Friday came in pieces.
Morning: a routine spay on a barn cat in the half-finished clinic, my hands moving on muscle memory while my brain rewound last night’s conversation with Theo like a stuck tape.
Afternoon: Jim’s goats again (“They act like they’re dying, Doc, but they do this every spring, I swear”). Ivy popping in to steal gauze for a cut on her hand and staying to “help” by rearranging my exam supplies in an order that made sense only to her.
Evening: paperwork.
Endless, mind-numbing paperwork.
“These forms reproduce at night,” I muttered, glaring at the stack of client intake sheets. “They’re like gremlins.”
Jordan, perched on the edge of the reception desk with his laptop, snorted. “Don’t feed them after midnight, then.”
“I’m feeding *you* after midnight if you don’t fix the client database field that keeps auto-correcting ‘neutered’ to ‘neutered??’ with two question marks,” I shot back.
“That’s not a bug, that’s editorializing,” he said. “Some of these people *need* to be questioned.”
“Jordan.”
“Fine.” His fingers clacked. “Fixed. You’re welcome.”
We worked in companionable silence for a while.
Outside, the streetlights flicked on one by one. The town quieted. Somewhere down the block, music drifted faintly from the bar—some old rock song about highways and bad decisions.
“You going home soon?” Jordan asked at last, not looking up. “Or you planning to fall asleep on that file cabinet and call it a night?”
I glanced at the time on my phone.
8:03 p.m.
I’d told myself I’d go home before dark tonight.
I’d also told myself I’d get through the entire intake backlog.
One of those goals had been wildly optimistic.
“I’ll leave in a bit,” I said. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Who says I’m babysitting?” he said. “This is prime meme-scrolling time. I’m multitasking.”
“Right,” I said. “You just *happen* to be multitasking at my clinic after hours on the exact night a certain Alpha said he and his merry band of furries would be doing patrols near my cabin.”
He shot me an innocent look. “Coincidence.”
“Uh-huh.”
We both glanced at the window.
Outside, the sky was shading from indigo to bruise-dark. The ridge loomed, its tree line a jagged silhouette against the deepening blue.
My phone buzzed.
Theo: Wolf incoming. Leaving in twenty.
A ridiculous warmth bloomed in my chest.
Me: Consider water bowl placed.
Three dots.
Theo: Tell Rufus not to growl at my ass this time.
I snorted.
Me: No promises. He has high standards.
“Let me guess,” Jordan said. “Your plumbing consultant?”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t quite kill the smile on my lips.
He peered at me over his screen. “You good for a solo drive up? I can follow you.”
“You followed me last time,” I said. “People are going to start rumors.”
“I’m sexy like that,” he said. “Seriously, though. It’s dark. The road’s crap. And you happen to live on top of Magic Mountain.”
“Magic Mountain has better branding,” I said. “But thanks. I’m fine.”
He studied me a second longer, then nodded. “Text when you get in. Or I’ll send Ivy up in a stolen truck to check on you.”
“Terrifying,” I said. “Motivating, but terrifying.”
I locked up the clinic, the familiar twist of the deadbolt starting to feel like ritual.
My Subaru grumbled awake.
The drive up was muscle memory now. Turn at the old oak. Slow at the washboard section. Avoid the pothole that looked like it wanted to eat my front axle.
The higher I climbed, the clearer the air.
Stars blossomed overhead, sharp and close.
I rolled the window down a crack.
Pine. Cold earth. Damp rock.
And under it—a new note.
Musky. Wild. Familiar.
Wolves.
I swallowed, knuckles whitening on the wheel.
“Wolf incoming,” I muttered. “Yeah. No kidding.”
The cabin appeared between the trees, its dark outline comforting.
Light glowed in one window—the one over the sink. I’d left it on that morning so I wouldn’t come home to pitch black.
Rufus’s silhouette rose in the front window the second my headlights swept the clearing. He barked, big dog voice echoing off the trees.
