. Just stays there, arms crossed, studying me like she’s already made up her mind about what she sees.
She catches me off guard. Medium height, with rich brown skin and a cropped haircut that shows threads of gray at the hairline. A lanyard around her neck with an ID badge and about fifteen different keys. A cardigan with little embroidered snowflakes that should look ridiculous but somehow doesn’t.
Her gaze flicks to my scar. Lingers there. Something flickers across her face, but she doesn’t flinch.
I yank open the office door.
“Get those shifters to shut—“
“You don’t tell my little shifters to do anything.” Her voice snaps across the room before I can finish. She steps forward, and my bear actually takes a step back inside me. “You march into my school with that attitude and think you can—“
She stops. Takes a breath. When she speaks again, her voice is dangerously calm.
“I’m Merit. And you must be Tolin.”
I stare at her.
“How do you know my name?”
Her gaze flicks to my cheek again. To the scar that labels me like a brand.
I flex my jaw. Of course. The whole town has been gossiping. The grumpy bear shifter with the scar, the one who challenged his brother and lost, the one who lives alone on the mountain and runs off anyone who tries to help him.
“I’ve heard about you,” she says. “Everyone in this town has heard about you. The grumpy bear who lives alone and yells at anyone who comes near him. I thought the stories might be exaggerated.”
She pauses. Looks me up and down.
“They were not.”
Behind her, a door creaks open. I glance over her shoulder and see a face peeking out from one of the classrooms. Then another. Teachers, drawn by the sound of Merit’s voice rising in the empty hallway.
Merit doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she doesn’t care.
“Those children,” she continues, her voice rising, “have been practicing for weeks. Wolf cubs, bear cubs, dragon hatchlings, human kids. All of them learning to work together, to blend their voices, to create something beautiful.”
She steps closer.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a classroom full of shifter children to do anything in harmony? Last week, one of the dragon kids sneezed and set the sheet music on fire. Yesterday, two of the wolf pups got into a dominance scuffle during ‘Silent Night’ and I had to break it up with a spray bottle.”
Someone down the hall snorts. I don’t turn to look.
“And you.” She jabs a finger toward my chest. “You come down from your mountain to complain about forty-five minutes of singing.”
“Ma’am—“
“I am not finished.”
I close my mouth.
Merit steps closer, which is impressive given how small she is compared to me. Her eyes are fierce behind those glasses, and my bear actually shrinks back from her. This tiny human woman with snowflakes on her cardigan.
“Do you know what I’ve dealt with today?
” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “A bear cub who shifted in the middle of math class because another student looked at his crackers. A dragon hatchling who got upset during story time and singed the reading corner. A wolf pup who tried to mark his territory in the bathroom and I don’t mean the toilet. ”
The janitor sighs heavily from somewhere behind me. “I just mopped that floor.”
“And now,” Merit continues, “after all of that, I have a grown bear shifter standing in my lobby, complaining that children singing Christmas carols hurt his feelings.”
“That’s not—“
“You live alone on a mountain by choice, Mr. Tolin. You could wear earplugs. You could close your windows. You could simply ignore it like a reasonable adult. Instead, you drove all the way down here to yell at a school secretary about holiday music.”
She shakes her head slowly.
“I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know why you’re so determined to be miserable. But I will tell you this.” She leans in, lowering her voice just enough that the gathered audience has to strain to hear. “You are a grumpy bear shifter, and you desperately need to get laid.”
A bark of laughter erupts from somewhere down the hall. The janitor doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
My face is hot. My bear is quiet, stunned into submission by this woman who is half my size and twice my fury.
I open my mouth to respond.
“The door is behind you.” Merit points without looking. “I have three permission slips to file, a broken copier to call about, and a parent meeting in twenty minutes about why her dragon child keeps eating the crayons. So unless you have something else to add?”
I don’t.
I turn and walk out without a word.
The cold air hits my face as I burst through the front doors. A flatbed truck rumbles past on the main road, carrying what looks like a massive evergreen tree. The town Christmas tree, probably. Ready to be lifted in the square for everyone to gather around and celebrate.
I should kick that fucking tree over the moment they put it up.
My bear doesn’t even dignify that thought with a response. He’s still recovering from Merit.
