Cal wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that he was fine, that he didn’t need rest cycles and community and all the things bears were supposed to need. He’d proved he could survive without them.
But looking at his grandfather—frail and fading in a bed that smelled of sickness—the words died in his throat.
“Why did you call me back?”
Bran’s grip tightened. “Magnus Ironwood.”
The name landed in the quiet room. Cal knew Magnus—knew of him, at least. The Ironwood alpha, old-school traditionalist, believer in isolation and dominance and everything the Ursa sleuth had never been.
“What’s he doing?”
“Circling.” Bran’s face darkened. “He’s been buying land on our borders. Making claims. Says the original boundary surveys put his territory much farther than modern maps show.” A cough wracked his thin frame. Margot appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her face, but Bran waved her off. “If his claims succeed, he takes half our territory. Including the denning grounds.”
Cal’s blood ran cold. The denning grounds were sacred. Biologically necessary. Without them, bears couldn’t complete their rest cycles. Without proper rest, they declined. Weakened. Died.
“That’s why you’re sick.” The realization crashed over him with devastating clarity. “You haven’t been able to den properly.”
“Among other things.” Bran’s smile was tired but held a shadow of the old humor. “I’m old, Callum. My time is coming regardless. But the sleuth...” He trailed off, looking toward the window, toward the mountains he’d protected his entire life. “The sleuth needs an alpha. Someone to fight Magnus. Someone to lead them through what’s coming.”
“There must be others?—”
“There’s you.” Bran’s focus locked on Cal, unwavering. “There’s always been you. I never stopped believing you’d come back. The mountain was waiting for you to remember where home was.”
The faith in those words landed like a physical blow. Undeserved. Cal had left, had stayed away, had built an empire in Seattle while his grandfather fought a losing battle alone.
“I’m not an alpha.” His voice scraped raw. “I run a company. I don’t?—”
“You run people. Same thing.” Bran’s hand tightened on his. “Six months. Give me six months to help you learn what you need. To introduce you to the sleuth, to the other alphas in town. To prepare you for what Magnus will throw at you.”
“And then what?”
“And then you’ll be ready.” Bran’s eyes closed, weariness winning over willpower. “Or you won’t. But at least you’ll have tried. That’s all I’m asking, boy. Try.”
Cal sat in silence as his grandfather drifted toward sleep. The fire crackled. Outside, the afternoon light was fading, shadows creeping down from the mountains.
His bear stirred again, restless despite its earlier contentment. And Cal’s mind kept drifting back to a butter-yellow bakery on Main Street. To brown-gold hair and perceptive hazel eyes. To the moment their fingers had touched and his whole world had gone quiet.
Forget her.You don’t have time. You don’t have the capacity. You don’t need?—
His bear disagreed. Emphatically.
SEVEN
CAL
Margot was waiting in the main room when Cal emerged.
She’d put coffee on—real coffee, not the fancy espresso drinks they served in Seattle. The smell of it filled the cabin, mixing with the wood smoke and the bear-musk and the memories Cal was trying not to drown in.
“He told you about Magnus.” Not a question.
“He told me enough.”
Margot handed him a mug. Her face gave nothing away. “Fifteen years. Fifteen years, I’ve watched this sleuth struggle while you built your empire. Now you want to swoop in and save us?”
“I want to help.”
“Help.” She said the word like it tasted sour. “You don’t know these people anymore, Callum. You don’t know what we’ve been through. What Magnus has already taken from us.”