“Yeah, yeah,” I called as I opened the door. “Terrifying, you’re terrifying.”
He bounded out as soon as I cracked the cabin door, toenails scrabbling on the porch. His nose went high, working. His tail shot straight up, hackles following.
“Hey,” I said sharply. “Easy.”
He ignored me.
He spun toward the treeline.
A key sound I’d learned in the last weeks threaded through the night then: the soft, rhythmic pad of paws on packed earth. More than one set.
My heartbeat stuttered.
Shapes moved at the edge of the clearing.
Three wolves slipped between the trees.
Theo first—larger than the others, gray-black fur catching the starlight, eyes glinting.
Behind him: a smaller, rangier shape—Sam, if the cocky tilt of his head was any indication. And Nora, sleek and dark, ears pricked, moving with coiled grace.
They paused just inside the clearing, scenting.
Rufus burst into full-throated barking.
Theo’s ears flinched. He huffed, clearly unimpressed.
“Rufus,” I warned. “Friends.”
My dog did not agree.
He lunged to the end of his leash, all protective fury.
The wolves sat in a neat line, perfectly calm.
It was, absurdly, funny.
I laughed.
Mountains. Wolves. Dreams about bites and destiny. And me with a barking idiot on a leash, telling him to use his inside voice.
“This is my life now,” I muttered.
Theo’s wolf form turned his head toward me.
That same weird sense of recognition zapped through me.
*Hi,* my traitor brain thought.
He trotted closer.
Sam and Nora hung back, polite.
Theo stopped a few feet from the porch steps, lowering his head slightly.
I felt the question in it: *You okay?*
I nodded.
His tail wagged once.
He huffed, jerked his head toward the trees, then looked back at me.
“Go,” I said. “Do your…alpha…thing.”
He blinked slowly.
Then he turned, and the three of them slipped back into the forest, soundless as shadows.
Rufus barked one last protest, then sniffed the air where they’d been and sneezed.
“Yeah,” I told him softly. “Tell me about it.”
***
I didn’t expect the blood.
Three hours later, the Ridge woke me.
Not the normal night sounds. Not the background hum I was getting used to.
A spike.
A jolt.
Like being yanked up out of sleep by a hand on my collar.
I sucked in a breath, sitting up in bed.
Rufus whined from the floor, head popping up.
My phone glowed on the nightstand.
No messages.
But something outside…*hurt.*
The awareness wasn’t logical. It wasn’t a thought.
It was a knowing.
Like when you walk into a room and feel, without seeing them, that someone you love is there.
Except this was *pain.*
I threw the covers back.
The digital clock read 2:17 a.m.
“Stay,” I told Rufus, even though I knew it was useless.
I grabbed my flashlight, my boots, and my sweatshirt, and stepped out onto the porch.
Cold air slapped me.
The clearing looked…normal.
Dark. Quiet.
The forest did not.
The trees at the far edge shivered, as if something large had just passed through them.
The scent hit me a second later.
Blood.
Hot. Metallic. Thick.
Too much.
My vet brain snapped into gear before my human brain could panic.
Something was hurt.
Badly.
A deer? Elk? One of the Pack?
My stomach lurched.
“Stay,” I told Rufus again, firmer. “I mean it.”
He whined, pacing, but didn’t barrel past me.
Progress.
I shone the flashlight toward the treeline.
The beam cut through the darkness, slicing across trunks and underbrush.
There—movement.
A shape staggered out of the trees.
For a second, I couldn’t parse it.
Too big to be a dog. Wrong gait for a bear.
Wolf.
Huge. Dark.
It limped, head low, legs shaking.
Blood slicked its left side, glistening black in the flashlight glare.
I froze.
My brain screamed *danger*.
Every instinct I had screamed *help*.
It stopped at the edge of the clearing.
Its head lifted.
Eyes met mine.
Not Theo.
These eyes were wrong.
