Page 21 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

BEAU

T he moment the howl fades, the forest holds its breath.

Not just the kind of silence that follows a loud sound, but something deeper.

Expectant. Waiting. My body is strung tight, ready to fight or protect or both, but all I can think about is the way Anabeth looked at me just now—challenging me, daring me to see her as something more than a threat.

I scan the trees, every instinct stretched to the edge, listening for something I can’t name.

The silence isn’t safety. It’s a predator crouched just beyond the next breath.

My bear shifts under my skin, alert, pressing forward, trying to scent what’s changed.

But it’s not just the forest that’s waiting.

It’s her. Anabeth, standing in the middle of a place no outsider should survive, daring the woods to reject her.

I reach for her hand, slow and deliberate, giving her the chance to pull away if she wants to. My fingers hover close before closing the distance, brushing her knuckles lightly before I let my palm settle against hers, steady and sure.

Her skin is cool but steady, her grip strong despite everything.

Her fingers close around mine like we’ve done this before, like something in her remembers us even if her mind doesn’t.

The contact is soft at first, then stronger, like her body is matching mine without needing instruction.

The warmth of her skin bleeds into my palm, quiet but insistent, and I swear something in the air exhales.

We walk through the woods in silence, the energy still humming beneath the ground like a warning we haven’t earned the right to ignore.

She keeps pace with me, her head tilted slightly like she’s listening not just for danger, but for the rhythm of the land beneath her feet.

That alone makes something in my chest tighten.

Most people resist the land’s voice, pretend it’s not speaking.

She doesn’t. She listens. And the forest notices.

I keep my body between her and the trees, scanning the dark for any movement.

The threat is still out there. Maybe it always will be.

She keeps pace with me, her head tilted slightly like she’s listening not just for danger, but for the rhythm of the land beneath her feet.

That alone makes something in my chest tighten.

Most people resist the land’s voice, pretend it’s not speaking.

She doesn’t. She listens. And the forest notices.

When we reach the circle of stones deep in the forest, I stop.

This is the place. I chose it for a reason.

The ring has stood here longer than memory, each stone etched with moss and shadow, the ground beneath thrumming where the ley lines knot together like roots.

The energy is strongest here—potent, but steady, stable enough to hold what we’re about to ask of it.

My father brought my mother to this circle when he bonded with her.

The stones remember. The forest remembers.

And now it’s my turn. I don’t know if Anabeth feels it yet, the weight of the land gathering around us, but I do.

It presses close, ancient and watchful, not just ceremony but recognition. Acceptance.

Anabeth turns slowly, her gaze brushing over the stones instead of the sea.

Here there is no sight of the ocean, no glimpse of water.

There's only the shelter of the trees and the sentience of the earth itself.

She draws in a breath, her hair stirring with the faintest movement of air inside the circle.

“This is the first time I’ve felt like I could breathe since I got here,” she whispers, voice soft but certain.

"Because the land wants you here."

She glances at me. "Does it? Or is it warning me?"

"Both. That’s how it works. It pushes, tests, bends. If you’re not supposed to be here, it breaks you. If you are… it changes you."

Her throat moves with a swallow. "And you think it wants to change me?"

"I think it already has."

I move closer until our foreheads brush, and the contact hits like a strike of lightning trapped under my ribs.

Her breath catches. Mine does too. For a second, we don’t speak.

There’s nothing left to explain. It’s all written in the space between us.

In the quiet that wraps around our bones and waits to see what we’ll choose.

I take a step closer, framing her face with both hands.

She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes search mine, not with fear, but with fire.

She’s scared, yes, but she’s still standing.

Still here. I lean in until our foreheads touch.

Her breath catches. Mine does too. For a second, we don’t speak. There’s nothing left to explain.

I draw her hand into mine and reach for the ceremonial dagger, the blade etched with marks from every bond before ours. “This is where it’s done,” I tell her quietly. “The place my father and brother bound themselves to their mates. The way I will bind myself to you.”

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull back. She already knows what we are—fated, bound before we ever touched. This isn’t about proof. It’s about sealing what’s already ours.

I slice her palm, then mine, the sting sharp but fleeting, a mark that will fade but never be forgotten. From the family’s bonding sash, I pull the leather cord worn smooth by years of use. I press our hands together, blood mingling, and wind the cord tight until the two of us are bound as one.

Her eyes lock to mine, wide and luminous in the shadows of the stones.

“My blood in your veins,” I vow, my voice steady even as my chest pounds. “Your breath in my lungs. I claim you, Anabeth, not because fate chose you for me, but because I would choose you, in every life, in every world, even if fate had stayed silent.”

The words hang in the circle like an oath etched into the air itself.

The ley lines stir beneath our feet, answering with a low vibration that rises through the ground and into our bones.

The stones hum faintly, glowing with a soft light along ancient cracks, as if the earth itself has woken to witness what we’ve done.

The forest leans closer, branches whispering overhead, the land alive and listening.

But all I feel is her. The heat of her hand in mine, her pulse beating steady against my skin. The bond is sealed, not only by blood and cord, but by the land that now claims us both.

I brush the backs of my fingers down her arm, slow enough to feel each hair rise under the pass.

She shivers, not from cold. It’s a quiet kind of desire, the kind that doesn’t demand but waits with certainty.

Her eyes stay locked on mine, wide and steady, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll flinch before she does.

She steps into me, presses her hand to my chest. "You have a lot of rules, Beau Hayes. But if you're asking me to stay, then make sure you understand mine. I'm not some fragile thing you can hide away. If I stay, I fight with you. I learn. I don’t want protection. I want partnership."

