The thought should have been more alarming than it was.
Her GPS had given up the ghost about thirty minutes back, the pleasant automated voice announcing “your destination is on the left” while pointing at a cliff face, and then falling silent entirely. Now she was navigating by the increasingly vague directions Derek had texted her after she’d sent him a panicked text.
Turn at the big rock that looks like a sleeping bear.
Cross the creek but only at the shallow part.
When you see the carved wolf’s head, you’re almost there.
She’d eventually found the rock (which looked nothing like a bear and everything like a big rock), navigated the creek (which had no obvious shallow part and had required her to simply gun it and pray), and was now searching for the carved wolf’s head with increasing desperation.
“If I die out here,” she muttered, “I’m haunting Derek’s stock portfolio.”
The dirt road suddenly emerged onto an actual paved road, narrow but well-maintained, and she nearly wept with relief. A few minutes later, she entered a tiny village with some rustic looking shops and a couple of small stores. The carved wolf’s head was on a post next to a general store and she sighed as she saw another dirt road on the other side of a rickety bridge.
The road led up through more of the magnificent trees before emerging into a clearing that took her breath away. The Moonstone pack compound spread before her—a collection ofrustic buildings arranged around a central lodge that looked like it had grown organically from the mountain itself. Smoke curled from multiple chimneys. Children ran between buildings, their laughter carrying on the crisp mountain air. A group of wolves—actual wolves, enormous and beautiful—lounged in a patch of sunlight near the main entrance.
It was like driving into a fairy tale. A very large, very intimidating fairy tale populated by creatures that could probably eat her car if they were feeling peckish.
She pulled up in front of the main lodge and parked, her hands trembling slightly as she turned off the engine. Through her windshield, she could see pack members pausing in their activities to stare at her vehicle. At her.
You’re here for work,she reminded herself.Professional. Capable. You’ve rebuilt entire network infrastructures from scratch. You’ve tracked down hackers across three continents. You can handle some werewolves.
She grabbed her laptop bag, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the car.
The scent hit her first—pine and wood smoke with an underlying musk. She could hear birdsong and the faint sound of conversation but underneath it was a profound stillness, not the constant hum of a city life.
She clutched her laptop bag like a shield and started towards the lodge entrance.
She made it approximately ten steps before Adrian appeared. He came through the main doors like he’d been waiting for her, like he’d somehow known the exact moment she’d arrive and had timed his entrance for maximum dramatic impact. Hewas wearing dark green flannel, the sleeves rolled up to expose forearms that looked capable of snapping trees, and jeans that had clearly seen actual labor. Faded jeans that clung to thick muscular thighs and…
She forced her gaze back up to his face. A mistake. His expression was completely unreadable, but those golden-brown eyes were focused on her with an intensity that made the air crackle. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d recently showered, and that forest-after-rain scent washed over her, stronger and more potent than it had been in the hallway.
“Ms. Bailey.” He said her name the same way he had before—a command, a claim, the word vibrating through her entire body. “You’re late.”
She blinked. “I’m—what?”
“Derek said you’d arrive by two. It’s nearly four.”
“I didn’t know I was on a deadline,” she snapped. “Or that my GPS wouldn’t work. Or that I’d need to find a rock that looked nothing like a bear!”
Something suspiciously like amusement flickered in his eyes. “It looks exactly like a bear. Everyone says so.”
“Everyone is wrong. It looks like a rock. A big, rock-shaped rock.”
“Perhaps your eyes need checking.”
“My eyes are—” she stopped, aware that she was standing in the middle of a werewolf compound, arguing about rock morphology with an alpha who could probably crush her with his pinky finger. “Never mind. I’m here now. Where should I set up?”
His gaze swept over her again, slow and deliberate, and she fought the urge to squirm. She was wearing her work uniform—a faded t-shirt for a long-defunct synth band, ripped black jeans, and her combat boots. She’d thought it was a perfectly reasonable outfit for a four-hour car ride. Now, under his scrutiny, she felt like a child who’d worn a unicorn costume to a black-tie gala—except the way his eyes lingered on the bare slivers of skin beneath her jeans didn’t feel judgmental. It felt… proprietary.
“This way,” he said abruptly, turning and stalking back into the lodge without checking to see if she followed.
She hurried to keep up, her boots thumping softly on the wooden porch. The lodge doors opened into a large entry hall with an enormous antler chandelier high above them. To one side was a massive dining room with a table that could easily seat twenty people. One other side was a living room dominated by a massive stone fireplace, its hearth big enough to stand in. Comfortable-looking furniture was arranged in cozy conversation areas.
It was warm and comfortable. It was also the exact opposite of the sterile, controlled environments she was used to working in.
A group of wolves were gathered near the fireplace—five men, all large, all radiating that same dangerous energy as Adrian. Their conversation died the moment she stepped into the hallway. Five pairs of assessing eyes locked onto her, expressions ranging from hostile to merely suspicious.
