Chapter 7 Tolin
TOLIN
The storm hits hard halfway to the clan’s storage shed.
Wind batters the truck from all sides, snow so thick a human wouldn’t be able to see the road. My bear’s vision cuts through it easily, picking out the path ahead even in the whiteout. Any human would have pulled over by now, waited it out. But I’m not human, and my clan needs this wood.
I grip the steering wheel harder and push through.
The shed is on the eastern edge of clan territory, a large structure built into the mountainside to protect it from exactly this kind of weather. I back the truck up to the entrance and start unloading, hauling armfuls of split logs through the swirling white.
It takes longer than it should. The wind fights me every step. But the shed is full now. Enough wood to keep every cabin in the clan warm through hibernation and beyond.
One task done. One more to go.
Mother’s cabin is a ten-minute drive from the shed, tucked into a sheltered hollow where the wind doesn’t bite as hard. I pull up outside and grab an armload of wood from the smaller stack I kept separate for her.
She opens the door before I reach the porch.
“Tolin.” Her voice carries that mix of warmth and exasperation that only mothers manage. “Get inside. You’re letting all the heat out.”
“Hello, Mother.” I stomp past her into the cabin, heading straight for the fireplace. “Just making sure you’re stocked up.”
Her home is the opposite of mine. Warm, tidy, full of small touches that make it feel lived in. Quilts on the furniture. Plants on the windowsills. The smell of something savory simmering on the stove.
I stack the wood by the hearth and check the fire, adding a few logs to build it up.
“Is there anything else you need?” I ask, straightening. “Enough food? Water? Candles in case the power goes out?”
“I’m fine.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Ronan was here this morning. He brought enough supplies to last me through spring.”
Of course he did. The dutiful Alpha, taking care of his mother while his wayward brother hides on a mountain.
I push the thought away before it can settle.
“Good.” I brush wood dust from my hands. “I should get back. Storm’s getting worse.”
“Wait.”
She’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, studying me with those sharp brown eyes. The ones that see everything. The ones I’ve never been able to hide from.
“Your cabin,” she says. “Are you keeping it tidy?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tolin.”
I sigh. “I have someone from Shadow Suds staying the weekend. She’s making sure everything is in place for hibernation. You don’t have to worry.”
Her eyebrows rise. “She?”
“It’s just a cleaning service. Don’t read into it.”
But she’s already reading into it. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, the questions forming that I don’t want to answer.
“Come here,” she says.
“Mother—“
“Come. Here.”
I cross the room to stand in front of her, feeling like a cub again despite towering over her by more than two feet. She reaches up and takes my face in her hands, tilting it toward the light.
“You look different,” she murmurs.
“I look the same as I always do.”
“No.” Her thumb brushes my cheek, just below the scar. “Your bear is stirring. I can see it.”
I try to pull back, but her grip is surprisingly firm. She stares into my eyes, and I know what she’s seeing. The faint golden glow at the edges of my irises. The sign that my bear is close to the surface.
“Have you found her?” she asks softly. “Your fated mate?”
“No, Mother. I have not.”
She gives me that look. The knowing one. The one that says she sees right through me.
I laugh despite myself. “Mom. I have not found her. I would tell you if I did. You’d be the first to know.”
“Would I?”
“Yes.” I gently remove her hands from my face. “There’s no mate. Just a cleaning lady who’s probably regretting every life choice that led her to my cabin right now.”
Mother doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go. She turns to the stove and starts loading containers into a bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Sending you home with food.”
“I don’t need—“
“You need.” She shoves the bag into my hands. “I’m not sure your helper knows how to feed you. The last one kept putting too much seasoning on your meat. Nearly ruined a perfectly good elk steak with all that garlic.”
I roll my eyes. “That was months ago.”
“And I’m still upset about it.” She adds another container to the bag. “This should last you a couple of days. There’s venison stew, roasted root vegetables, and some of that brown sugar honey bread you like.”
The bag is heavy in my hands. Full of her love, her worry, her desperate need to take care of me even though I’m a grown man who’s been on his own for years.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
She reaches up to pat me. “Now get home before this storm gets any worse. I don’t care that you’re a bear shifter. You’re still my little cub, and I don’t like you driving in this.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You always say that.” She reaches up to kiss my cheek. “Be safe. And Tolin?”
