Page 10 of Grizzly’s Grump (Shifters of Redwood Rise #1)

CILLA

I don’t cry. Not anymore. Not after everything I’ve already endured and used up.

Loss, heartbreaks, betrayals, whispered apologies that never meant a damn thing—I’ve hit my lifetime limit.

My tear ducts might as well be sealed shut.

Every time I’ve given someone my trust, they’ve turned it into a joke.

Every time I believed in forever, it lasted just long enough to pull the rug out from under me.

And now here I am again, burning with shame and fury and that low, gnawing ache that comes from wanting something real—and watching it vanish.

But no matter how much pressure builds behind my eyes, nothing falls.

Not a drop. Like my body knows better than to waste effort on pain that won’t change a damn thing.

I sit on the side rail of my truck, arms locked tight around my middle, and glare into the flames dancing in the firepit.

My mouth still tingles from Calder’s kiss—fierce, hungry, real—and my skin still remembers the weight of his body pressed against mine.

But it doesn’t matter… because he walked away. Again.

And somehow, that hurts more than the blatant betrayals I’ve lived through. Calder didn’t lie. He didn’t make empty promises or stab me in the back. He just gave me a glimpse of something real—and then pulled it away. Maybe that’s worse. Because it means I let myself believe.

I shouldn’t have expected more. At least he didn’t betray me with my best friend—no bonus round of heartbreak there.

Even so, this ache digs deeper. Maybe because it was different.

With Troy, I always sensed the cracks beneath the surface, always saw the betrayal coming even when I pretended not to.

I knew deep down he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

And Lola? Her smile never quite reached her eyes.

But Calder? There weren’t any bright red flags or caution lights when it came to Calder.

He came cloaked in silence and heat, in long looks and longer silences, in the steady strength of his hands and the wildfire he never quite hides behind his eyes.

He kissed me like he meant it—like he needed it—and I haven’t stopped feeling it since.

And maybe, just for one stolen, breathless heartbeat, I believed he saw me. But I was wrong. He turned away, just like always—no apology, no backward glance. One moment he kissed me like I was air in his lungs, and the next, he vanished into the dark, all stiff shoulders and retreat.

It shouldn’t surprise me that he turned away, and maybe it doesn’t.

Maybe it's just that I expected better or at least different. Then again, he’s been warning me from the start that he’s not that kind of guy.

Why is it I never believe men when they tell me who or what they really are?

Why do I superimpose what I need or want them to be? Why can't it just be easy?

Because it isn't.

Calder told me that whatever this is between us isn’t safe. But safe for who? Him? Me? Both of us? If he felt even a smidge of what I did when he kissed me, isn't it worth pursuing to find out?

With that thought, it occurred to me that maybe I'm a lot tougher than anyone, including me, thinks I am.

I shake my head. The way Calder touched me tonight said I was right.

It said that something was different from what he was saying.

The way he looked at me—like I was already his—said everything.

And then he bolted. No warning, no apology—just that same infuriating retreat, like I’d suddenly become too much.

Like whatever passed between us scared him more than it should have.

One minute, his mouth was on mine, his body anchoring me to something fierce and grounding—and the next, I was alone with nothing but a racing heart and the memory of his touch burning through my skin.

He left without a word or a backward glance.

Just that stiff, jaw-clenched retreat he's been doing since the day we met.

He turns and walks away every single time things start to get too real.

One second he was kissing me like he wanted to devour every inch of me—and the next, he was gone, leaving nothing but the press of his mouth on mine and a dozen unspoken questions mocking me as they danced in the firelight.

I kick a loose stone near the firepit, and it skips across the dirt with a dry clatter before disappearing into the shadows.

The sudden movement doesn’t make me feel any better—just more exposed.

The heat licking at my cheeks has nothing to do with the dying flames.

It’s the memory of his hands, the press of his mouth, the silence that followed.

It flashes me back—hard—to the afternoon I brought tacos back to the food truck as a surprise and stepped inside to find Troy going down on Lola.