I climb into my truck and sit there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at nothing.
She wasn’t wrong. About any of it. The singing was barely audible, if I’m being honest. I was already frustrated, already angry, already looking for something to blame. The children were just an easy target.
I am a grumpy bear shifter. And maybe I do need to get laid.
I pull out of the parking lot and drive toward Shadow Suds.
Derrick’s car is the only one in the lot. Good. No employees to witness whatever comes next.
The bell above the door chimes when I walk in. The front office is small and cluttered, cleaning supplies stacked on shelves, a desk covered in papers and scheduling charts. Derrick looks up from his computer, his expression shifting from surprise to wariness in the span of a heartbeat.
“Tolin.” He stands. “Wasn’t expecting you today.”
“I need help.”
The words taste bitter. I don’t ask for help. I don’t need people. But here I am, hat in hand, because my mother was right and I’m too stubborn to admit it to anyone but myself.
Derrick leans against his desk, arms crossed. He’s not a small man, but next to me, everyone looks small. Dark skin, kind eyes, the sort of easy smile that makes people trust him. We’ve been something like friends for a year, which is probably why he’s the only person who still takes my calls.
“You ran off the last three employees I sent you,” he says. “And the four before that. I’m running out of people willing to make the drive up the mountain.”
“I know.”
“Maria cried for an hour after she got back. Said you made her feel like she was too stupid to operate a mop.”
I wince. I don’t remember Maria specifically, but that sounds like something I would say.
“I’ll behave this time.”
Derrick raises an eyebrow. “Will you?”
“I’m desperate. There’s a big storm coming in two days. And I’ll be hibernating soon after. My cabin is a disaster and I need someone to stock the pantry while I finish the wood deliveries. I’ll pay double. Whatever it takes.”
I reach into my jacket and pull out the envelope I prepared before I left the mountain. Thick with cash. Thousands of dollars. More than any cleaning job is worth, but I don’t have time to negotiate.
Derrick stares at the envelope. “Jesus, Tolin. Are you sure?”
“Just find someone.” I set the envelope on his desk and pull a folded piece of paper from my pocket. “Here’s the list. Everything I need to get through the winter. Pantry staples. Supplies. Enough to last a couple of months.”
He takes the list, scanning it with a low whistle. “This is a lot of groceries.”
“Bear shifter.” I shrug. “We eat.”
Derrick sets the list down and looks at me for a long moment. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something more serious.
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Have you ever been anything else?”
“People are talking, Tolin.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair.
“And not just the usual gossip. You’re getting a reputation.
The grumpy bear who yells at kids. The guy who makes cleaning ladies cry.
Word’s probably already spreading that you stormed into the elementary school and got into it with Merit. ”
Word travels fast. Of course it does.
“She started it,” I mutter.
Derrick laughs despite himself. “Merit doesn’t start anything.
She finishes it.” He shakes his head. “Look, man. I’ll try to find someone for you.
But you’ve got to check the attitude. This isn’t the mountains where you can growl at everyone and they just leave you alone.
These are people. They have feelings. They talk to each other. ”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He holds my gaze. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re trying to make sure no one ever wants to be around you.
And I get it. I know what happened with Ronan.
I know why you left the clan. But this isolation thing isn’t working, brother.
You’re making yourself miserable, and you’re taking everyone else down with you. ”
The words hit somewhere I didn’t expect. My bear stirs, uncomfortable with the truth of them.
“I just need someone to stock the pantry,” I say quietly. “That’s all.”
Derrick studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “I’ll find someone. And if I can’t, I’ll come up myself. You’ve got a friend in me, Tolin. That hasn’t changed. But you’ve got to meet me halfway here.”
“I will.”
“And the attitude?”
I think about Merit. About the teachers peeking out of their classrooms. About the janitor’s laugh and the way my bear cowered from a woman half my size.
“I’ll work on it.”
Derrick doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he picks up the envelope anyway. “I’ll make some calls tonight. See who’s available. No promises, but I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I turn toward the door, then pause.
“Derrick.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He looks surprised. I don’t blame him. I’m not sure I’ve ever said those words to him before.
“You’re welcome, man.” He tucks the envelope into his desk drawer. “Now go home and try not to yell at anyone else today.”
I don’t make any promises.