Page 9 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

BEAU

T he sound of her voice stays with me longer than I like. That quiet, fierce declaration she made to the empty room presses against something deep inside me. ' I'm not running this time.'

The words weren’t just brave. They were intimate, as if she’d been speaking them directly to me.

They carry louder than the wind through the trees, louder than the waves crashing against the rocky shoreline, louder than the restless energy pulsing beneath the soil.

That kind of resolve sparks something primal inside me.

A surge of protectiveness rises, fierce and immediate.

I feel it lock tight across my chest, that instinct to claim, to shield, to remain close.

She doesn’t even know she’s mine yet.

But I do, and so does my bear. Hearing that strength in her voice?

It just makes the pull stronger. I heard it as I was moving back through the woods, every syllable sticking like a burr in my fur.

It's not just the words. It's how she said them.

Certain, not reckless, as if she'd decided that whatever comes next, she plans to meet it head-on.

Dammit. I didn’t want to leave her.

Not because she can’t take care of herself. She’s strong, smart, sharp as hell. But the air around her has changed. And it’s not just the eyes in the fog. I saw them too—not at her cottage, but in other places in the fog.

The ley lines are flaring. Something’s coming, not just coming, it's already here.

The beast inside me surges, demanding I stay rooted outside her cottage until daylight claws over the ridge.

Every instinct urges me to become the barrier between her and whatever might be waiting beyond the trees.

I want to hold vigil beneath her window, to stand guard while she sleeps, completely unaware of how close danger could be.

The pull to protect tightens across my shoulders, an ache as fierce as it is unrelenting.

But I can't—not like this. Not in human skin, not when there's ground to cover and threats to track. There's more to guard than just the woman behind that window, even if she is my fated mate.

I step off the trail and into the dense cover of undergrowth.

The redwoods rise overhead, their massive trunks vanishing into the starlit canopy.

Damp earth yields beneath my boots, the forest floor softened by layers of moss and fallen needles.

The silence isn't empty; it breathes around me, heavy with unseen life and quiet intention.

My skin prickles as that hush draws close, cloaking me in its stillness.

Each step forward presses deeper into the woods that have long known my presence in both forms, the weight of that bond settling into my chest with every slow stride.

I find the hollowed-out stump I’ve used a dozen times before and strip off my clothes and boots quickly, the chill brushing over my skin as I fold my clothes and tuck them deep inside, placing my boots on top of them.

I press my hand to the bark, more out of habit than need, grounding myself in the living heart of the forest.

The ground responds.

Ley energy hums beneath my feet, rising with a low, steady vibration.

It pulses through the soil like the land itself is holding its breath, waiting, watching.

The thrum moves through my bones, not just beneath them.

I let it in. Let it rattle through my chest, tug at the muscles in my back.

The pull of it coils low in my gut, a tether not just to the land, but to her.

It feels ancient. Unrelenting. And it isn’t just energy now; it’s intent. Like the earth has made up its mind and she’s the reason it’s come awake. It's stronger here. Thicker. And I know why... her.

The thought of her stirs my blood. Not just because she's my fated mate, though that truth sinks deeper every minute I spend near her. It’s more than that.

Anabeth’s presence sharpens things that have been dormant for too long.

Not just in me. In the land. In the air. Even the damn animals are stirred up.

I kneel, palm flat against the earth, and close my eyes.

The ground is cool beneath my skin, firm and alive, humming with the weight of everything it's holding. I breathe in the silence, the tension vibrating just beneath the surface like a tightly coiled wire. A beat passes. Then another. My fingers press deeper into the soil, as if I can anchor myself there, feel something that makes sense. My pulse slows, just a little. My mind doesn’t.

Thoughts of her crowd in, uninvited and unshakable.

Her strength. Her fire. The way she looked tonight, not afraid, not exactly.

Determined. That look has burrowed under my skin, and I can’t seem to shake it.

