Page 13 of Grizzly’s Grump (Shifters of Redwood Rise #1)

Inside, she wanders to the couch and curls herself up in the corner.

Once inside, I crouch in front of the big log-burning fireplace and light the fire with a flick of the old gas starter, the click of metal on stone echoing louder than it should in the quiet room.

The flames catch with a low whoosh, throwing fractured light across the rough-hewn beams and stone walls of the cottage.

The scent of charred wood and cold ash hangs in the air, and I feel the pressure bands across my shoulders as the fire slowly grows.

The hearth snaps to life, shadows dancing along the stone.

I toss a blanket at her—more gruff practicality than comfort—but she doesn’t move to catch it. The soft thud as it lands on the back of the couch is the only sound besides the fire. My eyes track her movements, her fingers twitching at her sides, her breath coming faster than it should.

Her head comes up; her eyes focusing on me. "Start talking, Calder. No more cryptic warnings."

I drag a hand down my face. My instincts scream to shut down, to protect the truth like I always have, but she’s staring at me like she already knows I’m standing on the edge of something bigger. My jaw aches with the effort to hold it all in. The fire feels too loud, and her gaze too sharp.

I never wanted her to see this side of me. But she’s not backing down—and some part of me, the part already tangled up in her whether or not I like it, knows she deserves the truth.

I take a deep breath. "Redwood Rise isn’t like other towns.

It sits on a convergence of ley lines—ancient rivers of energy that run beneath the earth like a nervous system for the world.

Old magic, older than any of us, pulses through them.

Most people can’t feel it, not really. But those of us born here?

We’re bound to it. Shaped by it. The land breathes through us—and sometimes, it roars. "

Sitting down in the chair across from her, I continue, "Generations ago, the first—of what we now call shifters—settled here."

I hesitate on the word, watching her face. Maybe she's heard it before, maybe in the pages of a romance novel, but this isn’t fiction. It’s blood-deep truth, and the only name we have for what we are.

"Drawn by the energy, they forged a bond with the land, each line anchoring their animal spirits, amplifying their connection to instinct and earth.”

“You can’t be serious? You expect me to just nod along like this isn’t completely insane?

“You wanted answers. I’m trying to give them to you. We became more than men. Not beasts, not monsters—guardians. The ley lines are power, yes—but they’re also memory. They remember pain, blood, sacrifice. And when they flare, it’s because something has disturbed that balance."

"What are you saying? That you're some kind of paranormal freak?"

"No. I'm a shifter—like everyone else here. You're the exception. What happened tonight... something old woke up, and it reached for the nearest spark it could find. That spark was you."

I hold her gaze. "We’ve always known the lines could react to someone untrained—but not like this. Not with that kind of force."

The silence stretches long and brittle between us.

"You mean you're like... witches?"

"No, we don't have any magical powers. We don’t cast spells. We are the spell. What you might see as magical, we see as just part of who we are."

Her brow creases. "Like in those werewolf books?"

"Not exactly. It’s not folklore or fantasy—it’s legacy. And it’s real."

She laughs, but it’s shaky. "You expect me to believe you’re some kind of werewolf?"

"Not a wolf," I say, the words rougher than I intend. Tension pulls at the base of my skull. My bear stirs restlessly, pacing just beneath awareness. "But close."

"Then what are you?"

I stare at her. Let the answer hang, not because I don’t know, but because saying it aloud feels like crossing a line we can’t walk back from.

She goes still, and her eyes widen. "Oh, my god. You’re serious."

I nod. "My brothers too. All of us. And it’s not just us. The whole damn town—every family line, every business, every tree—it’s tied to the ley lines."

She stands up and takes a step back. "So what, you’re some kind of secret society of... animals?"

"We’re not animals," I snap. "We’re more than that. We remember who we are, no matter what form we take. We protect the land, and it protects us. But lately... things have been going wrong. The lines are shifting. Energy is flaring when it shouldn’t. And you..."

"Me?"

"You walked straight into it. Sensitive, unshielded, blazing like a torch in the dark, and the lines reached back."

She wraps her arms around herself, shaking her head. "This is insane. This can’t be real."

I step closer. "It’s real. And you deserve to see it."

"What are you?—"

Before she can finish, I stand and move to the middle of the room.

The firelight catches the motion, throwing jagged shadows across the stone walls.

My pulse kicks hard, breath stalling in my chest as the shift wells up fast and undeniable.

I meet her eyes one last time before the mist begins to drift upward in slow, spiraling tendrils.

Her eyes narrow.

"Don’t freak out."

She opens her mouth to reply... but the mist gets there first.

It curls up from the stone floor, too swift, too purposeful, glowing with shards of color that pulse like trapped lightning. Thunder growls low and distant, and a flicker of static dances across the ceiling beams. Her eyes go wide as the fog closes in and swallows me whole.

In the stillness that follows, I let go.

The mist rolls in thick and fast, curling around my body with a hiss of pressure and heat.

It tightens—dense and pulsing with energy—until all else fades.

In the suspended breath between forms, the transformation begins.

No pain, just power. The shift comes easily, like a second skin peeling back to reveal what’s always been underneath.

Limbs stretch and reshape, fur sweeping across skin in a seamless wave, coarse and soft all at once.

Fingers retract, nails darken into curved claws.

My spine realigns with fluid precision, responding to something ancient, primal.

The air shimmers with her presence, charged by the fire’s warmth and the living current of the land. My senses flare open: the crisp sting of pine, the heat radiating behind me, the subtle churn of her heartbeat anchoring me. The man dissolves—quietly, wholly—and the bear takes his place.

And then the fog clears.

Cilla stares at me. Frozen.

I pad forward slowly. No threat. No growl. Just... me.

She doesn’t scream. Her eyes widen, locking onto mine. Then she turns and bolts for the door, shoving it open and letting it slam behind her.

She’s gone. I don’t move. My breath comes hard. The weight of her absence lands like a punch to the gut. I reach out. There’s nothing but mist.

The bear’s still braced to follow her, but she’s already vanished into the night like a ghost I can’t hold. She ran. From me. From the truth, and everything I’ve tried to keep buried just clawed its way to the surface.

I let the bear settle before I draw a deep breath and step back into the shadows of myself.

The mist lingers a beat longer, glowing faintly at my feet, then slips away into the floorboards like it was never there at all.

I grab the sweats I leave folded in a basket by the hearth and tug them on, my breath still ragged from more than just the change.

When I step out onto the porch, Beau is already there, leaning against one of the support beams, arms folded. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, just jerks his chin toward the trees.

"She ran northeast," he says quietly. "Eli’s following her. I take it the whole I’m a bear-shifter discussion didn’t go well?"