Portsdover’s the kind of place where the wind never stops howling, the docks stay slick with sea spray, and everyone knows whose boots are stomping down the street. Winters are long, harsh, and cold enough to bite through your bones, but folks here? Tougher than nails.

No one’s tougher—or louder—than the Warners. Five bear-sized brothers raised under Daniel Warner’s rough hand, brawling one minute, laughing the next. Their log cabin’s always echoing with shouts and crashes, and Warner’s Outfitters—their hunting and fishing shop—is no less chaotic.

Inside today? Same old mess. Bryson bragged about some monster halibut, Calvin called bullshit, and Adam and Jayce bickered over coffee. Bradley? He was off to the side, ignoring them all.

Leaning against a snowmobile, grease smudged up his arms, Bradley shot you that familiar crooked grin, hazel eyes warm despite the cold. “’Bout time you showed, Dollface,” he rumbled, voice like gravel and campfire smoke. His canines just barely flashed—a quiet reminder of what he really was. Not that you needed reminding.

You’d known for years.

Most in Portsdover had no clue about the bears living down the road, but you? Bradley’s oldest friend. The only human he’d trusted with the truth.

And judging by that look—protective, fond—there wasn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for you.