I’d been humming, stupidly proud of myself for picking up his favorite order, thinking we’d curl up on the bench seat and talk about our future.

That maybe we were finally in sync. Instead, I got cheap salsa, betrayal, and the image of my best friend’s hand tangled in my fiancé’s hair. A memory so sharp it still cuts.

I remember the silence that followed. No screaming.

No slammed doors or broken plates. Just a hollow, echoing stillness lived in my chest, as if someone had sucked out all the air and nothing would ever fill it again.

I stood there, tacos cooling in the paper bag, unable to move or speak, while the image seared itself into my brain.

It should have hurt more—should have cracked me open like glass—but all I felt was this sharp, surreal clarity. It was like the world tilted without warning, and I was left standing in the wreckage, too numb to cry.

But this? Calder’s retreat? That kiss followed by nothing? It scrapes the raw parts that I didn’t even know were still there.

“I’m not made of glass,” I mutter, echoing myself. “And I sure as hell don’t shatter this easily.”

But something in me is cracking, anyway.

Not loud, not dramatic—just this slow, splintering ache behind my ribs, like a fault line spreading through stone.

I’ve taken hits before. Big ones. But this?

This feels quieter. More dangerous. It’s like the kind of break you don’t notice until everything collapses beneath you.

The trees sway in the night breeze. The air tastes strange—sharpened with an electric edge that reminds me of the time I licked the end of a battery on a dare when I was ten.

And the wind keeps pulling my gaze toward the edge of the woods, the place Calder carried me away from as if someone had mined it with explosives.

Ley lines, he'd said.

Energy. Surges. Flare.

Sensitive, he called me. Unshielded. Like I’m some kind of live wire.

I snort. “Says the guy who lights up the forest every time he scowls.”

He’s probably holed up in whatever fortress of solitude he calls home—some stone cabin with no cell signal and a fireplace that glows faint and cold, much like the icy control he wraps around himself—pacing the floor like a restless animal, stewing in his own silence.

Brooding, growling, refusing to explain a single damn thing.

Because heaven forbid he just use words like a normal person instead of glowering like a thundercloud and vanishing into the night.

I stand and grab my thermal hoodie, jamming my arms through the sleeves with more force than necessary.

I’m not the kind of girl who waits around for answers—especially from a man who kisses like that and then acts like I’m the problem.

If he won't answer my questions, I'll just have to go find them for myself.

Leaving the food truck, I make a beeline for the trees.

I’m done waiting. If Calder won’t give me answers, I’ll find them myself. The woods took something from me tonight—and I want it back.

I want answers. I need answers. I deserve answers, even if they aren't what I want to hear.

I want to know what he meant about ley lines and flares and sensitivity—what any of it has to do with me.

I want to understand why this town feels like it's stitched together with secrets and moonlight. If none of them, including Calder, will tell me, I’ll find the answers myself.

The path looks different at night—less like a trail and more like a dare. The trees lean inward at odd angles, warping the edges of the path in strange and shadowy relief. Landmarks I passed earlier feel altered now, their shapes unfamiliar, cloaked in a hush that prickles across my neck.

This is the same way Calder carried me before, but without him, the woods stretch farther and darker.

Each sound feels sharper, every step heavier.

The trees don’t feel passive anymore—they seem watchful.

Their limbs hunch over as if they’re listening, curious.

The air grows dense, weighted with something unspoken.

It clings to my skin and catches in my throat like a warning I can’t quite translate.

It’s not just the dark playing tricks on my senses. There’s an awareness in the woods that wraps around me like a weighted blanket of tension—unseen, but undeniable.

The forest is watching. Not with eyes exactly, but with presence. I feel it in the brush of air across my neck, in the hush between branches. Not curious. Not malicious. Just... waiting. Like it knows something I don’t, and it’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

The wind threads through the branches, carrying the scent of wood smoke, pine, and something deeper—something musky and wild that I can’t quite place. It prickles across my skin, but I keep walking.