Fern loves smut.
“He’s throbbing, each ridge of his interstellar appendage sending electrified shivers coursing through me. One of his tentacles snakes around, teasing a— In one-thousand feet, turn left.”
“Fuckkk.” Fern exhaled, throwing on her blinker even though she hadn’t seen another car in over an hour.
“Slick line down my back before it disappears between my— Turn left.”
She swung wide onto Wrentham River Road, and the U-Haul attached to her sedan did a little dance before it got back in line. The scene in her book carried on as her mind wandered ahead, down the road to Beckett Falls, where one of her two best friends was waiting for her.
Olivia had moved to the rural northern mountain town nearly ten months earlier and established herself as the local teacher before becoming the girlfriend of the town council president. Apparently, they were really into the town council in Beckett Falls, and Ben’s role came with a lot of respect.
As odd as the place might be, it still offered an exciting opportunity for a fresh start. Fern had heard somewhere that the urge to run away was a trauma response. That kind of made sense. It wasn’t like there was one specific thing that had her fleeing the city for a practically non-existent town two hours from the nearest big town. No, it was death by a thousand cuts.
That was dramatic.
An amalgamation of stressors drove her to move. It was an “I’m sick of my job, a new opportunity came up, and my mom annoys me, so I’m going to hit the road” response. That was more like it.
She was fine, just a typical late-twenty-something who hadn’t accomplished much with her life and was sick of aiming to impress her mom and society as a whole. She wasn’t impressive, and it was exhausting trying to be. She didn’t want “more,” she wanted “different.” She wanted a chance to define who she was on her own.
A new beginning was in order, and when Liv offered Fern a salon to manage, Fern scooped up the opportunity. Maybe she’d find someplace to settle in and settle into herself. At the very least, she could give it a shot.
She grabbed her coffee, scritching her nails over the accordioned cardboard sleeve as she avoided a pothole and listened on.
“Swept into a many-armed embrace, we cocooned inside our sleep pod for the final six trillion miles of our journey. I couldn’t wait to meet his brethren in the morning. Chapter twelve, Xyzandyr.”
A glow through the trees caught Fern’s attention, then disappeared again when she rounded a bend in the road. Pausing her book to see better, she leaned into the steering wheel and squinted through the dusky woods. Yep, there it was again. Not headlights like she’d thought, but a stationary lamp.
It had to be the gatehouse Olivia told her to look out for. Sure enough, one final turn in the road delivered her to a quaint little cabin with plank walls and a green roof. It matched the trees. Her headlights lit up the woodsy facade as she rolled to a stop just in time for the front door to swing open.
A broad guy with dark hair and a pastel outfit stepped onto the porch and lifted his chin. Wearing boat shoes and a sky-blue button-down—rolled to his elbows—he was shockingly preppy given his bouncer-like build and proximity to the forest. There wasn’t an ocean for hundreds of miles.
Fern’s window squealed on its way down, and the scent of warm pine and mossy earth wafted into the car. Head sticking out the window with her elbows propped on the doorframe, she called, “Hi!”
“Fern?” Cocking his head to the side, a swath of brown-black hair swung off the top of his head, flopping down in one thick wave.
He looked vaguely familiar, but he could’ve been a stranger. “Yeah.” She waited for him to introduce himself, and when he didn’t, she continued, “When Liv said to stop at the gatehouse, I didn’t realize I was getting a personal welcome.”
Laughing, he sauntered closer, explaining, “It’s my job to be out here overnight. Keeps the town safe.”
“Oh, that’s... interesting.” A little odd but neat. Olivia hadn’t mentioned overnight guards, but she would’ve said something if it was a dangerous place. “And you are?”
“Adam Ableman.”
“Oh my god, Able! It’s so nice to meet you in person.” Flinging off her seatbelt, Fern swung open the door, and he hopped out of the way. She gave him no warning before throwing her arms wide for a hug. “The only times I’ve seen you, you were in the background on a flailing phone screen. How are you?”