The mist surges up fast, thick and alive, curling from the forest floor with purpose. It wraps around my legs, climbs my torso, swirls over my chest and shoulders like a living current. The air turns cooler now, brimming with electricity. The sky grumbles in the distance, low and ominous.

I draw in a breath, steady and deliberate, letting the forest's stillness fill my lungs. Tension ebbs as I exhale slowly, grounding myself in the moment. My body loosens, mind sharpening, every part of me bracing for the shift that’s not just physical.

It’s elemental, profound, and grounding in a way that reaches deeper than thought.

The anticipation vibrates through muscle and marrow, each breath syncing with something older than language.

I welcome it, open to the raw power that rises within me, ready to become the creature this land remembers.

The mist folds over my head, thick and cool, falling like a veil drawn shut, sealing me inside the silence and power of the forest's will.

When the mist falls away, I’m no longer standing upright.

My body is heavy with muscle and fur, massive and rooted in a strength older than memory.

The man recedes, quiet in the back of my mind.

The grizzly steps forward with steady purpose, wild, focused, and completely whole.

This isn’t just instinct. It settles over me, enveloping every part of me with a fierce familiarity.

It’s not just a transformation. It’s a homecoming, a return to what’s always been beneath the surface, to what has always been true.

The earth responds beneath my paws, pulsing in quiet acknowledgment.

The forest opens ahead, not merely as a path I traverse, but as an extension of my being.

I am bark and breath, claw and shadow. I blink once, slow and deliberate, immersed in the present, fully embodied in what I was always meant to become.

The forest shifts with me. The change is not confined to my body; it settles into the terrain itself.

Every sound sharpens, each leaf and limb bending with recognition.

Trees seem to draw nearer. The thump of my paws against the damp soil reverberates, deep and resonant, as though I have been absorbed into some ancient, living rhythm.

My grizzly is grounded in a way the man never can be. Every sound registers. Every vibration. My body is heavier, stronger, older. I am not separate from the woods now. I am part of it.

I pause long enough to orient, ears twitching, nose lifted to catch what the air won't give away. The forest’s rhythm is wrong.

There’s a silence that thickens with each breath.

Deer tracks crisscross in confused spirals, not the steady lines they normally follow.

A bobcat’s trail winds dangerously close to the northern boundary, a meandering path that speaks of unease rather than purpose.

My muscles go taut. The balance is wrong, disrupted in a way that makes the air feel heavier.

The ley lines beat beneath me with an uneven pulse that reverberates through my limbs, a discordant rhythm that doesn’t belong.

Under my paws, the earth trembles with a pressure that's never surged this strong before.

It radiates outward from a single point—directly beneath her cottage.

I push through the undergrowth, staying low and moving fast, flanking her place from the east where the trees thin just enough to catch a glimpse.

The cottage is dark and quiet, its windows offering no sign of life—until her silhouette appears, softened by the curtain’s gauzy edge.

She's seated on the couch, back straight, journal open on her lap like a shield.

Still. Focused. A lone sentinel braced against the night.

I linger, breath held, an ache settling low and insistent in my chest. She doesn’t know I watch her from the shadows, silent and unseen, noting the quiet tension threaded through her posture.

There's a stillness in the air that she senses too, a change in the night’s rhythm that makes her sit a little straighter, her body taut and alert, as if waiting for something she can’t quite name.

Her shoulders are squared, chin lifted just enough to suggest she’s bracing for more than silence.

She's not untouched by this place. She's not afraid.

She's bracing. Ready. And even alone, she’s standing her ground.

I want to stay. Just for a minute longer.

To make sure the stillness isn’t hiding something deeper.

My paws sink into the cool soil, muscles drawn taut, every instinct anchored to the quiet cottage beyond the treeline.

The bear inside me aches to hold vigil, to wait through the dark hours with the ancient calm only he can offer.

But it isn’t only instinct that chains me here. .. it'sher.

