Page 6 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

BEAU

T he second the shout hits the air, instinct takes over.

My boots dig into the dirt as I sprint toward the sound, with no time to look back and see if Anabeth is keeping pace.

I already know she is. That woman charges headfirst into everything, including danger she doesn’t understand.

And right now, the last place she should be is near whatever caused the alarm.

The schoolyard comes into view as I round the corner, lungs steady, eyes scanning. A small group of locals stands near the edge of the swing set, some pointing, others herding kids away from the play yard and toward the building.

Burt, the wiry guy from the hardware store, waves me over. "It was right there," he says, gesturing toward the edge of the treeline. "Something big. Just watching. Then it turned and disappeared."

I slow to a walk, keeping my movements calm, measured.

No need to escalate panic. The trees on the far side of the lot stand still, but I can feel it—the way the forest holds a breath that doesn’t belong to it.

Something was here. Not just a bobcat or coyote.

Something that doesn’t give a damn about boundaries.

"Define 'something big'?" I need to know what he saw.

"I don't know, just something big. It didn't look like anything I've seen..."

His voice trails off as I hear Anabeth coming up behind me.

She slows to a stop beside me, her breathing soft but steady, a quiet presence that registers more than noise ever could.

She doesn’t speak. She’s watching, processing.

I glance at her, and she gives a small nod, her lips pressed into a firm line.

Brave. Sharp. But that doesn’t mean she’s safe.

"Everyone inside," I call to the group, tone low but firm. "Keep the kids away from the woods until further notice. If anyone sees anything else, you come straight to me, Sawyer or any of my brothers. Don’t go wandering off to get a better look."

The crowd disperses slowly, a few sideways glances in Anabeth’s direction.

She ignores them, eyes narrowed on the treeline like she’s trying to burn through the undergrowth with sheer focus.

Her stance is steady, but there’s a faint tremor in her fingers she probably doesn’t even realize is there, like her body’s bracing for a threat her mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

There’s something fierce in her posture—defiant, proud, and beautifully out of place. I can’t stop watching the way her jaw ticks with tension, the way her focus sharpens instead of fraying. Damn, she’s something else... and she's ours, my bear reminds me.

"It’s gone," I tell her. "Whatever it was."

"But it was here," she says, voice quiet but certain.

I nod once. "Probably, at least according to Burt, and he's usually pretty reliable."

We stand there a moment longer, just listening.

The forest stays silent, but the tension in the air hasn’t lifted.

Not completely. I glance at her, and for the briefest second, our eyes meet.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. There’s heat there, banked and tightly wound, but it’s real.

The kind that presses into your skin and lingers long after the spark fades.

My pulse kicks, but I say nothing. I don’t need to.

The forest may be still, but between us, something’s changing.

She finally turns to me. "You said earlier the ley lines were drawing things. Is this what you meant?"

"This is part of it," I admit. "The lines have been... unstable lately. Like they’re waking up and dragging things with them. Things that shouldn’t be this close to town."

"You think the bobcat tracks I saw were one of those things?"

"I think something’s throwing everything off balance. And whatever it is, it’s getting bolder."

Her brow furrows, and for a second I see the question on her tongue.

Her lips part, just slightly, like she’s about to ask—but then she stops herself.

I can see it playing out in her eyes, the curiosity, the tension.

She wants to know what I’m not saying. Wants to press.

And hell, I almost want her to. Almost. She wants to pry deeper, to ask why I keep talking like the land has opinions and why I sound like I know what’s coming next.

But she doesn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, she folds her arms across her chest and glances toward the trailhead. "I think I may have left my field recorder near the ley stone this morning."

I don’t hesitate. "I don't think so, but I'd be happy to check for you." I see her body posture stiffen. "Or I could walk you back."

It’s not just about the ley lines, or whatever prowled through the schoolyard earlier today.

It’s her. The way she squares off with the unknown like she’s got something to prove.

The way her presence threads into me as if I’ve known her longer than the few minutes we’ve exchanged sarcasm and warning looks.

I tell myself it’s about keeping her safe, and that’s part of it.

But it’s also the excuse I’ve been waiting for to walk beside her a little longer. To stay close. Not to let go just yet.

"You don’t have to," she says, though there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes—reluctance laced with curiosity.

"I know," I say. "But I want to."

She studies me for a beat, then nods. "Alright. Let’s go."

We take the long way, avoiding the trees directly behind the school. I'm not sure if or what was up here earlier, but I don't want to find out... not with Anabeth alongside me. Anabeth, who has no idea shifters even exist or that the man walking beside her is a grizzly-shifter.

The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but charged with things neither of us is ready to say aloud.

As we navigate a narrow bend in the path, her hand brushes mine—just a featherlight touch, accidental or maybe not—but it hits like a flare.

Her fingers linger a moment longer than necessary.

She doesn’t pull away. Neither do I. I glance sideways, catching the faint tightening of her jaw, the slight part of her lips like she’s holding something back.

It draws me in, sharp and magnetic, leaving my skin humming where her hand touched mine.

My bear surges, prowling just beneath the surface, restless and hungry.

That fleeting brush of her fingers isn’t enough—it only sharpens the need.

He wants her pressed close, backed against the rough bark of a redwood while her warmth burns through the space between us.

He wants to mark her with something more primal than words.

I grit my teeth, fists flexing at my sides, and keep my eyes on the trail.

If I let myself look at her now, I won’t remember why restraint matters.

