Page 3 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

I smile wryly. "I know many scientists don't buy into the idea of ley lines or their power, but when you've lived here for as long as I have, you can feel them. Glacier Hollow is different."

“I don’t buy the mystical explanation, but I’ll grant you—something here is different. I felt something change when I stepped into the clearing just now. It's as if everything did a sidestep two inches to the left."

She doesn't recognize or understand it, but it just did.

Anabeth moves closer, crouching across from me. Her gaze darts over the stone arrangement, but I can feel her watching me too. Not just the work—me. Her brow furrows in concentration, like she's trying to solve a puzzle she didn't even realize she'd stepped into.

I don’t look away fast enough, and for a second, she catches me staring. Her eyes flick up, surprised but unbothered, and something in them—curiosity, heat, challenge—pulls tightly in my gut.

"Do you always work out here alone?"

"When I'm not doing my day job."

"Which is?"

"Local mechanic and fix-it guy. If it's got an engine and breaks down, I'm the guy you call to get it running again."

Anabeth nods. "Shouldn’t you have backup? A partner? A druid with a flashlight or something?"

I huff a laugh. "You volunteering?"

"Hard pass. I’ve already got a job to do. Besides, if you gave me a spell and a wand, I'd probably conjure up a fire-breathing dragon with an attitude problem."

Her voice is steady and light, but her fingers tremble just slightly as she reaches toward one of the stones. Before I can stop her, she touches it.

A burst of heat flares through the ground—sharp, immediate, alive.

It kicks beneath my boots like a warning shot, but it doesn’t come from her.

Or me. It comes from the line itself, like the earth suddenly recognized her and answered with fire.

Not violent, but intimate. Like a signal.

Like a spark sent out in recognition of something long-awaited.

I move fast, catching her elbow and yanking her back.

Her skin is warm beneath my hand, and the contact jolts through me like touching a live current.

Not painful. Not even startling. Just...

immediate, real, and powerful. Her balance tips into me for a moment, and the weight of her body against mine feels too right.

Too familiar. I steady her, but I don’t let go—not right away.

"What the hell was that for?" she asks, pulling her arm free.

"You could have gotten hurt."

"It’s a rock."

"It’s a volatile conduit running under half this valley. You don’t get that close without knowing how they'll react."

"Who?"

"The ley lines."

She crosses her arms. "And how was I supposed to know that?"

"You weren’t. That’s why I’m telling you now."

Her eyes flash. "You know, just because you’re built like a lumberjack and talk like you wrestle trees doesn’t mean you get to bark orders at me."

My mouth quirks. "I don’t bark."

She glares. "You growl, then."

"Only when I'm trying to be persuasive. Otherwise, I roar."

Something about the way she looks at me, bold and unshaken, lands hard against the raw edge of my control.

It hits the same place deep inside that her scent did back at the store.

Like she doesn’t even realize she’s struck a nerve, unaware her words landed with precision.

My bear paces, clawing at the surface, not out of anger but interest. Sharp, focused interest.

I school my expression. "You shouldn't come out here alone again. It isn't safe, at least not until we get a handle on what’s happening. The ley lines are drawing things they shouldn’t."

She frowns. "I don't believe in ley lines. But if I did, what kind of things would they be drawing?"

I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t know exactly. We've been keeping a close eye on the difference in the ley lines' activity, but only have theories. Warnings I don’t want to give voice to. Old stories that aren’t supposed to be real, let alone repeat themselves.

I choose to tell her something tangible that she will believe.

"Animals acting erratically. Predators too close to town. Strangers. A couple of nights ago, I caught the scent of something near the east ridge that didn’t belong—something I haven’t smelled in over a decade.

And two days before that, my brother Eli spotted claw marks outside the Talbot place.

Deep ones. Too deep for anything that should be wandering this close to town. "

Her brow furrows. "I thought this area was supposed to be a sanctuary."

"It is. But even sanctuaries can be breached."

She doesn’t argue. Just nods once, then kneels to retrieve her field journal from where she must’ve dropped it.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Beau."

The way she says my name—calm, sure, like it belongs on her tongue—rattles something deep inside me.

Not just recognition. Not just heat. It hits with a quiet finality, a turn I can’t undo.

Like the moment the lock clicks and the door swings open.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me, not yet.

But I do, and the part of me that’s still trying to be rational? That part just took a knee.

"Anytime, Anabeth."

She turns and disappears through the trees; her steps quiet, purposeful.

I watch her go, unable to move, jaw tight, every nerve on edge.

My bear strains forward, restless again, torn between following her and standing guard.

The forest stills, every rustle and birdsong vanishing into a sudden, loaded quiet.

Even the wind seems to hush, like the land itself isn’t ready to let her go.

I want to call after her. To warn her. To bring her back into the circle of my protection. But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I wait in the growing silence, feeling the tension wind tighter with every heartbeat. Something is coming. And Anabeth just walked straight into the middle of it.

But the land is louder now. Not just alive—but alert.

Every root, every shadow, every pulse beneath my boots feels drawn to her, like the whole forest just realized she’s arrived.

And somewhere deep in that quiet, I swear I hear it—not her voice, but her name.

Whispered like a promise... or a warning.