The Bearanstein Legacy

The gravel crunched under Gwen’s tires as her little blue hatchback rumbled up the winding mountain road. Enormous and ancient pine, oak, ash and yew trees lined the road, along with others she couldn’t remember the names of at the moment. The leaves were already turning on the cool mountain air, as the branches loomed over the road they created a shadowy tunnel and Gwen almost didn't see the turn off onto the private road that led to the Bearanstein Estate.

A few minutes later Gwen pulled up to the sprawling stone mansion surrounded by towering pines, their tips lost in the morning mist. She parked at the edge of the circular drive and shut off the engine. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the faint scent of rain and something... wild.

“This is fine,” she muttered to herself, nervously, smoothing her ponytail and checking her reflection in the mirror. “It’s just a nursing job. For a wealthy, eccentric family in the middle of nowhere.”

With a deep breath Gwen lifted her chin and straightened her spine. Her confidence mustered, Gwen walked up the few stone steps and prepared to knock. The door opened before she could.

He filled the doorway like a shadow — tall, broad, and intimidatingly still. Dark hair, darker eyes, a trimmed beard that couldn’t hide the sharp cut of his jaw. The kind of man who didn’t need to speak to command a room.

“Miss Grace?” His voice was deep enough to vibrate in her bones.

“Yes—yes, that’s me.” Her voice came out a little higher than she intended. “Gwendolyn Lee Grace. From the agency.”

His gaze swept over her — not lewdly, but like he was assessing her. Weighing. Measuring. Deciding.

“You’re early.”

“I—I like to be prepared.”

He didn’t smile. “My father’s resting. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

Without waiting, he turned and strode down the hall, and she had no choice but to follow, walking double time to keep up with his long stride.

The house was vast, all dark wood and stone fireplaces, the air heavy with pine and something musky she couldn’t quite place. The deeper they went, the stronger it got — an earthy, electric scent that made her pulse quicken for no reason she could name.

“Mr. Bearanstein,” she began, trying to keep up, “I just wanted to thank you for—”

“Arthur,” he said curtly. “Or Jr. Everyone calls me that.”

“Right. Jr.” She swallowed hard. “I appreciate the opportunity. I know how protective families can be about—”

He stopped so suddenly she nearly ran into him.

“Protective,” he repeated, turning slowly. His eyes caught hers — deep brown, almost black — and for one dizzying second, she could’ve sworn they glowed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s... natural.”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Natural,” he murmured. “That’s one word for it.”

Her breath hitched. Something inside her — instinct, maybe — screamed that she should step back. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.

He stared at her for another heartbeat, then turned away as abruptly as before. “Your room’s down the hall. Dinner’s at seven. Don’t wander the grounds after dark.”

“Why not?”

He looked over his shoulder, and for the first time, a hint of a smile curved his mouth — sharp, knowing, dangerous.

“Because the woods bite back.”