Jaime Hale was ridiculously good-looking. Unfairly so. Even sitting, he radiated this calm, controlled strength, like he could snap his fingers and the world would fall into line.
His skin was sun-kissed, warm brown with golden undertones, like he spent a lot of time outdoors.
His dark hair was cropped neat on the sides and slightly longer on top, a little tousled, a little too easy to picture my fingers running through it. Not that I would ever dare.
His eyes, though were a rich, deep storm-gray that didn’t betray a single emotion. Not one. They were unreadable. Closed off and cold.
Just like every single time we’d crossed paths in town or in the pack house.
I’d tried talking to him before. I tried being friendly, being casual, once even daring to flirt. Nothing outlandish, just a smile and a compliment about how well he handled the amazing dogs he trained.
But Jaime never responded with anything more than polite nods or curt acknowledgments. It was like trying to flirt with a concrete wall.
And yet my wolf perked up the second I looked at him. Alert and coiled. Aware. I tore my eyes away before I got caught staring too long.
Cooper leaned back in his chair, big hands folded in front of him.
“All right. Let’s get started,” Cooper said.
Peter swallowed hard.
“As I told you earlier, Peter,” Cooper said, “our pack’s in the middle of a transition. We’re growing, we’re integrating more with human society, and we’re bridging old divides. The NewYear’s Eve concert was a good step. But with growth comes problems.”
Cooper turned to me.
“Peter here is one of the few shifters participating in the annual regional dog show this year. It’s usually a human-only event, but for the first time, shifter handlers are being invited. It was meant to be a sign of increasing trust between the communities.”
Something in Cooper’s tone made my stomach tighten.
Peter wrung his hands harder.
“My husband John and I were excited. Really excited. We love training our dogs,” Peter said.
“Past tense?” I asked quietly.
Peter’s throat bobbed. “Two of our friends, who are both shifters, were entering their dogs too. Then their dogs got sick. Really sick. Fast,” he explained.
I frowned. “Sick how?”
“Vomiting. Tremors. Disorientation,” Peter said. “The vet said it looked like poisoning.”
My wolf growled low under my skin, instinctive and angry.
“And because those handlers are shifters,” Cooper said, “Peter and John are scared they might be next. Or that this is part of something larger.”
I hesitated, then said, “Are we considering that this might be a targeted anti-shifter attack? Someone trying to stir up trouble?”
Cooper nodded once, heavily. “We don’t know and that’s the problem.”
My heart thudded. This wasn’t just a simple assignment. This wasn’t just some trainee errand to keep me busy until the real enforcers needed coffee or someone had to do boundary sweeps.
No this was serious. Monumental. Cooper was entrusting me with something that could affect the entire pack’s relationship with the humans in town.
Something that could either strengthen years of progress or set everything on fire. And if I messed this up?
The fragile trust the pack had built would shatter. Humans would pull away. Shifters would retreat. Fear would replace cooperation. I couldn’t afford that. Screwing up was not an option.
Not when I’d months trying to prove that I belonged here. That I wasn’t just the mountain-born loner stray they’d taken in out of pity. That I could be reliable, steady, useful.