He grunted and patted her on the back, tentatively accepting her unexpected embrace.
“You’re taking it like a champ,” Fern announced before pulling away. They weren’t strangers, not really. He was one of Liv’s boyfriend’s best friends, and Liv had become close with him too. Fern assumed they’d also become buds sooner or later, so she’d gone straight for his nickname and a squeeze—once she realized who he was.
“I’m doing well, thanks for asking. Liv and co are expecting you up in town.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the darkening woods, and she assumed the village was that way.
The whole place could’ve been considered a village, population-wise, but Liv had said never to use that term unless Fern specifically meant the cluster of houses and shops on the ridge. That hadn’t meant much to her, but she’d nodded along to Olivia’s lesson, delivered on a video call, and vowed to follow the weird rules.
A few minutes later, armed with information and back in the driver’s seat, she waved goodbye to Adam, turned off her GPS, turned on her book, and headed toward her new apartment. Xyzandyr waxed poetic about his beloved two-legged, Jessica, while Fern repeated Adam’s directions aloud so she wouldn’t forget them.
Just as she took a sip of coffee, her phone rang, interrupting the narration. Mom’s deceptively cute picture popped up on the screen, and Fern shoved her drink into the cupholder while smashing the answer button.
“Made it safely.”
“Good. Is the apartment nice? I worry since they’re offering it for free, it’ll have roaches.”
“Jesus— I’m not in the apartment yet, but I don’t think there are roaches in this part of the state.”
“They’re not picky, Fern.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know you’ll be fine, you’re always fine.” Her mom sighed heavily, the weight settling right on Fern’s good mood. “I want you to want more for yourself. I want you to be a success.”
There it was. Inhaling, Fern flipped her phone face down to stop blinding herself while she looked for her turn. “I want to be happy, and I will be. If it’s not here, I’ll go somewhere else.
”
“At least the cost of living is cheaper upstate. Are you still trying to do nails?” Mom scoffed.
Yes. But Fern didn’t answer, and it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. She might not be an artist in the strictest sense of the word, but she loved nail art and other crafts. It meant something to her, even if it wasn’t enough for Mom. That stung, but she was trying to get away from it and stop caring about her mom’s judgment. Her own dreams were what mattered. She was the one who had to live them.
Mom continued, “Hopefully your hairstyling will bring in enough business. Maybe you’ll do well and can take on a partnership role, eventually. You could even expand the enterprise. I’d like to see you find more success there than in the city. I just don’t know why you didn’t study business, finance, accounting…” Mom got all daydreamy, and Fern’s sour stomach threatened to rebel. “Even if the salon doesn’t go well, you could get lucky, and it’ll bring in enough to—”
“Okay, thanks, Mom! I’m pulling up to the apartment,” she lied. “Talk to you soon. I’ll send pics.”
Hanging up before she had to hear another rude comment about her life choices, Fern’s eye roll turned into a squint as she spotted a gap in the trees ahead. Gravel crunched beneath her tires as she swung through the turn. Adam said she’d go up a hill, take a left to drive around the square, then left at the bookstore, and she’d be there.
Scowling and almost to her new home, she cranked the volume knob to drown out her raging insecurities—made worse, as usual, by Mom.
“My bloodsworn brethren, Krylynx and Trynt, will surely find Jessica as intriguing as I do. Two-leggeds are rare and revered in our part of the galaxy. ‘Tell me about your brothers again,’ Jessica requests as my tentacles whirl, spinning dials and pressing buttons to lower our landing gear. ‘Kry’s the red one with three dicks and a bad attitude—’”
Laughing, Fern rolled down the windows to let in the night air and frowned. She still hadn’t hit that hill, and there were no houses around. The heavy trees finally gave way to a sleepy clearing, alive with fireflies, and she found herself at a dead-end that also served as a driveway. A big shed stood ahead, a hand-painted sign tacked up above the double doors, and a timber cabin framed by flowering gardens sat off to her right, amber light glowing through its windows. The setup looked like a magazine spread—too perfect, too curated. She kind of loved it, though.
