ONE
ELECTRA
Electra folded another sweater into her suitcase as she tried to ignore the hollow ache in her chest. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her Hartford apartment that overlooked the bustling city, illuminating the empty spaces where her desk used to sit. The same infamous desk where she’d writtenAlpha’s RedemptionandMoonlight Surrender, and where readers first fell in love with her brooding shifters and fierce heroines.
Where I used to be somebody who mattered.
The thought hit harder than she expected. Three months. Three months of staring at blank pages, of characters who refused to speak, and of plots that crumbled before they began. Her publisher’s deadline loomed like a storm cloud, and every passing day without progress felt like another nail in the coffin of her career.
“Maybe I should just quit.” The words escaped before she could stop them, hanging in the empty apartment like a confession.
She shook her head and grabbed another handful of clothes. Quitting wasn’t an option—Cosette had made that abundantly clear. When Electra had mentioned it two weeks ago, her editorhad gone into full crisis mode, making frantic calls and pulling strings until she’d somehow connected with this Gerri Wilder woman who claimed she could solve everything with a change of scenery.
A cabin in the mountains.
Electra still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to it. She, who thrived on coffee shops and city energy, was about to relocate to the middle of nowhere based on the recommendation of a woman she’d never met. The whole thing screamed disaster, but something deep in her gut had whisperedyeswhen Gerri described the remote location.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Cosette:Almost there. Coffee in hand. Prepare for chaos.
Right on cue, the apartment door burst open. Cosette swept in like a redheaded hurricane, her hazel eyes bright with manic energy and two steaming coffee cups balanced in her hands.
“Emergency caffeine delivery!” She thrust a cup toward Electra, her stylish bob swinging as she surveyed the packed boxes. “Good lord, you actually did it. You’re really leaving civilization behind.”
“Well, Gerri guaranteed the mountain air would clear my creative blocks.” Electra accepted the coffee gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. “Though I’m starting to think this is just an elaborate way for you to get rid of me.”
“Please. If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d have shipped you to Nebraska.” Cosette perched on the edge of a box, her laptop bag slung across her shoulder like always. “This is about saving your sanity and your career. Gerri knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“Does she? Because agreeing to move somewhere sight unseen based on a five-minute phone call feels like the setup for a horror movie.” Electra took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth steady her nerves. “What if I get there and it’s some decrepit shack with no Wi-Fi and bears outside my door?”
“Then you’ll have the most authentic writing retreat ever.” Cosette’s grin turned wicked. “Think of it now.City Girl Survives the Wilderness: A Romance.Your readers would eat it up.”
“Assuming I actually survive to write it.” But despite her protests, something fluttered in Electra’s chest—not quite excitement, but close. For the first time in months, she felt something other than the crushing weight of creative emptiness.
Cosette stood and began grabbing random items, tossing them into the nearest suitcase with characteristic chaos. “You know what your problem is? You’ve been writing about adventure and passion for years, but you’ve been playing it safe in your own life. When’s the last time you took a real risk?”
Electra opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The truth was, she couldn’t remember. Her life had become a comfortable routine of writing, editing, and repeat. Safe. Predictable.
Boring.
“That’s what I thought.” Cosette’s expression softened slightly. “Look, I know this feels insane. Trust me, when Gerri suggested a remote mountain cabin for my burned-out romance author, I nearly hung up on her. But something about the way she described it...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “She said it was exactly what you needed to find your inspiration again.”
“What if there’s none to find?” The question slipped out, raw and vulnerable.
Cosette’s hazel eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare. You’re Electra Calloway. You created Raven Sinclair and her pack of gorgeous alphas. You made readers believe in fated mates and true love and happily ever after. That doesn’t just disappear because you hit a rough patch.”
“Three months isn’t a rough patch. It’s a creative coma.”
“Then consider this experimental surgery.” Cosette glanced at her phone. “Speaking of which, we need to move. Gerri’swaiting at the real estate office, and she doesn’t strike me as the patient type.”
They worked in companionable silence for the next few minutes, Cosette’s chaotic packing style somehow managing to fit everything that mattered. As Electra zipped up the last suitcase, she caught her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Dark circles shadowed her green eyes, and her usually vibrant smile had faded to something wan and uncertain.
“What if this doesn’t work?” The question escaped as a whisper.
Cosette paused in her assault on the remaining items. “Then we’ll figure out plan B. But Electra?” She turned, her expression fierce with loyalty. “You’re not allowed to give up. Not on your writing, not on yourself, and definitely not on the possibility that something amazing is waiting for you in those mountains.”
Something amazing.
The words stirred something in Electra’s chest. Maybe Cosette was right.