I pause at the door.
“The clan is still your home. Ronan is still your brother. Whatever happened between you, it doesn’t have to be forever. You could come back. You could—“
“Goodnight, Mother.”
I step out into the storm before she can finish.
The drive back takes longer than usual.
The wind has picked up, howling through the trees like something alive and angry. Snow piles on the road, but my bear’s instincts guide me through drifts that would bury a human vehicle. The truck handles it fine. It’s built for this, same as me.
But it’s not the storm that occupies my thoughts.
It’s her.
Imani.
I roll the name around in my mind, tasting the shape of it. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Too beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.
My bear paces inside me, restless and eager. He hasn’t settled since we left the cabin. Since we saw her standing in the kitchen with her coat off, all those curves on display, that wild hair tumbling around her shoulders.
Breed, he growls. Breed her.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
We can’t breed her. She’s not our fated mate. I would know if she was. The scent would hit me like a freight train, unmistakable and overwhelming. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked.
But I didn’t catch her scent at all. Just that chemical smell from the cleaning solution, sharp and artificial, masking everything underneath.
She’s just another human woman from town. A temporary presence in my cabin, here to do a job and leave. Nothing more.
So why can’t I stop thinking about her?
The defiance on her face when she told me she didn’t scare easy. The set of her jaw, stubborn and proud, refusing to back down even when I was at my worst.
No one talks to me like that. No one challenges me.
But she did. And my bear loved it.
I take the last turn toward my cabin, the headlights cutting through the curtain of snow. Almost home. Almost back to her.
The thought makes my blood run hot.
Then I smell it.
Steak. Searing meat, the rich iron scent of blood and fat. Coming from my cabin.
She cooked dinner.
I pull up in front of the porch and cut the engine, staring at the light spilling through the windows. She’s in there. Cooking. For me? Or just for herself?
I look down at the bag of food my mother packed. Enough to last a couple of days, she said. I don’t need whatever Imani made. I have options.
But the rare steak smell is making my mouth water.
She knows how to cook for shifters?
If she doesn’t, I can use it as an excuse. Pick apart her technique, criticize her seasoning, drive her away with my disapproval. It would be easy. It would be safe.
Because I’m not sure I can handle being around her otherwise. Not with the way my body reacts. Not with my bear tearing at my control, desperate to get closer.
I grab the bag and step out into the storm.
The cabin door opens easily under my hand. I stop just inside the threshold, stomping snow from my boots, and take in the scene before me.
She cleaned up.
The floors are spotless, no trace of the mud and slush I tracked in earlier. The groceries have been put away, the counters wiped down, everything in its place. A fire burns steady in the hearth, warming the room. And there she is, walking toward the table with a jug of ice water in her hands.
Fucking hell.
She’s still in that uniform. The simple polo and black pants that shouldn’t look good on anyone but somehow look incredible on her. The fabric stretches across her chest, hugs the curve of her hips, follows the round swell of her ass as she moves.
And her hair. God, her hair. It’s half-escaped from that bun, thick curls springing free around her face, refusing to be contained. I want to sink my fingers into it. I want to wrap it around my fist while I bury the other hand somewhere much warmer.
I rub a hand over my face and exhale.
What am I going to do?
If it weren’t for that stinky cleaning solution, I’d be on her already. Pressing her against the table. Showing her exactly what a grumpy bear shifter does when he’s pushed past his limits.
But the chemical smell clings to her like a barrier, sharp enough to make my nose itch. I can’t get past it. Can’t catch what’s underneath.
Maybe that’s a blessing. Maybe it’s the only thing keeping me from making a terrible mistake.
She sets the water jug down and looks up at me, those striking olive-toned eyes meeting mine. Her expression is cautious but hopeful.
“I was hoping we could start over,” she says. She gestures toward the table, where two plates sit waiting. “I’m Imani.”
“I know your name.”
Her smile falters, just slightly. She recovers quickly, walking around the table toward me with her hand extended.
“I can put those away for you,” she says, reaching for the bags from my mother.
I should let her. That’s what she’s here for. That’s what I’m paying her to do.
Instead, I hear myself say, “I’d rather eat my mother’s food.”
The words land like stones.