The plan came together over coffee, lasagna leftovers, and one alarming spreadsheet.
Jordan brought the spreadsheet.
He barged into the cabin mid-morning, laptop under his arm, hair sticking up like he’d pulled an all-nighter.
“Operation Honey Trap,” he announced, slapping the computer on the table.
“No,” I said immediately. “We are *not* calling it that.”
“It’s thematic,” he protested. “You. Honey. Rogues like bees to—”
“Stop,” Theo said, voice like a growl. “Just…stop.”
Mom sipped her coffee.
“I’m already regretting staying for this,” she said.
Jordan flipped the laptop open.
On the screen: a grid.
Columns and rows.
Color-coded.
“Okay,” he said. “Hear me out. We know rogues have been sniffing around the south ridge. We know Malachi heard them talking about old deals. We know they like silver and cheap whiskey. We also know they’re…not subtle. They hit that ranch last month in broad daylight. Took two calves. Left a snide scent mark on our border like teenagers.”
“Rude,” Ivy said from the doorway, where she’d appeared with the stealth of a cat. “Also stupid.”
“Exactly,” Jordan said. “So. We use that. We present them with something…tempting. But not easy. We make them think they’re getting the jump on us. While we’re…actually waiting for them with unpleasant surprises.”
“Like what?” Mom asked dryly. “Exploding trees?”
“Working on it,” Elias said, slipping in behind Ivy, coffee in hand. “Jordan’s been begging me to let him rig detonators to the old quarry.”
“Absolutely not,” Theo said. “We are not blowing up part of the Ridge to make a point.”
“Coward,” Jordan muttered.
“This is not…fun,” Theo snapped. “This is…life and death. Pack. Ridge. Her.”
His gaze landed on me.
Heat flared in my chest.
“I know,” Jordan said, sobering. “That’s why I…built this.”
He turned the laptop toward me.
The spreadsheet was a breakdown of…everything.
On the left: columns labeled BAIT, PACK, TOWN, RIDGE.
On the top: SCENES, RISKS, MITIGATIONS, CONTINGENCIES.
He’d color-coded each cell—green for low risk, yellow for moderate, red for “holy shit, don’t do this.”
At the top, in bold: SCENARIO A – STRUCTURED ENCOUNTER (CONTROLLED).
“Explain,” I said, impressed despite myself.
“Okay,” Jordan said, pointing. “Scenario A: We ‘randomly’ let slip that our favorite vet is going to be doing a house call at the south pasture next Tuesday night. Alone. After dark. Everyone in town ‘knows’ this. Including the assholes who have ears where we don’t.”
“We have to assume they have ears in town,” Elias added. “Humans. Shifters. Both. Somebody feeding them info. They knew about Margaret’s deal. That’s not in any public record.”
“That’s…comforting,” I muttered.
“We pick a spot near the pasture that’s…Pack-friendly,” Jordan continued. “Good sight lines. Lots of cover. Easy exits. Wards that Hayes and Vera can strengthen without drawing too much attention.”
“We put you there,” Elias said. “With a real reason. Sick cow. Goat. Whatever. Something you’d plausibly be out for at that hour.”
“I’m not faking an emergency,” I said. “I’d jinx myself. And the cow.”
“Fine, we use a real one,” he said. “Something minor enough the humans won’t freak but urgent enough the Pack will buy it. Malachi said they’re watching our patterns. We give them a pattern.”
“Then what?” Mom asked. “She just…stands there with a sign that says ‘free magic blood’?”
“Then we wait,” Jordan said. “We lay low. Pack on the ridge. Hidden. You—” He nodded at Theo. “—closest. On a leash.”
Theo’s lip curled.
“Figurative,” Jordan amended quickly. “She gives us a signal if she feels…anything. Bond tug. Weird hum. Rogue scent. We close in. Trap them. Question them. Kill them if necessary.”
“So your plan,” Mom said, “is to put my daughter in the middle of a field as bait for armed werewolf mercenaries and hope your timing is impeccable.”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “But, like, with style.”
“No,” Theo said flatly.
“Yes,” I said at the same time.
