“Those wildflowers were my wife's,” he said, gesturing toward a patch of purple and yellow blooms that had gone wild along the edge of the property. “She said they'd bring butterflies.”
There was something in his voice, a careful flatness that didn't quite hide the grief underneath.
“They're beautiful,” I said.
“She was a gardener,” Daniel continued, his pace slow and measured. “Always planting things, always believing they'd grow even when the soil seemed too poor or the weather too harsh. Sounds familiar, doesn't it, son?”
Evan's cheeks went pink, but there was fondness in his expression. “Mom always said the stubborn ones were worth the wait.”
“That she did.” Daniel's smile was soft around the edges. “She'd have liked you, Nate. Would've probably adopted you on the spot and started planning elaborate dinner parties just to watch you two pretend you weren't completely smitten with each other.”
“Dad,” Evan groaned, but he was almost-smiling.
I laughed, surprising myself with how natural it felt. “Sounds like she had good instincts.”
“The best,” Daniel agreed. “She used to tell Evan that the right person would see past all his carefully constructed walls and love what they found there. Guess she was right about that too.”
The casual acceptance in his words made my throat tight with emotion I wasn't prepared for.
“You're embarrassing him,” I said, glancing at Evan, who was studying his shoes with intense concentration.
“Good,” Daniel said cheerfully. “He needs more embarrassment in his life. Too serious, this one. Always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
“Someone has to,” Evan muttered.
“No,” Daniel said, his voice gentle but firm. “Someone has to care. There's a difference. And caring doesn't mean you have to do it alone.”
He stopped walking, turning to face both of us with an expression that managed to be both paternal and authoritative.
“My son has spent too many years believing that keeping people at arm's length was the only way to protect them,” he continued. “And maybe that was true, for a while. But watching him with you, Nate... it's the first time in years I've seen him remember what it feels like to be seventeen.”
Evan's head snapped up, his eyes wide with something that might have been panic. “Dad?—”
“Let me finish.” Daniel's tone brooked no argument, but there was warmth underneath the authority. “I know you're scared. Both of you. This place, our family, we come with complications that most people can't handle. But some people are strong enough to carry those complications alongside us.”
He looked directly at me, and I felt the weight of his assessment like a physical thing.
“You've been patient with him,” Daniel said. “You've earned his trust, which isn't something he gives lightly. And more importantly, you've made him laugh. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've heard my son laugh?”
My chest tightened with the casual revelation, with the knowledge that something as simple as making Evan smile had been noticed and treasured by the man who loved him most.
“He's easy to care about,” I said quietly.
“Yes, he is. But not everyone sees that.” Daniel reached out and clapped a hand on Evan's shoulder, the gesture both protective and proud. “You do, though. You see him, really see him, and that's worth more than you know.”
We walked the rest of the way back to the house in comfortable silence, but the air between us felt different now. Lighter, somehow, like Daniel's approval had lifted some invisible weight I hadn't realized I'd been carrying.
6
WOLF BENEATH THE SKIN
EVAN
Three in the morning, and sleep was a stranger I couldn't convince to stay.
I lay in my bed staring at ceiling beams that had witnessed generations of Callahan insomnia, listening to the forest whisper secrets outside my window. The wind carried the scent of dying leaves and distant rain, but underneath it all was that familiar musk of pack territory, of wolves who ran these paths long before I'd learned to walk upright.
My skin felt too tight, like it was trying to contain something that had grown too big for human bones. Even two years later, I could still feel the ghost of that first shift living in my marrow, the memory of transformation carved so deep it might as well be part of my DNA.
