Chapter 12

12

IRENE

T he door to the Bristlecone Bed didn’t ask for permission; he just took what he wanted, and what he wanted was her. He rammed into her repeatedly, causing her to climax more than once. She could feel his cock twitching and swelling and knew that his release was imminent.

He gripped the top of her shoulder as he gave her a final, ruthless thrust and began to spill his seed inside her.

“Next time, I will knot you as I claim you as my mate.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the intensity of the dream or his final words which caused her to wake with a start. She shook her head as she got out of bed and headed to the mini fridge for a bottle of cold water. She took a long drink and got back into bed.

But no matter how many times she woke and told herself she would not repeat the dream, she did. By morning, she was exhausted and felt as if Beck had been in her bed all night, and not just in her head.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wafted through the Bristlecone’s dining room as she made her way down the stairs. Irene sat at one of the small, rustic tables near the window, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between her hands. The sunlight streaming through the curtains should have felt comforting, but her thoughts were anything but.

She picked at the edge of her toast, her appetite dulled by the swirling conflict in her mind. The events of the previous night— both real and dreamt—replayed like a reel of film. She banished the eroticism and brought her conversation with Beck and his confession to the forefront.

You’re my fated mate.

Her stomach twisted, and not from hunger. She knew he was right—she had felt it, too, the moment his presence had first enveloped her. That undeniable pull, the connection that seemed to go deeper than mere attraction. Her wolf recognized him as hers, as the other half of a bond she had spent her life doubting she’d ever find.

But what did it mean?

Her life had been built around independence, around survival on her terms. A mate—especially one as commanding and protective as Beckett Grey—wasn’t part of that equation. She couldn’t deny the appeal of his strength, his steadfastness, or the way his eyes seemed to pierce straight through her defenses. But could she let herself be bound to someone like that? Did she even want to?

Her gaze drifted out the window to the forested mountains in the distance. They called to her, as they always did, but this time the pull felt more like an escape. The treasure had always been her focus, her purpose—but now, with Beck in the equation, everything felt tangled.

Do I even want this anymore? But if I don’t, don’t I owe it to my pack? And what about them?

The thought startled her. She’d spent years searching for clues—first to the location of the Lost Dutchman and now to the treasure of Silver Falls, chasing a dream that could change everything for her pack. But Beck’s words lingered in her mind, a quiet echo of doubt. Was the treasure worth the risks it carried? Worth putting her pack—and herself—in danger?

She sipped her coffee, the bitterness grounding her, and made a decision.

Distance. She needed distance. From Beck, from his words, from the intensity that seemed to follow him wherever he went. A day in the mountains would clear her head, help her focus on what mattered.

Pushing her plate aside, Irene stood and headed for the door.

The mountain air was crisp and cool against her skin as Irene moved along a narrow trail, her boots moving softly over the rocky ground. The forest enveloped her, its familiar sights and sounds offering a semblance of comfort.

But even here, her thoughts were restless. She couldn’t escape the nagging awareness of Beck, of the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to see right through her. And she couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was nearby, watching, ensuring she was safe.

The thought should have irritated her. Instead, it warmed her in a way she wasn’t ready to admit.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, quickening her pace.

The trail opened into a small clearing, the perfect spot to stop and review her map. She crouched near a cluster of rocks, unrolling the worn parchment and tracing her finger along the faded lines and markings. If her calculations were right, the next clue was close.

“I thought I’d find you here,” came a familiar voice, low and steady.

Irene startled, whipping around to find Beck standing at the edge of the clearing, his hands resting casually at his sides. He looked every bit as commanding as he always did, his eyes fixed on her with a mix of exasperation and something softer—something that made her pulse quicken.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Checking on you,” he said simply, stepping closer.

“I don’t need checking on,” Irene said, rolling up her map and shoving it into her pack. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“I know you are,” Beck said, his voice calm but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”

Her jaw tightened, and she rose to her full height, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t need a babysitter, Beck.”

“I’m not here to babysit,” he countered, his gaze steady. “I’m here because I care. But if you want me to back off, I will.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. She searched his face, expecting to find a hint of the stubbornness she’d come to associate with him. But instead, she found only understanding—and a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like pain.

“You mean that?” she asked cautiously.

“I do,” Beck said. “I’ll respect your independence, Irene. But don’t mistake that for indifference. I’ll still keep an eye on things, one way or another. It’s who I am.”

Irene crossed her arms, her emotions warring within her. She wanted to push him away, to reclaim the space she needed to think clearly. But a part of her—small, but insistent—didn’t want him to leave.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “But don’t expect me to check in or ask for help.”

Beck’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, he turned and began walking back toward the trail, his stride confident and unhurried. Irene watched him go, a strange mix of relief and disappointment settling in her chest.

As he disappeared into the trees, she shook her head. Damn the man . She turned back to her map. She needed to refocus her energy. But even as she plotted her next move, the warmth of Beck’s presence lingered, refusing to be ignored.

As the day wore on, Irene found herself moving deeper into the mountains, the terrain growing more rugged and remote. But no matter how far she went, Beck’s words—and his absence—remained paramount in her mind.

When she paused to catch her breath, she scanned the tree line, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of him in the shadows. The thought made her lips twitch into a faint smile.

He wasn’t following her. Not directly, at least. But she knew him well enough to suspect that he’d made arrangements to keep her in his orbit. And for all her protests, the idea wasn’t as irritating as she wanted it to be.

It was comforting. Damn it.

As the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the trail, Irene’s thoughts returned to the treasure—and the man who had complicated her search in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

She tightened the straps of her pack and continued on, her steps full of confidence but her heart uncertain. Whatever lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain: Beck wasn’t done with her.

And, she realized with a jolt of both excitement and trepidation, she wasn’t done with him, either.