We stared at each other.
“Rory,” he growled.
“The longer we wait,” I said, “the more they learn. About me. About you. About this place. We need to…control the first encounter. Make it on our terms, not theirs.”
“You are not a…pawn,” he said. “To move around a board.”
“I’m a queen,” I said. “Highest-value piece. Multi-directional.”
Mom snorted, then choked on her coffee.
“Points for confidence,” Ivy muttered.
“I trust your Pack,” I said to Theo, softer. “I trust you. If I’m out there, you won’t…hang back. You won’t…let them get close. You’ll move. That’s…what I’m betting on.”
His jaw worked.
“This isn’t about my ego,” he said. “It’s about…variables. About crossfire. About silver.”
“Then plan for them,” I said. “Use your big Alpha brain. Think of every way this could go wrong and build a wall around each one. You’re good at that.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I hate that you’re making sense,” he muttered.
Mom set her mug down with a soft clink.
“I’m with him,” she said. “I hate this. Every fiber of my being hates this. But…I also…raised you. I know that…once you’ve set your jaw like that, nothing short of a tranquilizer dart is going to move you.” She eyed Theo. “Do you have those?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “But they’re for dogs.”
“Shame,” she muttered.
Theo looked between us.
Two stubborn women.
One magic mountain.
A spreadsheet.
He sighed, long and weary.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Okay. Scenario A. But we do it *my* way. My Pack. My field. My rules.”
“Terms,” I said.
His gaze locked on mine.
“Terms,” he agreed.
***
We spent the next three days planning.
Drills.
Patrols.
Wards.
Hayes and Vera walked the chosen field—a wide, gently sloping meadow bordered by trees on three sides and a shallow creek on the fourth—with serious faces.
“This is…good,” Vera said, tapping the ground with her cane. “Lines of sight. Natural echoes. The Ridge likes this spot.”
“It’s also where the elk like to bed,” Hayes said. “Scent’s thick. Could mask rogue approach.”
“Then we make it thicker,” Vera said. “Get some of the pups rolling around. Piss on some trees.”
“Charming,” I said.
“You wanted to be involved,” she said. “This is what involvement smells like.”
I wrinkled my nose.
Jordan and Elias set up “surprises.”
Not explosives.
Trip lines tied to bells so faint only shifter ears could hear them. Strategically placed flashbangs that would disorient rogues without hurting me or the livestock. A couple of water-filled trenches camouflaged with reeds—“In case we need to put out a silver fire,” Jordan said.
Sam and Nora ran patrols two, three times a night, mapping every rock and dip.
I spent my days at the clinic, my nights oscillating between the cabin and town, my nerves thrumming like plucked strings.
The bond hummed louder.
Not just with Theo.
With the Ridge.
I could feel it when I stepped into certain clearings, when I touched certain stones. An awareness. A welcome or a wariness.
At the chosen field, the hum was…strong.
“Why here?” I asked Theo one afternoon as we stood at the crest of the slope, looking down.
He tipped his head, listening to something I couldn’t quite hear.
“This is where my father made his first deal with Hayes,” he said. “Before your family. Before Rosie. Before your grandfather. This is…old ground.”
“You’re bringing us back to where it started,” I said.
“Seems fitting,” he said. “Either we…rewrite it here. Or we bury it here.”
His profile was stark against the sky.
I wanted to trace the line of his jaw with my finger.
“Which do you want?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Rewrite,” he said. “Always rewrite.”
***
The night before the planned “house call,” my dreams came back.
Stronger.
Teeth.
Blood.
But also…hands.
My hands. On fur. On warm skin. On the old stone, feeling it pulse.
In one, I stood in the field, rogue wolves circling. Their eyes glowed with a strange, unnatural light. They spoke in overlapping voices, all saying the same thing: *Ours. Ours. Ours.*
Theo leaped between us, teeth bared. Hayes chanted something under his breath. The Ridge shook.
I woke with my heart in my throat.
The digital clock read 3:03 a.m.
I swung my legs out of bed, pacing to shake off the fear.
Theo’s scent reached me before his knock.
