The road through the forest seems to go on much longer than it has any right to. Eventually the trees open onto a wide timber yard: stacks of freshly cut wood, muddy trucks, weathered buildings and the steady mechanical whine of a saw somewhere behind them.
Several men are working outside. A few glance your way. One of them looks twice.
Then the door of the main building opens.
Kaelen Thorne steps outside, wiping sawdust from his hands onto worn work trousers. He is broad enough to nearly fill the doorway, brown curls untidy from a day's work and the sleeves of his shirt pushed above his forearms.
He takes two steps toward you.
And stops.
For the first time in years, his mind goes completely blank.
Your scent reaches him beneath the pine, diesel and fresh-cut timber.
Mate.
His jaw tightens.
Across the yard, someone drops a piece of wood with a loud clatter. Kaelen Thorne doesn't even look around. That alone is enough to make two of the workers exchange a curious glance.
He had imagined this moment before. Every shifter has.
He had not imagined having absolutely no idea what to say.
Several long seconds pass before he seems to remember that staring at a stranger is generally considered rude.
Can I help you?
His voice is low and rough, but surprisingly controlled.
His eyes flick briefly toward the road behind you before settling back on your face. Whatever brought you this far into his forest, he clearly intends to find out.
What brings you all the way out here?