Too bright. Too wild. There was no recognition in them, only…desperation.
It snarled, teeth flashing.
I took a step back, heart crashing.
“Okay,” I whispered, hands up. “Okay. It’s okay.”
It took a shuddering breath.
Then, in a move that made my skin crawl and my heart break, it *crawled* forward.
Not loped. Not limped.
Crawled.
Like it had no more strength to hold itself up.
My flashlight beam shook; the light jittered over its body.
A deep gash tore across its ribs, some sort of puncture near the shoulder. Blood matted the fur.
Rufus growled low, pressed against my leg.
“Shh,” I murmured, though my own pulse was a roar. “He’s…hurt.”
The wolf made it three more feet.
Then it collapsed.
Not a graceful fold. A fall.
A choked sound tore out of me.
The wolf’s sides heaved.
It stared up at me.
In that gaze, I saw something I couldn’t ignore.
Fear.
I moved without thinking.
Down the steps. Across the clearing.
Every cell screamed that this was stupid.
Every hour in emergency rotation said this was what I was for.
I knelt a few feet away.
The wolf tensed weakly.
“Hey,” I said, voice shaking. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
It huffed, a wet, ragged noise.
The smell of blood was overwhelming.
Not just blood.
Silver.
A bright, acrid tang I’d never encountered before.
It made my nose wrinkle and my stomach flip.
“Shit,” I whispered. “Silver.”
I didn’t know much about shifters beyond what my grandmother’s journal and Theo had given me, but I knew that word.
Silver.
Poison.
“Who did this to you?” I whispered, reaching for my bag by reflex and finding only empty air. Of course. I’d come out here half-dressed, not carrying my kit.
“Okay,” I said aloud, to the wolf, to myself. “Okay. I need…supplies. I’m going to go get…stuff. Don’t die.”
The wolf’s ear flicked.
I scrambled back to the cabin, heart in my throat.
Rufus danced around me, agitated.
“Inside,” I snapped, opening the door. “Kennel.”
He balked.
“Rufus, *kennel*,” I ordered.
Conflicted whine. Then, reluctantly, he slunk into his crate, the one I’d set up in the corner for nights like this, and flopped down with a huff.
“Good boy,” I said, throwing him a treat. “Stay. No heroics.”
I grabbed my go-bag, jamming my feet properly into boots this time, shoving my arms into my heavier jacket.
Phone. Flashlight. Gauze. Suture kit. Scissors. Morphine.
I hesitated with the syringe in my hand.
Morphine.
For a *werewolf.*
Was that safe?
No idea.
I stuffed it in anyway.
Outside again, the clearing felt smaller.
The wolf hadn’t moved far.
It tried to lift its head as I approached, then gave up, panting.
Up close, the wounds were worse than I’d thought.
The gash across its ribs was deep, muscle shredded. The puncture near the shoulder oozed sluggishly. Around both, the fur had a greenish sheen.
Silver.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
I dropped to my knees, letting my hands hover before touching.
“Okay,” I said, mostly to keep myself from screaming. “Hi. I’m Rory. You’re a dumbass. Who gets shot with silver near a town full of people who can smell it?”
A weak huff.
Not quite a laugh. Not quite *not.*
“Can you understand me?” I asked, softer.
The wolf’s gaze sharpened a fraction.
My heart flipped.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. One for ‘yes.’ Two for ‘no.’ Got it?”
One blink.
“You’re not allowed to be this…cooperative and cute while dying,” I muttered.
I needed help.
Real help.
Human hands.
Preferably…shifter-knowledgeable ones.
My phone shook in my grip as I pulled it out.
Theo first.
It rang once.
“Rory?” His voice was already sharp, alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Wounded wolf,” I blurted. “In my clearing. Silver. Bleeding out. Not you. Not Sam or Nora. Different. Rogue?”
A beat of pure, electric silence.
“Stay back,” he said, voice deadly calm. “Do not touch him.”
Already touching.
