“Nothing to apologize for.”
But there was something in his voice. Something careful. Controlled. Like he was holding back just as much as I was.
We kept working in silence after that, but I was hyperaware of him. The way he moved through the cramped office space. The rumble of his voice when he talked to workers who stopped by with questions. The flex of his forearms when he hefted boxes of records.
It had been six months since Anna died. Six months of grief and guilt and emptiness.
I hadn't felt anything for anyone in all that time. Had assumed that part of me had died with her, buried alongside everything else I'd lost.
Apparently not.
“I think that's everything,” Daniel said finally, surveying the boxes we'd stacked near the door. “Enough to keep you busy for a while.”
“At least.” I wiped sawdust from my hands, tried to ignore how close he was standing. “I'll call you when I have something to report.”
“Or you could come back.” He said it casually, like it didn't mean anything. “Work in the office here. Might be easier than hauling everything back and forth.”
“Might be.”
“And I could show you more of the operation. The mill's just part of it. We've got tree farms, processing contracts, equipment maintenance...” He trailed off, seemed to catch himself. “But you probably have other things to focus on. The house renovation. Getting settled.”
“I've got time.”
“Then come back.” His voice had dropped, gone soft in a way that made my chest tight. “Tomorrow, if you want. I'll buy you lunch. Show you the tree farms.”
It wasn't a business proposition. We both knew that.
“Daniel...”
“I know.” He held up a hand. “I know this is complicated. I know you're grieving, and I know I'm... whatever I am. But I'd like to spend time with you, Michael. Not as Alpha and human, not as pack business. Just as two people who might be becoming friends.”
Friends. Right.
I looked at him. At the hope he was trying to hide, the way he was bracing himself for rejection, the vulnerability underneath all that strength.
“Next time, I'm buying lunch.” I said.
The smile that crossed his face was worth every complicated feeling churning in my gut.
4
BLOOD ON THE THRESHOLD
DANIEL
Fog rolled thick through the forest that morning, turning everything beyond twenty feet into watercolor smears of green and gray. I'd been walking the perimeter since before dawn, checking the wards Gideon had reinforced along the eastern boundary, looking for signs of whatever had been circling our territory for the past week.
Something was wrong with the air. I could taste it on my tongue, copper and ozone threading through the usual scent of pine and wet earth. My wolf paced beneath my skin, restless and uneasy, hackles raised at shadows that shouldn't have been moving.
Luke walked beside me, silent and watchful. He'd been Beta long enough to read my moods, to know when I needed conversation and when I needed the kind of companionable quiet that came from years of trust. Right now, I needed his eyes and his instincts and the steady presence of someone who wouldn't ask questions I couldn't answer.
The forest had gone too still. No birdsong. No rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. Just the drip of moisture from branches and the muffled crunch of our boots on damp earth.
“You feel that?” Luke asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
We'd reached the eastern boundary, where pack land met the wild places that belonged to no one. The fog pressed closer here, thick enough to swallow sound, and the temperature had dropped in a way that had nothing to do with weather.
