After Laila left, the silence between them settled like an invisible third party. Cora busied herself unpacking the bag.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” Grayson finally said.
“Doing what?”
“Pretending everything’s fine.”
She froze for a moment before continuing to unpack. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about how not fine everything is.”
“Fair enough, but if you ever want to…”
“I won’t,” she said, cutting him off. “But thanks.”
Grayson let the subject drop. For now, keeping her safe was enough. Everything else—the bond, the pull, the way she got under his skin—would have to wait.
***
The early morning streets of Bellefleur were quiet, which felt more like a warning than a reprieve. Grayson walked half a step behind Cora as she descended the stairs, watching every shadow, every flicker of movement at the edges of his vision. The bond hummed low in his chest, a constant, nagging reminder that she was close—too close for his peace of mind but not close enough for his wolf’s liking.
“Do you always look like you’re planning to murder someone, or is that just a special treat for me?” Cora’s voice broke the silence, tinged with the usual sarcasm that had become her armor.
“Habit,” he replied, narrowing his eyes on a figure across the street. Just a pedestrian, or so it seemed, but his instincts had been screaming louder than usual this morning, and he didn’t like dismissing anything as coincidence.
“Well, it’s a little much for the bakery crowd. Try not to scare off the regulars, okay?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, his attention darting to the mouth of an alley as they passed. Empty. For now.
Cora sighed, clearly picking up on his tension. “I know you’re convinced the boogeyman is going to jump out of a bush or something, but you can’t live like this forever.”
“I can,” he corrected. “And I will. Until we know you’re safe.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a long, dramatic breath. “You’re exhausting.”
“You’re welcome.”
Their banter might have seemed normal to an outsider, but every step Grayson took felt like balancing on a knife’s edge. He wasn’t just watching for danger; he was anticipating it. The organization hadn’t gone silent for no reason, and the knot in his gut told him they were far from finished with Cora.
The scent hit him just as they rounded the corner toward the bakery’s entrance. Subtle at first but distinct—an unfamiliar shifter who was too close for comfort. His entire body went rigid, and the wolf inside him growled.
“Cora.” She glanced at him, startled. “Keep walking. Don’t stop until you’re inside.”
“What? Why? What’s—”
“Just do it.” He didn’t have time for explanations. His hand brushed her lower back, steering her forward as he slowed his pace.
“Grayson, what the hell is going on?” she hissed, twisting to look over her shoulder.
“Go,” he ordered. “Now.”
She started to hesitate, but something in his tone must have convinced her because she turned and headed toward the bakery without another word. Grayson stayed where he was, letting the distance between them grow just enough to draw out the stalker.
He caught the scent again, stronger this time, coming from the opposite side of the street. A man lingered near a lamppost. His posture was casual, but his eyes tracked Cora with predatory focus. Grayson didn’t recognize him, but the way the man moved was all the confirmation he needed.
Grayson stepped into the man’s line of sight, making no effort to hide his approach. The stalker’s gaze flitted to him, and something like recognition flashed across his face before he straightened, and his demeanor changed from predator to neutral observer in the blink of an eye.
“Nice morning for a walk,” the man commented. Too calm.
“You’re following her,” Grayson stated, not bothering with pretense. “Why?”