Too late.
“I’m a vet,” I snapped. “He’s dying.”
“He could be *feral,*” Theo said. “Or a spy. Or worse. He could—”
“He’s *hurt,*” I cut in. “I’m not going to watch him bleed out on my lawn. I need help. Now. Bring…whatever shifter first aid kit you’ve got. And maybe…backup.”
A low, vicious curse.
“We’re close,” he said. “Five minutes. Do *not* let him bite you.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “Hurry.”
I hung up before he could argue.
The wolf’s eyes had slid half-closed.
“Hey,” I said sharply, tapping his shoulder. “None of that. Stay with me.”
His eyelid fluttered.
I pulled on gloves with shaking hands.
Gently, I probed the gash.
He flinched, a soft whine escaped.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Sorry, I know. I know.”
The wound was ragged. Edges blackened in spots where the silver had burned.
I found the source of the worst bleeding—a nicked artery, deep.
“I can clamp you,” I whispered. “I can maybe…stop this. But if your blood doesn’t…cooperate like a normal dog’s, I’m…guessing.”
He blinked once.
“Okay, so we’re playing trust fall,” I said. “Great.”
I reached for the morphine syringe again.
“Small dose,” I told him. “Pain. Might make you sleepy. Don’t fight it.”
His lip flickered, just barely.
I swabbed a clean patch of skin near his haunch and slid the needle in.
He tensed, then relaxed a fraction.
“Good,” I murmured. “Good boy. Or girl. I didn’t check. Wow, I’m unprofessional.”
His tail twitched once.
I’d take it as a laugh.
I packed gauze into the worst of the wound, pressing hard.
Time blurred.
The world narrowed.
Blood. Breath. My own pulse pounding in my ears.
Headlights flared at the edge of the clearing.
An engine cut.
Truck door slam.
Footsteps pounded.
“Rory!”
Theo.
I didn’t look up.
“Here,” I said, voice tight. “He’s bleeding—”
Theo swore when he saw the wolf.
Not in English.
A language that rolled like stones.
“What the fuck,” another voice said—Sam. “Theo—”
“Get Nora,” Theo snapped. “Get the kit. Now. And wake Hayes. This is…not one of ours.”
Not one of ours.
The words sent a cold shiver through me.
Of course.
If he’d been Pack, they’d have known.
They’d have felt him missing.
This…was something else.
Theo dropped to a crouch opposite me.
His eyes took in the scene in one sweep—the wound, the blood, my bloodless hands.
“Move,” he said.
“Excuse me,” I snapped. “I’ve got his artery clamped with my *fingers.* I’m not letting go until someone else grabs it.”
He blinked. Assessing.
Then, silently, he slid his hand under mine, finding the slick, pulsing vessel by feel.
“On three,” he said. “One. Two.”
We switched.
His grip was sure, steady.
Blood slowed.
I exhaled shakily.
Nora skidded into view, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Sam followed, face pale in the flashlight glare.
“What the hell?” Nora breathed. “He smells like—”
“Silver,” I said. “Yeah. I know.”
She shot me a quick, sharp look.
“You touched him,” she said.
“Guilty,” I said. “Add it to my growing list of questionable life choices.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
“Any bites?” he demanded.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” he muttered. “Nora. Salve. Bandages. The black jar.”
She dug into the bag, pulling out containers I didn’t recognize. One was clay, sealed with wax, smelling faintly of herbs and metal.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Old medicine,” Theo said. “For silver burns. Hayes’s recipe. Don’t touch it with bare skin.”
“Comforting,” I muttered.
The wolf’s eyes fluttered again.
Up close, I could see more details now that the initial panic haze had faded.
His fur was darker along the spine, almost black. Gray dusted his muzzle. His left ear was torn.
Old scars crisscrossed his legs.
Not a young wolf.
Not a pampered one.
“Rory,” Theo said. “We need stitches.”
“I can do that,” I said automatically.
