The eastern sky began to lighten as Matt pushed himself harder, paws digging into the soft earth as he crested a ridge that overlooked the valley. Bear Creek lay below him, still mostly dark, a few early lights twinkling in the pre-dawn gloom.
He paused, drawing deep breaths of mountain air into his lungs. Running should have cleared his head, should have eased the tension coiling in his muscles. It hadn’t.
Then he felt it... His bear went still, every sense suddenly alert.
Mate.
The pull was unmistakable, magnetic in its certainty. Matt turned, following the sensation as it drew him toward a specific point on the outskirts of town. He moved with purpose now, no longer running to escape his thoughts but running toward something. Someone.
The closer he got, the stronger the tug became, guiding him unerringly. He knew where she was before he actually saw her. The oak tree—the ancient one he’d climbed a hundred times as a boy, treading the same path as generations of Thornbergs.
Matt slowed his pace, approaching carefully. He caught her scent on the breeze, that warm, subtle fragrance that had haunted his dreams all night. The static crackled around him as he shifted back to human form, the transition instantaneous.
For a moment, he stood still, fighting for control of his emotions, of his need to rush to her side.
Only when he was fully in control did Matt approach, slowly, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard. He didn’t want to startle her.
When he rounded the massive trunk of the oak, he saw her.
Tessa sat with her back against the tree, a sketchbook open in her lap. The soft morning light filtered through the branches above, casting dappled patterns across her face and hair. She was so absorbed in her drawing that she hadn’t heard him yet.
His first instinct was to retreat. The sight of her—so peaceful, so unguarded—made him want too much, too fast.
His bear disagreed vehemently, pushing against his control with insistent pressure.Speak to her. Now.
Matt took a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn’t rush this. Couldn’t frighten her with the intensity of what he was feeling. Instead, he cleared his throat softly and stepped forward as if he’d just happened upon her.
“Morning,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Didn’t expect to find anyone else out here this early.”
Tessa’s head jerked up, her hand freezing mid-stroke. Recognition flickered across her face, followed by something else…something that mirrored the pull he felt toward her.
“Matt,” she said, her voice soft and low in the morning stillness. “Hi.”
Their eyes met, and the world around them seemed to pause. The bond settled between them like a physical presence, invisible but undeniable. Matt’s entire body went still, as if it had been waiting for this exact scene all his life—this woman, this tree, this moment of quiet connection in the gentle dawn light.
Magical,his bear breathed.
Our mate or the morning light?Matt asked.
Both,his bear murmured in reply.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said, taking another careful step forward. “I run these trails most mornings.”
“It’s okay,” Tessa replied, closing her sketchbook slightly. “I just needed some quiet to work.”
Matt gestured to the space beside her. “May I?”
She hesitated only briefly before nodding. He settled himself on the ground near her…close enough for conversation, far enough not to crowd her. From this angle, he could glimpse what she’d been drawing, and the sight made his breath catch.
It wasn’t just pretty—it was gentle and purposeful, showing hands reaching out to support someone who was faltering. The lines were simple but conveyed such emotion, such understanding of human vulnerability and strength. This wasn’t art for art’s sake. This was art meant to help people who were struggling.
“That’s beautiful,” he said, the admiration in his voice impossible to hide. “The way you’ve captured that moment of support. It’s like you understand exactly what it feels like to need someone to lean on.”
Tessa looked up, surprise evident in her expression. Perhaps she’d expected a polite compliment, not genuine understanding. Something in the air between them shifted.
“Thank you,” she said, her fingers tracing the edge of the page. “I’m working on a series for caregivers and people going through major life transitions. Visual resources that might help them navigate difficult times.” She paused, then added more softly, “After my mom died six months ago, I realized how few resources there are that really speak to the experience. Not just the practical stuff, but the emotional landscape.”
She stopped suddenly, as if she’d revealed too much, and began to close her sketchbook.