Her voice doesn’t shake. Not even a little.

That wrecks me more than if she had cried.

She’s not asking to be protected. She’s demanding to stand at my side.

Every instinct in me wants to shield her from the storm, but she’s the kind of woman who’d rather walk into it than let it pass without her.

I can’t protect her the way I want. But I can stand beside her while the wind tries to tear us both apart.

I wrap my arms around her, tight, burying my face in her neck.

Her lips brush my throat when she nods, and the contact is so small, so unintentional, it tears something loose in me.

My whole body tightens with the need to pull her closer, to let the weight of what we’re choosing turn into something physical, something permanent.

But I hold back. Because the bond is already forming beneath the skin, beneath the blood.

The land knows. And I think she does too.

"Then stay," I murmur, my voice low and certain. "Not behind me. Not beneath me. Stay beside me. Fight with me, Anabeth with all of us."

Her hands slide around my ribs. "I’m not going anywhere."

We stand like that for a long moment, the breeze shifting around us, the forest slowly exhaling. Then I reach into my jacket and pull out the small pouch I brought. Inside are two rings, carved from the wood of a ley-anchored cedar stump. Symbol and promise.

"We don’t wear gold," I say. "We wear the land. If you take this, it means you’re choosing to be part of us. The Hayes family. Redwood Rise. Me."

I explain the tradition slowly, not just the gesture, but the roots of it.

How every Hayes ring is carved from a tree that sits on sacred ley ground.

How the land watches the carving, judges the bond before it begins.

She listens without interrupting, her fingers brushing the wood as if she already knows it means more than a promise.

It’s belonging carved into something eternal.

She doesn’t hesitate. "Put it on me."

I slide the ring onto her finger, and she takes the second one and fits it onto mine. The second the wood touches skin, the ley lines pulse. A deep, resonant thrum that rises up through the soil and into our bones.

"I love you Anabeth."

"I love you too," she says, stumblinga half step and grips my arm.

I steady her, but I don’t speak. The line is introducing itself, latching into her bones like a second pulse.

Her pupils dilate. Her lips part. I see the moment it settles in her body like heat under skin, and something inside me howls with fierce, selfish joy.

The land accepted her. Chose her. Not just for me, but for itself.

She gasps, eyes wide. "It feels alive."

"It is. And now it knows you're one of us."

Within the circle of stones, my brothers and Cilla stand in quiet witness. They don’t interrupt, just stand with quiet pride as the wind tugs at their jackets.

Calder calls out, "Looks like she’s staying." Cilla elbows him in the ribs.

Eli grins. "About damn time."

We head back to the family's compound where my renovated and converted railway car waits for us. The seven of us walking in easy silence. A unit. A family.

But even as warmth spreads through my chest, something deep in the ground pulses again. Not with welcome. With warning.

Anabeth glances around as we enter the family compound where each of our individual and unique homes sits. She slows as we approach my railway car. Her footsteps are quieter, her eyes tracing the lines of the structure with growing curiosity.

"This is it?" she asks softly.

"Home," I confirm.

The exterior gleams with the quiet dignity of a bygone era, the aged wood and steel polished to a soft sheen that speaks of both time and care.

Its vintage silhouette remains unmistakable.

The doorway is understated but resolute—a heavy, beautifully grained wood slab fitted with hand-forged iron hardware I shaped myself at the forge, the blackened metal cool and strong beneath the touch.

This isn’t showy design. It’s craftsmanship meant to endure.

Inside, I watch her step into the space.

Her breath hitches—not in shock, but in that subtle way people react to something unexpected but right.

The flooring is wide-plank oak, the walls paneled in reclaimed pine.

The kitchen is compact but elegant, with stone countertops, brushed copper fixtures, and a gas range I swear by.

Overhead, exposed beams run the length of the ceiling, low enough to feel grounded but not cramped.

She walks the narrow corridor, fingers brushing the wall before she finds the powder room tucked neatly to the side and then pauses at the entrance to the bedroom.

"One bed?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

I raise a brow. "You planning on needing another?"

A flush rises in her cheeks, but her smile is unmistakable. "Just making an observation."

"It’s small," I admit. "But it’s real. Everything in here, I built or chose. There’s nothing for show."

She steps fully into the bedroom, taking in the deep navy linens, the thick wool blankets, the small bookshelves built into the wall.

"It’s beautiful," she says finally. "Not in a designed way. In a lived-in, meant-to-be kind of way."

"Like you," I say, stepping in behind her.

She turns to face me, her hand rising to rest lightly on my chest. "Like us."

We stand in the hush that belongs to places built with intention. And though the land outside still hums with watchfulness, in here, for just a moment, it’s quiet.

We go out onto the small porch off the bedroom.

My skin tightens as if the wind just changed direction, and something cold slides along the back of my neck.

I stop and look to see my brothers horsing around and Cilla laughing at their antics.

The others don't notice. But I do. The pulse from earlier isn’t gone.

It’s buried somewhere below the surface, patient and waiting.

It saw what we did, and it remembers. This wasn’t a bonding. It was a declaration of war.

In the distance, the mist curls unnaturally tight around the trees. A shape seems to move behind it. Not a deer. Not a bear. Not anything I recognize. Tall enough to be a man, but wrong in a way the eye can’t hold.

I blink and it’s gone. The forest exhales again, but this time, it feels like a warning shot.This isn’t over.

Whatever we woke is watching. And it’s not done with us yet.