“With our thread,” he cautioned. “Not human. It…interacts better with our healing.”
“Okay,” I said. “You clamp, I sew. Nora, you…salve after we get the worst of the bleeding under control. Sam, you…hold the light.”
Sam bristled. “I can do more than hold—”
“Light, Sam,” Theo snapped. “Less ego, more illumination.”
Sam muttered something under his breath, but he complied.
Through it all, the rogue wolf lay still.
His breath hitched occasionally. His muscles twitched.
But he didn’t snap. Didn’t fight.
He…trusted us.
Or he was too far gone to care.
Under my gloved hands, I could feel his heartbeat fluttering.
“Stay,” I whispered. “You don’t get to die after dragging yourself to my cabin like a drama queen.”
Theo’s lip twitched. Just barely.
We worked in grim silence.
Stitch. Knot. Cut.
My fingers flew, guided by years of muscle memory.
The thread was coarser than my usual suture, smelling faintly of something metallic and sharp—iron? But it held.
Nora spread the salve carefully along the burned edges of the wounds.
Where it touched, the skin hissed again, but the blackness faded a shade.
“What happened to him?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Hunter?”
“Poacher,” Theo said grimly. “Or worse.”
“Worse?” I repeated.
“Rogue,” Sam said tightly. “Loners. Shifters with no Pack. Some of them hunt their own. For…fun. Or power. Or coin.”
My stomach turned.
“We don’t know that,” Theo said quietly. “Not yet.”
“But you suspect,” I said.
His eyes met mine over the wolf’s body.
“Yeah,” he said. “I suspect.”
The wolf’s eyelids fluttered again.
This time, they opened.
Slow.
His gaze focused on Theo first.
Recognition flashed there.
Old. Bitter.
“Mal—” the wolf tried to say, his mouth mangling the sound.
His whole body shuddered.
Theo squeezed his shoulder carefully.
“Don’t talk,” he said. “Save your strength.”
The wolf’s gaze slid to me.
Held.
Something like…curiosity flickered there.
He sniffed weakly.
His nostrils flared.
“Marg…” he whispered, voice cracked, more breath than word. “Smell…like…Marg…”
My heart stuttered.
Theo’s head snapped up.
“You know Margaret?” he demanded.
The wolf wheezed, lips twitching in something like a smile.
“Course…” he croaked. “Everyone…knew…Maggie.”
His eyes rolled back.
His body went limp.
Panic shot through me.
I slapped my fingers to his throat.
Weak pulse.
Still there.
“Unconscious,” I breathed. “Not gone.”
Theo exhaled slowly.
“Get the stretcher,” he told Sam. “We’re not doing the rest of this in the dirt.”
“Where are we taking him?” Nora asked.
“Not town,” Sam said immediately. “He smells…wrong. People will freak.”
“The old bunkhouse,” Theo said. “Back of the ridge. No humans. Plenty of space. Hayes can…poke at him there.”
“And if he wakes up angry?” Nora asked.
“Then we’ll be ready,” Theo said.
His gaze flicked to me.
“You’re not coming,” he added.
“Excuse me?” I said. “I just stitched this idiot back together. I’m not handing him off like a package and hoping you don’t screw up his aftercare.”
“This isn’t a goat with a hoof rot, Rory,” Theo said, voice strained. “He could be dangerous. You’re not stepping into a cabin full of wounded, potentially feral shifter without—”
“Without what?” I cut in. “Without you there? You’ll be there. With half your Pack. I’ll bring morphine and gauze and my sparkling personality. You bring teeth.”
“You’re shaking,” he said flatly.
“I’m *cold,*” I lied.
His jaw worked.
“Nora,” he said. “Talk sense into her.”
Nora snorted. “You’re asking me to argue against a woman doing exactly what I’d do? I’m not suicidal.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah, no,” Sam said. “She scares me more than Hayes.”
“Cowards,” Theo muttered.
