Page 4 of The Alpha’s Bounty (Night Grove Falls: The Alphas #2)

We clear the rise, and my cabin comes into view through the trees.

Timber and stone. The chimney rising against the sky.

A deep porch with two chairs that I never sit in because I’m always moving.

Bringing her here does something strange to the underpinnings of my life, like furniture rearranged in a room I thought was settled.

Mina stops at the edge of the clearing, eyes flicking over the roofline, the stack of split wood by the steps, and the heavy door. I see what she sees: a place with space for quiet and solidity for safety.

“This is…yours?”

Ours, my bear grunts.

“Yes,” I confirm.

She nods, drawing in a breath like she’s about to duck underwater. I squeeze her hand before releasing it to climb the porch steps and open the door. The scent of cedar, coffee, and a faint hint of lemon oil greets me. Home smells like the things you touch without thinking.

I stand back so she can enter. She hesitates on the threshold as if she might trip an alarm before stepping inside.

The living room is large and open-plan: a stone fireplace, a worn sofa, books lining one wall, a table scarred by a thousand meals, and the boots I forget to put away when my knees ache.

The kitchen is open, the counters neat because I learned from my mother that clutter multiplies like rabbits if you let it.

Light spills through the tall windows, burnishing everything with a warm glow.

Mina turns in a slow circle, the strap of her backpack squeaking as she shifts it. “It’s… nice.”

“Thanks.” I set my keys in the bowl by the door, toe off my boots, and gesture to the rack. “You can leave yours there. I have slippers if you want. Or socks if you prefer. The bathroom is down the hall to the left. Kitchen’s fair game. If you’re hungry?—”

“I am.” She says it like a confession.

“Good. Sit.” I point at the table. “I’ll put something together.”

“Cyrus.” My name in her mouth shakes something deep inside my soul. “I don’t—I can help.”

“You will help,” I say lightly as I move into the kitchen. “Later. After you eat and drink water and remember what it feels like not to run.”

Water first. Food after. It’s an old rule my dad taught me.

I fill a glass and set it in front of her.

She watches me like she’s waiting for the catch.

Then she drinks. The tendons in her throat work as she swallows.

I stand there like an idiot, admiring the way the fading sunlight threads through the strands of her dark hair and how her shoulders drop half an inch as the water quenches her thirst.

“I can make soup.” I open the fridge. “Or I have stew, but that’s heavy. A sandwich will be faster. Tell me if you can’t do bread. Or tomatoes. Or?—”

“A sandwich is fine.” A pause. “Thank you.”

I nod and get to work. As I slice, layer, and plate, I talk steadily about the weather and the creek that sometimes floods after heavy spring rains. I tell her about the elk that come down from the ridge when the first snow hits, and how my mother always sang when she baked.

I set the plate down with the turkey and cheese sandwich, a crisp apple on the side, and mustard I make myself because I hate the store-bought kind. Mina stares at it like no one has ever handed her a meal without strings. Maybe no one has.

My bear and I hate that thought.

“I don’t have… money,” she murmurs.

“Okay.” I lift my eyebrows. “Eat.”

She eats. Not like a person familiar with abundance, but someone used to rationing. As if she’s worried it will be taken away from her. Halfway through, a switch flips. Her shoulders ease another inch, and the color in her cheeks warms from a frosty white to a rosy pink.

I make myself sit rather than hover, drinking coffee because my hands need something to do. The kitchen clock ticks. The house settles. My bear relaxes.

Mina wipes her fingers on the napkin and looks at me. “You said you’d help me fix the court thing.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’ll start by calling Rhodes and the others.” I grimace, already hearing Camden’s voice in the back of my head as he says, You did what? “They’ll need to know I’m not bringing you in.”

Her eyes flutter. “Will that… cause trouble for you?”

“Probably.” I don’t sugarcoat. She deserves the truth. “They won’t be thrilled, but they’ll understand once I explain. They know what finding my mate means.”

The word lands again, soft and heavy.

She frowns. “You keep saying that like it’s a fact I should already be on board with.”

My lips twist. “It’s a fact whether you like it or not.”

She watches me for a long moment before saying, “Earlier… in the woods. Your eyes—” She stops and shakes her head as if she’s unsure about what she saw. “They looked different.”

“Mmm.” I sip my coffee. “There are things you don’t know about this place, Mina. About me.”

“I figured that out when you kissed me instead of slapping cuffs on me.”

There’s that dry humor again. I love it.

My pulse kicks as I stand. This is the part where I try to explain the line between the world she knows and the world I was born into. If I do it badly, I could take something from her that I can never give back. Do it well, and I’ll put the truth in her hands, but risk her running again.

“You asked me what fated mates are, but it won’t make sense until you see the rest.”

“The rest?” Her fingers curl on the table. “There’s more?”

“Yes.” I consider how to do this, then decide to do it quickly. No half-measures. “I’m a shifter.”

Silence.

Her breath goes shallow. “A what?”

“Shifter,” I repeat. “A bear shifter. I’m also the Alpha of the East Pack here in Night Grove Falls.” I tip my head toward the window. “This land has been ours for longer than any deed in City Hall states.”

She shakes her head once. Twice. “Shifters? None of that stuff is real.”

“It is.”

“You can’t—People can’t?—”

“Shift into something else?” I supply. “Some of us can.”

Mina surges to her feet as if the chair has suddenly sprouted teeth, but she doesn’t bolt. She just stares at me skeptically. “Prove it.”

My bear surges to his feet so fast that I sway.

Yes. Show. Now.

“Okay. But I’m going to set some rules.”

Her chin comes up. “Rules?”