She must’ve missed her turn and gone too far into the valley. Growling like Xyzandyr, Fern made a painstakingly slow U-turn, which was more of a seven-point turn, then glanced left and yelped.
Another linebacker-looking motherfucker stood in the doorway of the house, silhouetted by the lights inside. He stepped forward, triggering some motion sensor that illuminated his gray sweats, tight T-shirt, a well-groomed beard, and wavy brown hair thrown up in a top knot.
It was just Elliott.
Christ, she hadn’t realized he was so huge. Another of Liv’s new friends, Fern had only seen him on the occasional video call. But something about him stood out—probably his hair.
She paused her book. “Elliott?”
His bushy brows pulled together. “Fern?”
“Hi. Yeah. I think I’m lost. Could you tell me how to get up to the town? I guess I can put it in my GP—”
“It won’t come up.” He lumbered over, and she couldn’t help but appreciate the way his pants pulled taut around his thick thighs with each step.
Two enormous hands landed on her doorframe, and her gaze flitted over his short nails, rough knuckles, the smear of dried clay on his wrist. He had an artist’s hands. She blinked the thought away as he leaned down to peer in her open window.
“You’ll need to—” With an inhale, his fingers clenched, muscles tightening all the way up his arms as he pushed away from her car. Stiffly, Elliott cracked his neck, and when his eyes met hers, they caught the light of her dashboard, glowing amber for a moment. Crossing his arms, he cleared his throat.
What the fuck? Did she smell? Have coffee breath? Or was she just too annoying for him? She scowled, recalling a rude comment he’d made on a phone call last month. Liv had just announced her pregnancy, and Fern reacted accordingly, only for this big jerk to call her “way too chatty” when she’d been ecstatic over the news.
“I’m not going to talk your ear off, Elliott. I just need directions, and I can get out of your hair.”
He growled—literally growled—not like Xyzandyr with his sexy snarls. “You can call me Fitz.”
A snort of laughter flew from her. “That’s an old-man name, but sure.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s my grandpa’s name.”
He lifted a hand as if to run it through his hair before realizing it was up. Scrubbing his jaw and looking pointedly away, he said, “Elliott’s fine, I guess.”
“Directions? Please.” This guy was unbelievable. How was he one of Ben and Liv’s good friends? She’d keep it short. Wouldn’t want to run the risk of offending him.
He inhaled slowly, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I— Uh— hit my bong a little too hard.”
Oh ho, maybe they had more in common than she thought. That also helped explain his strange behavior, though it didn’t excuse it. “You got it on you?” she blurted, deciding she wasn’t in that big of a rush and had put up with weirder people before.
“Does it look like there’s a bong in my pocket?”
Her gaze dropped to the front of his pants. “I’m not answering that.”
With a shake of his head, Elliott called her attention to his broad shoulders—broad everything. He was a big guy. About the same height as Able, if she had to guess, he was a little softer, more casual, more anti-social.
Leaning out the window, she asked, “Can I get those directions?”
“Oh, yeah. Go back to the river road, then hang right. At the first turn—the only one on the right—go up the hill. At the square—”
“Get to the opposite side and park behind Reads & Roasts?”
His reply was a silent nod.
The moment she fired up her engine, he lifted one of his big hands in a small wave, then turned tail and jogged inside. The screen door slammed before she could even roll up her window.
God, he was awkward. She didn’t remember him being that weird when they were on the same phone calls in the past. He was a treat to look at, though, even if his conversational skills were lacking, even if he thought she was annoying, even if he sucked. She’d just keep a buffer between them in social settings and enjoy him from afar.
Checking her phone before she drove off, she found a text from Liv.
Olivia: Where are you???
Fern: Got lost, sry!
Fern: On my way
Fern hit play on her audiobook and smashed the gas, spinning gravel beneath her wheels until her car found purchase—pulling a U-Haul was no joke—and she got back on her way. Things weren’t off to an auspicious start... but hey, it could only go up from there.