I put my gloved hand on his arm.
He stilled.
“I’m coming,” I said quietly. “I can help. You know that. You said as much when you dragged me into this in the first place.”
He stared down at where my fingers rested on his sleeve.
The bond hummed, low and insistent.
He blew out a breath.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But you stay behind me. You don’t get close unless I say. And if I tell you to run, you *run.*”
“Deal,” I said.
Sam and Nora exchanged a look that said *we’re doomed.*
The stretcher appeared.
They eased the wolf onto it carefully.
He didn’t stir.
As they lifted him, his paw flopped over the edge.
Without thinking, I caught it.
It was heavy. Warm. The pads were rough and scarred.
“You’re not allowed to die,” I told him again. “I have questions.”
His claws twitched.
***
The bunkhouse sat tucked into a fold of the ridge, half-hidden by pines. It had clearly once housed a lot of bodies—long and low, with multiple doors and a sagging porch. Now, from the smell and the flicker of lamplight through the cracks, it housed…Pack business.
And secrets.
They carried the wolf inside.
The air was thick with shifter scent.
Not the cleaner, sharper smells of Pack in their human skins.
This was…raw.
Fur. Blood. Sweat.
Power.
My nerves sang.
Hayes waited inside, standing beside a scarred wooden table like some forest magistrate. Vera perched on a chair, hands folded, eyes sharp. Elias leaned in the corner, arms crossed.
They all turned when we entered.
The wolf on the stretcher groaned faintly.
Hayes’s gaze locked onto him.
For a second, something like shock crossed his face.
Then he schooled it.
“Drop him here,” he said, tapping the table. “Gently.”
They shifted him over.
My hands went automatically to his side.
Pulse. Breath. Wound.
Holding.
“Who is he?” I asked, unable to keep the demand out of my voice.
Hayes ignored me.
“Theo,” he said instead. “You saw who did this?”
“Found him outside Aurora’s cabin,” Theo said. “Dragged himself there. Said he smelled like Margaret.”
Four sets of eyes swung to me.
I resisted the urge to hunch.
“That’s what he said,” I muttered. “Don’t look at me like I shot him.”
Hayes moved to the wolf’s head.
Gently—more gently than I’d expected—he laid a hand between the torn ears.
“Old friend,” he murmured. “You always did know how to make an entrance.”
The wolf’s eyelids fluttered.
He forced them open.
This time, when he focused on Hayes, there was more than fear in his gaze.
There was…loathing.
“Hayes,” he rasped. “Still…ugly.”
Elias choked on a laugh.
Hayes’s mouth twisted. “Still…rude.”
The wolf bared his teeth in something like a grin.
“I’m dizzy,” I muttered. “You two…know each other?”
Hayes glanced at me briefly.
“This is Malachi,” he said. “He used to be one of ours. Before he decided rules were…optional.”
“Don’t talk about rules,” Malachi wheezed. “You…old…snake.”
He coughed.
Blood flecked his lips.
I grabbed a rag from the table, wiped it gently away.
His eyes slid back to me.
“Margaret’s girl,” he said, clearer this time. “She…had more…jaw.”
“Rude,” I said reflexively. “You’re bleeding on my shoes.”
He snorted weakly.
“Feels like…her,” he murmured. “But…softer. Less…rage.”
“You’re not helping your case,” I told him.
Theo stepped closer.
“What happened?” he asked. “Who shot you?”
“Rogues,” Malachi said. “Down south. Packless…trash. Smelled like…copper and…cheap whiskey. Heard ‘em talk. Said…Ridge was…weak. Alpha soft. Old deals…ripe…”
His gaze fixed on Theo then.
“…for…the…taking,” he finished.
My blood ran cold.
Theo’s shoulders stiffened.
“Names,” Hayes demanded. “How many. Where.”
Malachi wheezed a laugh that turned into a cough.
“You…gonna…pay me…this time?” he rasped. “Last time I…brought you…news…you threw…me…out.”
