Page 18 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

BEAU

T he last thing I see before we step out of the Rusty Fork is the sunlight spilling through the wide front windows, casting golden streaks over her shoulders and hair.

Her gaze meets mine, steady and unreadable, and for a heartbeat the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation fall away. My pulse slows, then kicks harder.

She doesn't smile, doesn't speak, just walks beside me like she belongs there.

Her arm brushes mine as we step outside.

The contact jolts something loose in me, a low, thrumming awareness that settles somewhere deep and restless.

The air is cooler here, touched by the salt of the sea and the hush of trees.

She hesitates, hand resting briefly on my forearm.

Not enough to hold me back. Just enough to linger.

Her eyes lift to mine again, lips parted like she might say something, but then she doesn't. I want to reach for her, bridge the impossible gap between what we are and what we could be. She starts to step back, but I cup the side of her face and tilt her chin, giving her no chance to escape me.

I press my mouth to hers, claiming the kiss without hesitation.

It's firm and deliberate, my control threaded through every touch.

Her lips soften beneath mine, parting slightly.

I take my time, tasting her, letting her feel the weight of my intent.

My hand slides down to her waist, pulling her flush against me as my other hand settles at the nape of her neck, guiding her exactly where I want her.

There’s nothing tentative about the way we devour each other.

Her lips are velvet and heat, her tongue slick and sure.

I feel the tremble in her legs as she leans into me, the way her body fits mine like we were carved to match.

My hand finds her hip, grips tight, not to control—but to keep from losing myself entirely.

When she finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. Her thumb brushes my jaw.

After admonishing her to be careful, lock herself in her cottage and not open the door for anyone but me or my brothers,she heads for her Jeep. The sound of the driver’s side door closing echoes more loudly than it should. She backs out and heads back to her cottage.

I stand in the empty space where her Jeep had been parked, my hands flexing uselessly at my sides.

My chest feels too full, as if everything I thought I knew is bending toward something new.

Her presence lingers even after the sound of her Jeep fades down the paved road, a tether I can’t seem to shake.

The quiet of the street presses in, broken only by the faint hum of town life carrying on around me.The silence that follows stretches too wide. The forest surrounding town holds its breath. I stand there, rooted in place, until the taillights disappear around the bend.

I glance toward the forest at the edge of town.

Sunlight filters through the trees lining the road in fractured shafts, painting uneven bursts across the gravel.

Movement stirs in the brush along the shoulder.

Rabbits dart, wings beat the air, and something heavier crashes quietly out of sight.

Each sound sharpens my nerves, setting me more on edge than I want to admit.

She’s tangled in this now. Whatever force stirs beneath the forest floor, whatever current hums through the ley lines, they’ve wrapped themselves around her presence. And the idea of her getting dragged deeper into something we don’t yet understand grips my chest like a fist.

I don’t want distance between us, but I know she needs it. She needs time to process whatever’s taken root between us. And I need time to find answers—answers only my brothers might have.

I turn away from the empty parking spot and head for the garage on foot.

My boots scuff against the pavement, the rhythm steady, grounding me.

The town noise fades as I cut across the side alley and make my way down a path flanked by tall firs.

Sunlight filters through the canopy above, dappling the road in uneven patches of gold.

The walk gives me time to think, time to calm the roar still echoing in my chest.

I don’t want anyone seeing the storm behind my eyes, not yet. Not until I’ve sorted through the questions tangled up inside me. What just happened between us. What it means for her. For me. For this place.

As I reach the shop, the bay doors are already rolled open, sunlight glinting off scattered tools and the rust-streaked Bronco my brother still insists on calling his official sheriff's vehicle.

The metallic clink of something falling echoes faintly inside.

The scent of oil and the heat radiating off the metal bring a wave of familiarity that momentarily calms the current churning in my gut.

I let it anchor me as I round the building in search of my brothers.

At first glance, the place looks empty, too still.

But a voice carries around the corner, low and clipped.

I follow it to find Sawyer leaning against the back wall, speaking into his radio with a tone that tells me something’s already on his mind.

Eli stands nearby, coffee in hand, eyes tracking the forest canopy as if waiting for the trees to whisper back.

"Thought I'd find you two hiding from real work," I say, stepping into view.

Sawyer glances at me, lowering the radio, grease smudged across his cheek, one brow arching in that way he does when he's both amused and already two steps ahead of the conversation. "You look like a man trying to decide if he's drowning or already sunk."

"That obvious?"

"Obvious enough." Sawyer disappears under the hood of his ancient patrol vehicle. "Bronco’s shot to hell, and she looks like she’s in better shape than you."

Eli brushes his hands on a rag. "You took her to the Rusty Fork in broad daylight? Whole town’s buzzing. If you don’t spill it, we’ll get it from Elsie before noon."

"Mary too," Sawyer mutters. "Bet she’s already drafted her version."

I cross my arms and lean back against the truck, but the tightness wound between my shoulder blades refuses to loosen.

The tension winds tight through every muscle, taut and vibrating with the pressure of what I can't say out loud, fed by the memory of her lips and the certainty that none of this is coincidence.