TWO
Elliott goes fishing.
Mother fucker. Crossing to his kitchen island, Elliott grabbed his bong. He’d packed it but hadn’t had a chance to enjoy it before a car came crunching down his driveway, insanity blaring from its open windows. Someone had made a wrong turn—obviously—since his was the only house on Potter’s Lane. Turned out it was Olivia’s best friend, Fern Walsh, that annoying sexy brunette, showing up to completely rock his shit.
Watching her twenty-point turn was the purest form of entertainment he’d consumed all week. He hadn’t realized a car that small could pull a trailer that big. It was a wonder she hadn’t smashed into his front porch while trying to resolve her vehicular situation. There was no way she could see out the back.
He’d debated telling her she could drive behind his studio and loop around, but by the time he worked up the courage to get her attention, she was three-quarters of the way out. Plus, he hadn’t wanted to risk approaching her moving vehicle. The way she was handling that thing, he’d have been dead before dinner.
Plopping down on the couch, Elliott fitted the bong to his mouth, covered the carb, and took a long pull. As his lungs filled with that familiar heaviness, he waited for his raging anxiety to calm into something manageable. If that was possible.
He couldn’t believe it—could not fucking believe it. Fern was way too chatty. Way too extroverted for him. Dude, ninety percent of her job was yakking to people, and she was stellar at it. He’d heard it himself over months of Liv taking video calls around their friend group. Fern Walsh was not his type.
But there was no denying it, no matter what he wanted. The truth was clear as day the moment he got to her car and scented her. He was screwed.
Fern was his potential mate.
And for some fucking reason, she smelled like Able.
His bear had hated that, rearing up inside Fitz and forcing him to step away from her. Even now, the beast in his chest grunted in protest and scratched his ribs.
Why’d she smell like Adam?
Exhaling a cloud that hazed up his living room, Elliott tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling. He should’ve hooked up with that raccoon shifter at the Stonecrop Cove Art Exhibition back in June. She wasn’t a potential mate, just a normal potential hookup. Those were the safest situations because they could have sex without risk of starting a mate bond. She’d been cute and interested, but he’d been worn out from socializing at his booth all day and hadn’t had it in him. He should’ve rallied.
Now look at him, going feral for Fern? He’d definitely waited too long to meet someone new, and he was in such a pickle. While she was gorgeous and smelled fucking fantastic, it was never a good idea to hook up with someone from town. Beckett Falls was too small. And he didn’t want a mate regardless, so he’d have to stay far away from that woman.
That beautiful woman… with her shiny brown hair, bright blue eyes, and that smattering of freckles across her nose. Positive or negative, it didn't matter, she'd captured his attention immediately, even through phone screens, even with her incessant chatter. And now she was here—the only human in town—all because she was friends with the alpha she didn’t know was an alpha.
God, this was going to be annoying. They couldn’t even have a rational conversation and come up with a plan to ignore the potential bond. He’d just have to do it himself.
Elliott’s bear rumbled and his stomach gave an encore. Familiar pressure built in his chest as his beast made his desires known, using Fitz’s ribcage like a tree trunk to scratch his back, rubbing up and down, side to side, incessantly.
“Oh my god, fine, let’s go fishing.” That always helped him relax, plus he hadn’t decided what to make for dinner. Two birds.
Elliott swung through the kitchen to the back porch where he stripped and piled his clothes on the daybed. It was easier that way. He could shift while dressed if he wanted, but when he changed back to human form, his clothes would pop up nearby. Never on, just nearby. And he had a habit of shifting in the water, especially when it was warm out. The Potter’s Branch of the Wrentham River had claimed several pairs of his pants. Sometimes they made it all the way out to the main flow before he tracked them down.
On the back lawn, Elliott gave over to his beast and stepped into the figurative back seat of his brain as his body contorted, morphing from man to grizzly. Stretching in animal form, his bear swung his big head from side to side and lumbered over to a tree, rising up for a real back scratch.