“You stole from us,” Hayes snapped. “You took our secrets and traded them down the hill for coin.”
“Fair…trade,” Malachi said. “You…took my…girl.”
The word hung there.
Heavy.
“What?” I blurted.
“Later,” Vera murmured without looking at me.
I bit my tongue.
Malachi coughed again. His whole body shook.
I laid a hand on his ribs, instinct overriding caution.
“Easy,” I said. “Easy. You’re tearing your stitches.”
He stilled a fraction under my palm.
“Soft,” he muttered. “Stupid. Like…her.”
“Stop comparing me to my grandmother,” I snapped. “You’re going to give me a complex.”
He huffed.
Then his eyes rolled, unfocused.
“Ridge…bleeds,” he whispered. “Hunters…coming. Old magic…smell…ripe.”
His head lolled.
His chest hitched.
Stopped.
Panic slammed into me.
I grabbed his neck again.
Nothing.
“No,” I said, loudly. “No, no, no. Not like this. Not after all that drama.”
I reached for my bag, for the syringe.
Epinephrine. Straight into the heart.
“Rory,” Theo said quietly.
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare tell me to stop. I can—”
“Look,” he said.
I froze.
Malachi’s body…flickered.
Not in the literal sense.
In the sense that his *presence*—that undefinable spark you feel in any living creature—pulled back.
The Ridge under my feet shivered.
Something old and vast exhaled.
A wind I couldn’t feel on my skin moved through the bunkhouse.
Hayes’s hand tightened convulsively on the wolf’s head.
“Damn you,” he whispered. “You stubborn old fool.”
The air tasted like iron and ozone.
For a heartbeat, Malachi’s eyes cleared.
He met my gaze.
“Listen,” he said. “Don’t…let them…chain you.”
My throat closed.
“I’m trying,” I whispered.
He smiled.
Then he was gone.
Not just dead.
Gone.
The Ridge hummed differently.
A thread snapped.
The bunkhouse felt…emptier.
Hayes bowed his head.
“Who were the rogues?” Theo demanded into the silence, voice harsh. “Where are they? How many—”
“We’ll get nothing more from him now,” Vera said softly. “Let him…go.”
Theo’s hands curled into fists.
“He came here to warn us,” I said. “He crawled to my cabin with silver in his body to say…what he said. You owe him more than a funeral and a muttered curse.”
Hayes’s gaze snapped to me.
“You know nothing of what I owe him,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “Of what he owed *us.*”
“Then tell me,” I flared. “Tell me why this man—wolf—whatever—dragged himself past however many other places he could have died to *my front yard* to bleed on my grass. Tell me why he knew Margaret. Why he smelled like *danger* and *family* at the same time.”
Hayes looked like he wanted to bite me.
Vera sighed.
“Enough,” she said quietly. “We have two problems now. Maybe three. Rogues poking at our borders. A dead man with old grudges. And a debt-holder who keeps getting dropped into the middle of our secrets whether we like it or not.” Her gaze softened—fractionally—when it landed on me. “We cannot keep pretending she’s not part of this. Not if the Ridge insists on making her its…favorite.”
“Favorite,” I repeated weakly. “That sounds…dangerous.”
“It is,” Hayes said.
I drew myself up.
“Good,” I said. “I like danger.”
Theo choked.
Sam covered a laugh with a cough.
Hayes stared at me like I’d grown another head.
“Margaret’s blood,” he muttered. “Right down to the foolhardy bravado.”
“Thank you,” I said sweetly.
He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to throttle me or clap.
“Clean him,” he said brusquely to Nora and Sam. “Wrap him. We’ll decide where to bury him at sunup. Somewhere he can’t eavesdrop.”
Nora’s mouth twitched.
Hayes turned his cane toward me.
“As for you,” he said. “Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow, you and I will talk, Aurora. About Malachi. About Margaret. About…terms.”
Theo’s shoulders tensed.
