Cal shifted back to human—a process that sent fresh agony screaming through his wounds. He stood naked and bleeding, swaying on his feet, and met the enforcer’s glare without flinching.
“Tell Magnus this: Ursa territory is not for sale. And the next time he sends his dogs onto my land, I won’t be so generous.”
The bald one spat blood into the dirt. “You’re a dead man, Ursa.”
“Maybe.” Cal’s legs were threatening to buckle. The blood loss was catching up to him, dragging at his consciousness. “But not today.”
The third enforcer had recovered enough to help his fallen companion—the one Cal’s claws had torn open—to his feet. The three of them retreated into the forest as a group, leaving blood trails on the leaves.
The one his claws had taken down was moving under his own power, limping badly, but alive.
Cal watched them go. Then his knees gave out, and he collapsed against the lightning-split oak where he’d found the first ward marker.
THIRTY-THREE
CAL
Getting back to town was an exercise in pure stubbornness.
Cal shifted back to bear—the wounds hurt less in that form, and four legs were more stable than two when the world kept tilting sideways. He moved through the forest in a haze of pain and determination, following scent trails and half-remembered paths, his bear refusing to let him stop.
Home. Get home. Get to her.
He didn’t question where “home” meant anymore. Didn’t pretend he could go anywhere else. His bear had made the decision days ago, and Cal’s human mind had finally stopped fighting it.
Twice, he had to stop and rest, collapsing against trees while his vision grayed at the edges. The shoulder wound had mostly stopped bleeding, but the gashes across his ribs were still seeping, each step sending fresh waves of fire through his side. A human would have passed out by now. Maybe died. But shifter endurance kept him moving, one paw in front of the other, focused on a single point of light in the gathering darkness.
Dahlia.
The sun was setting when he reached the edge of town—a massive grizzly bear staggering out of the tree line, fur matted with dried blood, favoring his left side where the wounds were deepest. He shifted to human behind a dumpster in the alley behind Main Street, found a discarded tarp to wrap around his waist, and stumbled the last hundred yards to Honey & Hex Bakery.
The bakery was closed for the evening, windows dark, but light spilled from the apartment above. Cal climbed the back stairs on shaking legs, leaving bloody handprints on the railing, and knocked.
The door flew open.
Dahlia stood in the doorway, soft gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Her hair was escaping its braid, and she had a smear of chocolate on her chin.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Her face went white when she saw him. “Cal?—”
“Magnus sent a message.” The words came out slurred, his tongue thick and uncooperative. “I sent one back.”
He swayed. Dahlia caught him before he could fall, her smaller body bracing against him with surprising strength. “Get inside. Now. Marzipan, move!”
The cream-colored cat had appeared in the doorway, staring wide. She hissed once—not at Cal, but at the situation—and retreated to allow them passage.
Cal let Dahlia guide him inside, too exhausted to do more than put one foot in front of the other. The apartment blurred around him—comfortable furniture, the scent of vanilla and magic that meant her. He ended up on the couch, the tarp falling away, too far gone to be embarrassed by his nakedness.
“Stay awake.” Dahlia’s voice was calm, but her hands shook as she examined his wounds. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“Three of them.” Cal forced his eyes to stay open, focusing on her face. “Ironwood enforcers. Waiting at the boundary line.”
“Three—” Her fingers stilled on his ribs. “You fought three bears? Alone?”
“Didn’t have much choice.” A sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, not quite a groan. “They weren’t interested in conversation.”
Dahlia disappeared. Returned with a first aid kit, towels, and a determined expression. “This is going to hurt.”