We walk in tandem, her shoulder close enough that if she leaned just a little, we’d be touching.

I catch the way she occasionally glances my way, like she’s working out a question but doesn’t want to give it voice.

The tension between us builds with every step—not just because of what might be watching from the woods, but because she’s here, beside me, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that matters less than everything else.

We reach the clearing. Her gear sits exactly where she left it, untouched and waiting in the dappled light like a sentinel.

I am surprised that I didn’t notice it earlier—though to be fair, I was focused on the woman beside me, not the shadows ahead.

Still, I don’t let that distract me now.

I widen my stance, eyes sweeping the edge of the trees, body alert.

Every sense strains for movement, for the wrong kind of stillness, for the gut-deep signal that danger hasn't passed, just paused.

Anabeth crouches beside her field recorder, adjusting dials, checking readings.

Her fingers move quickly and confidently.

She’s in her element, but I can see the tension in her shoulders hasn’t eased.

I study her as she works—the way her brow furrows with focus, the tiny crease that forms between her eyes when she adjusts a dial, the smooth efficiency of her movements.

She crouches as if she belongs to the land, like it knows her, and for a moment I forget why I came out here in the first place.

My bear rumbles low, recognizing something it doesn’t need language to understand. I step closer, keeping my voice low.

"This part of the woods—don’t come out here alone again. Especially not at night."

She looks up, one eyebrow raised. "Because of ley lines and ghosts in the trees?"

"Because there are things in these woods that don’t care about your education or your air horn. They understand only strength. Territory. And what’s worth protecting."

She blinks. "And you’ve decided I’m worth protecting?"

"I have."

Directness and honesty must be unfamiliar to her.

Something flickers across her face—surprise at first, then a flicker of emotion that slips past her guard.

Curiosity, maybe. Or something warmer, harder to name.

Her gaze holds mine for a beat too long, like she’s turning something over in her mind, weighing it. Testing me.

She stands slowly, equipment gathered in her arms. "So this is what? A neighborly escort? Or are you planning to follow me home and glare at my porch for another hour or two?"

Her voice is light, teasing, but something in it tugs at the part of me that isn’t so easily soothed.

I swear my bear perks up at the challenge, keyed in by her tone, her stance, the rise of her chin like she dares me to cross a line.

She’s testing me, not because she doesn’t trust me, but because she wants to know if I can handle her sharp edges.

And damn if I don’t want to trace every one of them with my tongue.

"Maybe I’m hoping you’ll offer supper or at least coffee."

She huffs a laugh. "You don’t seem like the type who needs much in the way of fuel—caffeine or otherwise."

"Maybe not. But I wouldn’t mind the company—especially if it means another few minutes of watching you try not to flirt with me."

Her expression softens, just a little. "I am not interested in flirting with you."

"Why not?" I ask with a grin.

"You’re intense. You know that?"

Her eyes skim my face like she’s trying to figure out what makes me tick, if the intensity comes from purpose or from something darker, deeper. Her lips twitch like she might smile, then don’t.

I step forward, close enough that the air shifts between us. "Only when it matters."

She doesn’t back away. Doesn’t smile either.

Just holds my gaze, steady and unflinching, until the weight of it settles deep in my chest. A single breath passes between us, thick with everything neither of us is saying.

Her pupils dilate slightly, and I swear the air tightens.

I feel it in the base of my spine, in the way my fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to test how far she'd let me go before she pushed back. But she doesn’t flinch, and I don’t step away.

The moment stretches, quiet and electric.

"Let’s go," she says. "Before you decide to build a barricade outside my door."

"Wouldn’t be the worst idea."

She turns, and we walk together in silence, the ocean wind brushing through the trees as we follow the trail back.

My bear stays close to the surface the entire way, ears tuned to every sound.

I try to focus on the surroundings to keep my head clear.

But all it takes is the whisper of branches or the shift of her shadow beside mine to rattle that control.

Halfway back, I freeze. Just for a second.

A sound cuts through the quiet—low, distant, and wrong.

It rustles the underbrush to the west like something too heavy to belong.

My head tilts instinctively, body taut, breath held.

Anabeth halts beside me, every line of her frame tense, alert.

Her eyes sweep the trees, sharp and searching, as if she can feel it too—whatever's out there, watching.

"What is it?" she asks, voice low.

I raise my hand, signaling her to stay still.

The forest falls into an unnatural hush—no birdsong, no rustle of leaves, not even the usual scamper of something small in the underbrush.

Just silence, thick and absolute. My bear tenses, ears laid flat, while a slow coil of tension knots deep in my gut.

Every part of me goes alert, tuned to a frequency I can't name but have always known.

Then it passes. Whatever it was either moved on—or it’s watching.

I scan the trees, eyes narrowing at the faintest shimmer of movement—too fast to track, too silent to dismiss.

A shadow lingers between two trunks longer than it should, and a low crack, like a twig under weight, punctuates the quiet.

Nothing obvious. Nothing solid. But enough to make every instinct in me flare.

My bear goes still, every sense stretched thin, listening. Waiting.

I shake it off and nod for her to keep going, but the unease stays lodged behind my ribs like a splinter I can’t dig out. This forest has always been alive. But now it feels like it’s watching—calculating. Not just aware but interested.

Whatever’s lurking in the trees isn’t half as dangerous as the pull between us. It’s taut and simmering, waiting to snap. And when it does, it won’t be the forest that burns.