Something elemental stirs beneath my skin, raw and live-wired.

Her silhouette lingers behind my eyes, backlit by that faint amber glow in the window.

I swear I can feel the rhythm of her heartbeat through the earth.

Not imagined. Not sensed. Just... known.

It draws me, steady and relentless, like an invisible thread stretched taut between us.

I inhale, slow and deep, grounding myself in the weighted hush of the forest, the quiet stretch of trees and the brittle crack of distant limbs.

No enchantment. No heightened senses. Just her, existing in this world with such presence that it shifts the balance around her. The wild tilts toward her. And so do I.

God, I want to stay. Every part of me strains to remain in this moment. But wanting doesn’t grant permission. Not tonight.

I force my body to turn away. My grizzlywants to stay all night, but I can't.

I circle back. Down the slope, through thicker brush, deeper into the woods. The ley lines fork here. One streaks west toward the coast. The other snakes inland, past the ridges. I pace the edges where they meet, senses stretched tight.

Something moved here.Not just an animal.

Something more. Something else. A presence I can sense but not define, as if the forest itself is reacting to something older and deeper than words.

The feeling roots in my bones, threading tension through my spine.

It's not confusion exactly, or fear, but a primal certainty that resists translation.

The trees glisten faintly from the lingering fog, their trunks slick with moisture.

I move closer to the base of a redwood, the soil soft and giving beneath my paws.

There, buried beneath the familiar pine and damp earth, something faint scratches at my senses.

The trail is subtle, faint and acidic, slicing through the forest's tapestry like a wound. It cuts against the harmony of the terrain, jarring and foreign, a scar that shouldn’t be here.

It doesn’t belong, and it raises every hair along my neck.

Predators don’t move like this. Not the natural kind.

Whatever it was had circled the cottage with eerie precision before veering back across the ley line, as if it moved with purpose, like it recognized something ancient beneath the surface and followed it by design.

That calculated retreat sends a chill crawling up my spine, not just for what it implies, but for what it refuses to reveal.

A low growl rumbles from deep within me, the vibration thrumming through my ribs and into the silence around me. It bleeds into the night air, unspoken and unmistakable, a primal warning meant for anything lurking beyond the trees.

Another deer bolts nearby, its hooves skittering in the brush, jolting through the undergrowth like a startled thought I can’t quite catch.

My ears twitch, tracking the sound as it cuts a ragged path too close to the boundary of her property.

I tense, eyes narrowing, instincts flaring hot and sharp.

They're not merely startled. They're responding to something precise, something they can sense but not outrun.

Drawn instead of scattered, and that sends a fresh spike of unease through me.

I adjust my stance, recalibrating my balance with a measured step as my gaze tracks back toward the dark line of trees that shroud her cottage from sight.

My chest tightens. If the deer are circling instead of fleeing, it means the ley energy is warping the natural order.

I feel it now more than ever, a primal hum threading through the ground beneath my paws, as if the heartbeat of the earth itself is drawing them in with an ancient, inescapable pull.

A low sound builds in my throat, but I swallow it. No use giving myself away. Not yet. I'm too close to town; too close to her. They're being drawn toward the energy instead of repelled by it.

My instincts press hard. I circle again to try and find the source and stay close.But I force myself to move on. Not far, but enough to widen the sweep. There’s more land to check. More threads of tension to trace. I have to trust she’s safe inside those walls for now.

Still, I can't quite pull myself away. I mark the edge of the ridge one last time, casting a final glance toward the veil of trees that hides her home. My gut's tight, my instincts rigid. But I make a choice. I’ll loop back before the sun crests the horizon. Sooner, if that feeling in my chest flares again. Either way, I’m not done here. Not even close.

And if anything dares cross that threshold?

It’ll find itself hunted—stalked through the dark by something it never sees coming. I won’t let it leave. Not with her still inside that cottage. Not while I breathe.