“Stay by the table. I’m going to move the rug. There’s a… mess factor.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. “You do this in your living room?”

“I live here,” I remind her. “Where else would I do it?”

She snorts, and the sound loosens something in my chest. I roll the rug back and push the coffee table to the side, giving myself space.

“This won’t hurt you,” I say, meeting her eyes. “ I won’t hurt you. If you want me to stop at any point, say my name.”

She nods, lips pressed together.

I take my shirt off because my mother raised me to be practical.

She would smack me if I tore another flannel down the spine just to make a point.

Boots, socks, and jeans are next. Mina’s eyes widen, then dart away.

My skin heats, but not from modesty. Shifters don’t have much call for that.

No, it’s because she looked at me. My bear purrs as if she’s running a hand down his spine.

“Ready?” I ask.

She swallows. “No.”

I smile. “Honest.”

Then I let go.

Movies and books often portray shifting as screaming, bones breaking, and gore.

It’s not that. It’s pressure and release, a thousand joints waking up to remember they belong in a different position.

Muscles unbraiding and braiding. Breath flattening to a new rhythm.

It’s a heartbeat that grows deeper and slower, drumming in a new chest.

It’s relief.

I land heavily on all fours, claws scraping lightly against the wood floor.

The room expands and condenses all at once.

Edges sharpen. Smells intensify. Mina’s scent is a full-body experience in this skin: a blend of sugar-tart, winter air, and rain after a drought.

I rumble without meaning to, vibrating the picture frames.

Mina doesn’t scream.

She doesn’t run.

She lifts a hand. Not to touch, not yet. She holds it out as if testing the weight of reality in the space between us.

I lower my head. Careful. Careful . I’m bigger than the table now, bigger than anything she’s stood beside that wasn’t a truck or a building. I place my nose an inch from her palm. Warmth rolls off her. My bear closes his eyes. Ours.

Mina draws a breath that sounds like a sob in reverse, air rushing in because something let go inside her. “Holy… God.”

I step back and give her room to look. She does. Eyes wide, mouth soft, scanning the line of my shoulders, the breadth of my chest, the light reflecting from my claws. She walks a half-circle, staying near the table like I asked. My bear huffs. Brave.

“You… You’re really…” She can’t seem to finish her sentence.

I chuff. Affirmation.

“Cyrus,” she whispers.

I instantly shift back. The room snaps to its human edges again.

My knees hit wood. My breath stutters as my lungs resize.

Chilled air licks over my skin as I haul my jeans on with fingers that have too few joints for a second.

Shirt next. Socks. Boots. I stand, roll my shoulders, and lift my gaze to her.

Mina still looks like she’s in shock.

“Questions?” I ask softly.

She nods hard. “A thousand.”

“We’ve got time.” I glance at the window. The sky is tilting toward afternoon. “But I think you could use some rest first.”

She nods again, shifting on her feet.

“Can we…” She gestures around, suddenly unsure. “Can you show me the rest of your place? If I’m staying.”

Staying. The word tucks itself under my ribs.My bear roars happily.

“Yeah. Come on.”

I give her the tour like a man who’s never done this in his life because I haven’t. The pantry, the mudroom, the small office at the back of the house, the safe set into the wall behind an old map.

We head upstairs and down the hallway lined with photos.

My parents on the porch. One of me in my father’s old flannels that looks three sizes too big for me.

Rhodes and I at eighteen, bruised and grinning after a stupid fight we both won.

Camden scowling at a birthday cake we set on fire and called a candle.

I don’t pause long enough for her to study them. Time for that later.

I save the bedroom for last because I’m not an idiot.

I sleep like a bear even in my human form, and I like space.

Windows on two walls. A bed I built myself from reclaimed timber.

A quilt my mother made with blue squares that look like river water.

A dresser, a chair in the corner where I read at night when the house is too quiet.

The bathroom off it is stone and glass, with a shower big enough to turn around in.

Mina stands in the doorway, gripping the strap of her pack as if it’s a harness keeping her from floating off. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” I say easily. “It’s your room if you want it.”

She snaps her attention to me. “No, I-I can’t take your?—”

“I’ll take the couch.”

“You can’t. It’s your house.”

“And you haven’t been somewhere safe for longer than is decent.” I meet her eyes. “Take the bed.”

She stares. “This is crazy.”

My laughter is a little wild. “Yeah. It is.”

Her lashes lower. “Thank you, Cyrus.”

“Of course. Anything you need, it’s yours.”

Mina takes a breath like a swimmer on the block. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Me neither,” I admit, smiling crookedly. “So, we’ll do it badly until we get better.”

That pulls the smallest answering smile from her, surprised and unwilling and beautiful.

“Okay,” she whispers.

My bear settles, chin on his paws, content to watch as she places her pack beside the dresser, as if she doesn’t trust the floor to hold it if she lets go.

She touches the quilt with two fingers as if it might evaporate.

Turning, she takes in the room from a new angle, mapping exits the way she did in the woods, only slower now, less frantic.

I stand in the doorway and let her do her thing. I could fill the air with talk about rules, the pack, schedules, and what we’ll do when Camden chews my ear off about “process”. But I don’t. I give her quiet and space.

“I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Cyrus?”

“Yes.”

She lifts her hand, hesitating before she places it on my forearm. “Thank you,” she whispers. Quiet, sincere, scared. Brave.

Heat rolls through me like a tide.

My bear shuts his eyes and smiles as he rests inside me.

“Anything for you, Mina. You’re safe.” A promise. “You’re home.”

She nods once and removes her hand, turning toward the bed.

I smile as I close the door behind me and make my way downstairs.