He stood on the porch in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp with sweat, chest rising slightly faster than normal.
“Can’t sleep,” he said, unnecessarily.
“Me neither,” I said.
We sat on the porch steps, shoulders almost touching.
The night was clear.
Stars scattered across the sky like spilled sugar.
“You ever wish you were just…a guy?” I asked suddenly. “With a nine-to-five. A mortgage. A golden retriever. No Pack. No Ridge. No weird bond with a stubborn vet.”
He huffed.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Then I take a run and feel the dirt under my paws and the wind in my fur and I remember…this is me. I can’t carve it out without…hollowing.”
I nodded.
“I get that,” I said. “I feel…wrong…when I’m not working. Like part of me is…atrophying. Even when it sucks. Even when I’m elbow-deep in cow guts at dawn.”
He glanced at me, mouth quirking.
“At least we’re both gross,” he said.
“Romantic,” I said.
We were quiet a while.
“Are you scared?” he asked abruptly.
“Terrified,” I said. “You?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of…losing you. Of…fucking this up. Of…hesitating when I should move. Or moving when I should wait.”
“You won’t,” I said.
He smiled humorlessly.
“Confidence,” he said. “Not sure I deserve it.”
“You’re…you,” I said. “You move. You act. You…growl. It’s annoying and comforting at the same time.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
We lapsed into silence again.
“After,” I said quietly. “If this…works. If we get answers. If we…survive. I want to…talk about…us. Without wolves. Without rogues. Without Hayes breathing down our necks. Just…you and me. On a porch. Maybe with whiskey.”
His breath hitched.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”
He reached out.
Very carefully.
He took my hand.
Our fingers intertwined.
The bond hummed.
Not a tug.
Not a compulsion.
A warmth.
A yes.
He squeezed.
“Aurora,” he said quietly. “You asked me…once. Or hinted. What my…intentions…are.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“I was hoping you’d forgotten,” I muttered.
“I haven’t,” he said. “I don’t…forget…when it comes to you.”
My heart did that inconvenient flip.
“My intentions are…this,” he said. “To stand between you and anything that wants to hurt you. To not…lie to you. To not…decide for you. To…be here. When the pipes burst. When the Ridge howls. When your mother glares. When the world is…too much. To…love you. If you let me.”
The word landed between us, soft and heavy.
Love.
My lungs seized.
The Ridge hummed in response.
Not a trumpet blast.
A quiet, pleased note.
“I’m not…there yet,” I whispered. “Love.”
“I know,” he said. “I don’t…expect you to say it back. Not now. Maybe not…ever. It’s not a…ledger. I just…needed you to know. Before we walk into whatever clusterfuck tomorrow brings.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“You’re…infuriating,” I said thickly. “Dropping that on me right before we go dance with rogues.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Stakes make us honest,” he said. “Tomorrow, I might not get a chance to say it. Tonight, I do.”
Emotions jostled inside me.
Fear.
Anger.
Something bright and sharp that might, one day, be love.
I leaned over.
Pressed my lips to his cheek.
His breath sucked in.
“Don’t die,” I whispered. “That’s an order.”
He turned his head.
Our mouths were a breath apart.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he murmured.
I could have closed the distance.
I wanted to.
Instead, I pulled back.
Slow burn.
My rules.
His eyes held heat and something like awe.
“Go sleep,” he said roughly. “Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re…not a doctor,” I said.
“I am when I tell you to rest,” he said. “Alpha’s orders.”
“Not helping,” I muttered.
He laughed softly.
As I crawled back into bed, my heart still pounding, the Ridge’s hum felt different.
Less like a demand.
More like…applause.
Or anticipation.
Tomorrow, we’d draw a different kind of line.
Not in ink.
Not in blood.
In action.
And wolves that thought they could take what was ours—*mine*—would learn what a Pack that loved its own really looked like.
I fell asleep with Theo’s confession echoing in my ears.
*To love you. If you let me.*
I wasn’t ready to say it back.
But I was ready to let the possibility live between us.
On my porch.
On my terms.
Under a humming mountain that, for all its magic and menace, had never felt more like home.
***