“Terms,” I echoed slowly.
“Yes,” Hayes said. “You want…options? You’ll have more than you like.”
The threat and promise tangled together.
My stomach twisted.
Theo stepped closer, his arm brushing mine.
It was a small contact.
It felt like armor.
“I’ll walk her back,” he said.
Hayes snorted. “You’d walk her to the outhouse if she let you.”
“Probably,” Theo said easily.
We stepped out into the cold dawn air together.
The sky was starting to lighten at the edges, a pale gray smear.
We didn’t speak until we were halfway to the truck.
Then, softly, I said, “You’re mad.”
He blew out a breath that fogged in the chill.
“Not at you,” he said.
“Feels like at me,” I said. “Which, to be fair, is not new.”
He glanced at me, a corner of his mouth lifting. “You keep ignoring my very reasonable ‘do not touch strange wolves’ advice. It’s vexing.”
“You say ‘very reasonable,’ I say ‘impossible,’” I replied. “You’re not going to talk me out of doing my job.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s part of why I…” He trailed off.
“Like me?” I supplied.
“Worry,” he said instead.
We walked in silence another few steps.
“You’re taking this rogue thing seriously,” I observed.
“Rogues are always a problem,” he said. “But if they’re organized…if they’re talking about old deals, about the Ridge being weak…that’s…new.”
“And Malachi?” I asked. “He…left? Was kicked out? What?”
Theo’s jaw flexed.
“Old story,” he said. “Old wounds. Hayes’s to tell. He’ll…spin it his way. I’ll give you mine later, if you want.”
“I do,” I said. “I want all of it.”
He nodded.
At my cabin, he walked me to the door like some old-fashioned gentleman.
The sky had gone from gray to a bruise-purple. Birds were starting to stir.
Rufus barked excitedly from inside when he heard us.
Theo hesitated on the top step.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I watched someone die,” I said bluntly. “Again. I stitched a stranger’s guts back together on my lawn. Again. I found out there are rogue wolves with silver bullets sniffing around my new backyard. Again.” I swallowed. “So…no. Not really.”
His face softened.
“Do you want—that drink, now?” he asked quietly. “Or sleep?”
Sleep sounded impossible.
But I was hovering on the edge of something dangerous.
I could feel it.
If I let him in now, with my nerves raw, with the taste of death still in my mouth…I might not stop at one drink.
I might drag him to my bed and let the bond have its way and untangle the guilt later.
Slow burn.
My rules.
“Sleep,” I said hoarsely. “If I drink with you right now, I’m going to make some very unwise decisions.”
His pupils blew wide.
He swallowed.
“Good call,” he said, voice a little strangled. “Text me if you…can’t. Sleep.”
“Okay,” I said.
We stood there, the space between us humming.
He lifted his hand.
For a second, I thought he was going to touch my neck again.
Instead, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
The lightest brush of fingers against my skin.
It felt more intimate than the kiss in the clinic.
“I’ll keep patrols tight,” he murmured. “No one gets near this cabin without me smelling them first.”
“Bossy,” I whispered.
“Protective,” he corrected.
“Same thing,” I said.
He smiled.
Then he stepped back.
“Wolf incoming,” he said, voice a little bleak this time.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
His laugh followed me inside.
I leaned my back against the closed door and slid down until I sat on the rug.
Rufus shoved his head into my lap.
“You heard what Malachi said,” I whispered into his fur. “Don’t let them chain you.”
Rufus groaned and rolled over for belly rubs.
I buried my face in his side and laughed, half a sob.
“Okay,” I said to the ceiling, the Ridge, my dead grandmother. “Okay. Terms. War. Choices. Fine. Let’s see what you’ve really got.”
Outside, the first rays of sun edged over the opposite ridge.
The mountain watched.
I stared back.
And somewhere, just out of sight, rogue wolves turned their noses toward Cutter’s Ridge and smiled with too many teeth.
***