No small creature, his grizzly stood about four feet at the shoulder, a solid eight on his hind legs. Far larger than his black bear father, somewhat larger than his mother, and the same size as his grizzly best friend, Adam Ableman, it was a wonder no tourists had ever caught on to the invasive brown bears in their part of the state.
In a frantic mood, Fitz’s beast ignored his request to head to the river and instead looped around front to sniff the driveway where Fern had been some twenty minutes before.
“Come on, dude. We’re hungry. Let’s go see what we can catch.”
His bear rumbled and scratched at the gravel.
“Fishing. I know you want to.”
With a huff, the beast turned to head down the slope to the water.
The situation with Fern was going to be fine. Elliott wouldn’t say or do anything; he’d wait it out, and the potential bond would fade. It usually took a month if a bond was ignored. He could manage that. It wasn’t like she had any idea what was going on, and as long as he didn’t tell his friends, the secret would remain his alone.
Shifters could find a potential mate in anyone, regardless of their magical status. But his people mainly kept to themselves, and mating with a human wasn’t all that common. However, the magic wanted what it wanted, and her sweet, enchanting scent, like fresh berries and a garden picnic, put a damper on his never-changing plans. He was screwed for the next thirty days, minimum.
He hoped it wouldn’t take longer than a month. His damn bear had gone from napping to feral at first sniff, and Elliott nearly lost control of his shift. That hadn’t happened since he was a teen. It must’ve been the combination of his and Fern’s potential mate status mixed with Able’s scent on her. Adam was working at the gatehouse and probably saw her when she got to town. It was nothing, Elliott was sure it was nothing.
After a final longing glance over his shoulder at the empty road, he was able to coax his bear into the river and upstream, where the fishing was best. There were no guests over at the Lodge this time of year anyway. Even if Able had been around, he wouldn’t think twice about seeing Fitz out for a romp at dusk. In fact, he’d probably join… and give Elliott a chance to ask what the fuck was going on.
No, it was really no big deal. He bobbed his non-existent human head and focused on the water through his bear’s eyes.
What would Fern do if she saw him? Had Liv warned her of the wild animals in town? She obviously didn’t know about shifting; very few humans did. Exhaling within his bear, Elliott wished he could pace to burn off some stress. He gave it a month, tops, for Fern to stay clueless about the true nature of everyone around her in Beckett Falls.
His grizzly spotted movement and swiped his paw with a splash. The catch was a success, and the first trout went right down his throat.
“I wanted to cook that, dude,” Elliott grumbled.
His grizzly captured the second fish with a particularly fine pounce, then caught a faint whiff of berries and jasmine in the air. Spinning from where he’d been eyeing the waterfall, he stood to sniff the breeze coming down from town.
The fruit could have been wild raspberries and early blackberries, and the jasmine could have been from someone’s garden, but the combination? The undertones of vanilla? It was Fern. Probably walking from her car to her apartment, hauling boxes. He should’ve gone to help. Would that have been weird? Too pushy?
Pointless. It would’ve been pointless. And she was annoying, anyway. The alphas would be there. He doubted she was working alone.
“Back to business, I’m hungry,” Elliott coaxed his bear to action, and the animal begrudged him three trout, carrying them to shore in his teeth.
Fern’s scent carried down from town again, and his bear rumbled before dropping off the final fish and lumbering south toward the house. It only took a second for Elliott to realize his animal had no intention of returning home. The fucker was taking them toward the village.
“Ah! Stop. Shift back. Come on, we need to make dinner.”
His bear snorted, stood on his hind legs, and scented her again.
“Trout. Come on, dude. Let’s cook now, and you can sniff around all you want tomorrow.”
The grizzly huffed and puffed before shifting back eventually—and abruptly—Elliott’s consciousness flinging to the forefront as he reformed naked in the woods behind his studio.
Good god, his bear was being difficult. Was he really so horny the animal didn’t trust him to take back over? He’d have to be careful next time he shifted.
Luckily, their town’s short tourist season was starting in three weeks, and with it would come at least one single bridesmaid looking for a quick fling. That had to help break the potential bond.
