“Terrible.”
“Should I apologize?”
“No.” Her free hand came up to rest on his sternum, right over his racing heart. Her palm was flat against his Henley, and he knew she could feel it—the way his pulse kicked faster at her touch. “Don’t apologize.”
The night air was cool, but where she touched him burned. His instincts were straining forward, desperate, and for once, Theo didn’t fight it. He let himself look at her—really look. The way the light caught in her hair. The flush on her cheeks from wine and wind. The way her lips parted slightly, waiting.
Theo leaned in and kissed her. He tried not to overwhelm her and let her lead. She was sweet. Her lips soft and careful as she kissed him back.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Her forehead came to rest against his jaw, her breath unsteady, fingers still curled in his shirt.
“Goodnight.” Her voice had softened.
“Goodnight, beautiful.”
She climbed the porch steps, paused at the door, looked back once. Then she was inside.
EIGHTEEN
THEO
The Wolf Moon Brewery’s back room smelled like hops and conflict.
Theo leaned against the massive oak table that dominated the space, arms crossed, watching the three men gathered around the scattered reports and maps. Through the thick walls, the muffled sounds of the taproom filtered in—pool balls cracking, a too-loud laugh, the steady thump of music from the jukebox. Normal sounds. Pack sounds.
Nothing about this meeting was normal.
“The magical signatures don’t match anything in our records.” Wyatt Gentry’s voice was flat, clinical. The sheriff stood at parade rest near the door, his dark face unreadable in the dim light. “Whatever the source is, it’s been seeping into the foundations for weeks.”
He paused, his gaze moving to the map spread across the table. “One more thing. A foundation compromised this long is visible on the ley lines to anyone sensitive enough to read it. I’ve had two reports in the past week of unfamiliar magical signatures on the outer ward perimeter. Not the same as the interference in the foundations — different grammar entirely.Could be nothing. Could be someone who noticed the inn’s defenses were down and decided to see what that was worth.”
“Which narrows it down to approximately everyone with magical training.” Beck was sprawled across two chairs, boots kicked up on the table. He earned a look from Theo that he cheerfully ignored. “Very helpful, Sheriff. Truly.”
Wyatt’s whiskey-colored gaze didn’t flicker. “The alternative was ‘I don’t know.’ I assumed you’d prefer data.”
“Gentlemen.” Hux Holt raised a hand, the gesture casual and authoritative at once. The mayor had loosened his tie, shed his jacket, but he still looked like he belonged on a campaign poster. Even rumpled, the lion shifter radiated competence. “Can we focus on solutions rather than sniping? Some of us have constituents to reassure in the morning.”
Theo pushed off from the table. “What’s the mood out there?”
Hux’s politician’s smile dimmed. “Complicated. The coven’s rattled—the inn’s been in crisis since she arrived, and they want answers. The pack…” He hesitated.
“Say it.”
“The pack is talking. About you. About the innkeeper.” Hux’s tone remained diplomatic, but his meaning was clear. “There are those who think the Alpha has been… distracted.”
Theo’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Distracted.”
“Soft.” Beck dropped his boots to the floor. His usual humor had evaporated. “That’s the word making the rounds. That you’ve gone soft over a witch.”
Something feral stirred beneath Theo’s ribs. He pushed it down.
“The coven-pack alliance—” Hux began.
“Is exactly what I’ve been working to strengthen for three years.” Theo’s voice dropped to a growl. “Protecting a witchwhose inn has been destabilized isn’t going soft. It’s doing my job.”
“No one in this room disagrees.” Wyatt’s calm cut through the rising tension. “But perception matters. The Elder Council is watching. So is everyone else.”
Beck shifted in his chair. “Speaking of everyone else. Garrett’s out there.”
