The Blackwell Highland Games were in full swing. The town had been fully decorated for the Scottish festival, the streets and arenas completely packed with people from all around the world who had come to watch the games or join in the heavy events.

Teddy’s flowers had been arranged all around the venue and the main town square, a massive job his youngest brother and his human mate,had been working on together all week. They had done an incredible job putting it all together. Theodore always thought his youngest brother was extremely talented with his craft, seeing the vibrant arrangements framing the heavy events field made him appreciate the kid's eye for detail, giving the brutal strength competitions a strangely perfect backdrop.

His gaze swept over the bustling crowd for a moment as he stood near the competitor tents, stretching out his thick, muscular arms and rolling his broad shoulders. He had been practicing his form and explosive power for weeks, and he was absolutely sure he would be winning the log-throwing contest today.

He was dressed out in the full traditional competitor gear, his heavy tartan kilt swinging against his thick, hairy calves as he moved. He wasn't the only shifter who had signed up for the heavy events he had already spotted a couple of local wolf shifters from the northern ridge stretching near the boundaries, and a pair of dense, heavy-set bobcat shifters swapping out their boots by the registration table. The tourists in the stands just thought the local Blackwell boys were built like brick walls, completely oblivious to the predatory instincts and enhanced strength hidden beneath human skin.

Theodore respected the competition, but he harbored zero doubts. He possessed the raw, grounding weight of a Grizzly shifter. When it came to flipping a full-sized caber, nobody could match the sheer leverage of a bear.

He shook out his hands, the tight fabric of his athletic shirt straining against his thick chest and heavily haired arms as he adjusted the leather sporran resting against his kilt. He scanned the spectator stands, looking to see if Timmy or Teddy had made it out of the crowds yet to watch his game.

Instead, his eyes caught on a completely unfamiliar figure navigating the edge of the arena fence, trying to avoid getting shoved by a group of rowdy tourists. The moment his eyes crossed yours, his breath completely locked in his throat.His pupils dilated, the dark brown of his irises flashing with the fierce, golden-amber hue of his Grizzly form for a split second before he forced it back down. His inner bear, usually a loud, boisterous force demanding victory, went entirely silent before letting out a heavy, vibrating purr deep within his chest. Mate.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. He didn't know your name, if you where a human or something else like him, where you had traveled from, or if you were just passing through Blackwell for the weekend games, but his soul claimed yours before his mind could even process the logistics. The log-throwing championship he had spent the last sever weeks obsessing over suddenly felt completely meaningless compared to the person standing just fifty feet away from him.

The game wasn’t starting yet, so he had time. He jogged over to you, flashing you a grin, hoping you wouldn’t mind just how sharp his teeth looked. “Hey beautiful, come to cheer me on?” He cringed on the inside. That had been one of the worst pick-up lines he had ever used.