Most of the human visitors to Beckett Falls were wedding parties and guests with many singles looking to mingle. Chuckling to himself, Elliott carried his catch inside, thinking of the mildly annoying wedding season ahead.
The whole town was in on the scheme, opening up just two months per year when the trees were at their most colorful to host high-end weddings at Adam’s exclusive Lodge. They all made a killing that carried them through those ten peaceful months between seasons. He worked alongside Noa most often, throwing vases for her floral arrangements and sculpting other wedding decor. The visitors loved a good artisan-made souvenir.
With his music blaring and his trout rinsed and waiting, Elliott snagged his phone from the living room and fired off a text to his alphas. It would’ve been rude not to check in.
Elliott: Did the yapper make it up to town?
Beck: Yup
Okay, okay, that was good. His foot tapped faster than the beat of the song as he took a knife to his fish. Elliott got their heads off before snatching up his phone again.
Elliott: And she got dinner, right?
Liv: Why? Are you planning to cook for her?
Beck: Is this an offer for all of us?
Liv: She’d probably be into it
Elliott: No. I was just asking
Liv: Your loss
Beck: Your loss
Elliott: Do you have to pile on? Aren’t you together?
Beck: I’m at the bar with Noa. Come meet up
Liv: I’m with Fern. Come over here
Shit. Of course Liv was with Fern. Now she probably knew he was asking after her. He needed to ignore, not engage. He would not be heading up to town, not to the bar, and definitely not to Fern’s apartment.
Fitz valued his solitude, focusing on his art away from judgment. He texted them back to say he was busy, then shoved his phone face down on the counter and went into the living room to smoke a bowl before cooking.
His bear grumbled when he abandoned the fish. All that snorting was driving Elliott nuts, but the grizzly got on board with his idea, and they both calmed down again when he picked up his pipe.
Fern was clearly into smoking. He could always swing by to give her some bud. It would be the perfect excuse to visit without being weird. A housewarming gift—and an apology for being unapproachable when she came down his road.
With a long exhale, tension floated from Fitz’s shoulders and he hopped to his feet, feeling better than he had a minute before. He didn’t need to pursue their potential bond. He could just give her a friendly gift.
His grizzly liked the plan—probably because he was horny and wanted to smell her up close.
Snorting at himself, Elliott got to work on his meal: a nice trout and risotto. He liked to cook, loved it really, and he could throw a beautiful pot, but aside from that, what did he bring to the table—hypothetically—if he was looking for a relationship?
Not much.
Not nearly as much as Able… for example. Not that he compared himself to Adam that often, it’s just that he couldn’t stop wondering: Why had Fern smelled like him?
Either way, Elliott wasn’t looking. He wasn’t considering the potential bond. And it didn’t matter. She was way out of his league, far too hot and outgoing for the slice of the world he stuck to. He preferred things quiet, and he recognized his flaws: He was a big lug, a stoner, a man with very little motivation outside of his hobbies.
Oh, and his hair was too long.
Flaws aside, he liked his life. He made a passable income, lived a quiet existence, and there wasn’t room in it for anyone else.
Alone with three empty chairs staring back at him, he ate while reminding himself all the reasons he kept his status quo:
One: He liked to sit on his sofa naked, and no one else needed to know that.
Two: Socializing exhausted him, and roommates brought conversation. He hardly even talked to his family.
Three: Ceramics were a fragile craft. The risk of a visitor breaking something was stressful enough. Having a partner, a mate around all the time? Not worth the trouble.
He liked to sleep in and stay up late. A mate might wreck his proofing bread, choose the wrong music, leave a mess where he needed his mess to go. It just wasn’t reasonable. This is why he kept things casual, why he kept things to hookups, why he’d ignored every other potential bond that had popped up in his life.
Things were good. He wasn’t going to rock the boat.
Want more?
Fitz and Starts releases June 11, 2026.
From the world of Beckett Falls, you can read Beck and Call now, or grab Moore or Less for free.