"Anabeth triggered a spike last night. A big one. The moment we were together, the ley lines reacted. Violently."

Sawyer straightens, shoulders locking tight as if bracing against something he can’t see yet. The atmosphere thickens around us, pressing in close, making the hairs on my arms lift like static before a lightning strike.

"You’re sure?"

"Positive. Full-scale surge. Not random. It synced with us."

Eli whistles. "Hell."

"It nearly ruptured the ley lines," I say. "There was nothing quiet about it."

Sawyer slams the hood. "So she’s not just sensitive to the lines. She’s tied to them. Or pulling them."

"More than that. It’s like they were waiting for her."

Eli shakes his head slowly. "You think she’s doing it on purpose?"

"No. She looked as shocked as I felt. But that doesn’t mean she’s safe."

Sawyer rubs his temples. "Bringing her deeper could destabilize everything. You know that."

"And sending her away without answers? That’s worse. She’s curious. She’s smart. If I don’t help her understand this, she’ll chase it alone."

Eli’s watching me with narrowed eyes. "Would you keep her, even if it put us all at risk?"

I meet his gaze. "Yes."

The silence that follows stretches, weighted and expectant, like the forest itself is listening for my answer.

My pulse drums in my ears, a slow, insistent rhythm that makes the stillness feel louder.

A cold bead of sweat trails down my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or something closer to awe.

The air is too still, too aware. I glance at my brothers, but neither speaks.

The truth I just confessed hangs between us like a blade suspended mid-fall, and I realize the forest isn't the only thing waiting. So am I.

Sawyer’s gaze drops to the cracked earth. A muscle in his jaw jumps once, sharp and tense, before his mouth hardens into a flat line. His expression holds, unreadable but tight with something that pulses just beneath the surface. Is it warning or worry? I can't tell.

The ground beneath us vibrates with a deep, unsettling hum that rises through our boots and into our spines.

All three of us go still, alert and tense.

A wrench tumbles from the workbench, hitting the concrete with a metallic clang that echoes like a warning.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights flicker once, then pulse with a low buzz, as if the entire building is reacting to something unseen and dangerous.

"Tell me that was a trick," Eli mutters.

Another pulse slams through the ground, stronger this time—deep and resonant, like the mountain itself is groaning awake.

The vibration punches up through the soles of my boots, rattling my knees and echoing in my chest. I meet Sawyer’s eyes and see the same realization settle like lead behind his stare.

Something old has stirred. And it’s not going back to sleep.

"You wish," I say.

"Creek," says Sawyer,

We take off running, our boots hammering the forest floor as branches lash against our arms and the thundering sound of water grows louder ahead.

My breath burns in my lungs, but I don’t slow down.

The earth trembles beneath our feet, pulsing with energy that feels older than anything I’ve ever known.

The trail behind the garage cuts through dense woods, a narrow path barely wide enough for us to run three abreast. Low-hanging branches snag at my jacket as we push forward, feet pounding uneven earth.

The rustle of disturbed foliage and the rhythmic slap of boots on soil fill the space between our breaths.

I can feel every vibration in the ground, each one sharper than the last, as though the forest itself is bracing for something we can’t see yet.

Twigs snap against our sleeves, stinging through fabric as we tear through the underbrush, and the ground tilts beneath our boots, unstable and trembling.

A hawk cries again overhead. The air thickens, charged with something primal.

"Left," Sawyer shouts. We veer as the ground drops, roots snagging our steps.

The pressure builds as we reach the clearing.

The creek should be calm here, its flow typically smooth and unbroken.

Today it churns with a disjointed rhythm, like a broken metronome.

The sound cracks through the air in jagged bursts, water slapping against stone with erratic force.

Each splash jars the nerves, it's as if nature’s pulse has lost its beat.

A sharp unease threads through me, tightening with every step until it feels like a taut wire stretched through my core.

My muscles tense, each footfall heavier than the last, driven by instinct more than thought.

The feeling isn’t just anxiety; it’s the sense of something shifting beneath the surface, waiting to be seen.

When the trees part, the scene ahead slams into view. A jagged rupture tears through the heart of the creek bed, its edges glowing with an eerie, pale light that pulses like a slow heartbeat.

The creek's current, once smooth and melodic, is now torn from its path, diverted violently into the fracture. Water gushes down with a hiss as it meets the hot stone below.

A thick cloud of steam billows upward, veiling the crack in a ghostly shroud.

The air vibrates with a quiet, unnatural hum that brushes against the inside of my skull, crawling down my spine.

I take another step, and the heat from the steam kisses my face.

Something is wrong. Not just dangerous, but deliberate.

"Damn," Eli breathes.

Sawyer crouches, keeping clear of the edge. "This isn’t a line reaction. It’s a rupture."

"And it started last night," I say.

He doesn’t look away from the glow. "Then it’s too late to undo it. She’s already part of this. And so are you."

The fracture hums beneath us, a steady thrum that crawls up through the soles of my boots and settles in my bones. The low vibration is constant, like the pulse of something ancient just beneath the surface, alert and aware of our presence. The land feels alive, aware. Watching.

This isn’t just about her anymore. It’s about all of us. And whatever’s coming next.