And really, wasn’t that a perfect name for him? Officer Growly. She absolutely could not call him Officer Hotty. Could she? Possibly not, but she also wasn’t sure how to address him. “Hey, what do I call you?” she asked as they stepped over an overgrown root that served as a natural stair. “Officer? Alpha? I’m not sure about that one because technically, you’re not my Alpha since I’m not a werewolf. Or are you everyone’s Alpha?” She sighed lightly. “Despite the time I’ve spent in this town, I don’t know much about wolves’ etiquette. Werewolves, that is.”
He huffed something close to a laugh. “Technically, it’s Alpha if you’re part of the pack and have submitted to me, which you haven’t. And I’m a field ranger, not an officer.” He shrugged. “Rex will do.”
“Yes, yes,” she said with a nod.
Because he had saidsubmitted to me,and her brain had short-circuited.
Submitted.
Holy cow.
The word bounced around in her skull and started applying for residency. Kinda hot. Scorching. Though she had never submitted to anyone in her life and wasn’t sure what that even entailed. Surely not just... naked hierarchy. Of course not. He had been dead serious. It must have been a structural thing, a pack thing. An entirely non-bedroom thing.
Disappointing, but alright.
She cleared her throat. “Rex it is.”
The forest dipped slightly, and a sun-dappled basin revealed itself just off the path. They both veered that way instinctively, careful with their steps, minimizing damage to underbrush and wild growth.
And there it was, a yarrow patch.
Zoe crouched immediately, work-mode activated. The flowers spread in soft white constellations, delicate umbels lifted toward the light. No yellowing at the base. No curling in the leaves. She brushed her fingers along a stem, assessing structure. “Growth is even,” she murmured. “No necrotic spotting.”
Rex stepped closer but didn’t hover.
“Hold this, please.” She handed him an open specimen bag without looking up.
He took it automatically.
She pinched a leaf between careful fingers and flipped it over. Underside clean. No mites clustered along the veins. No mildew ghosting the surface. She glanced at him. “See any distortion?”
He knelt, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. “No. Stem looks strong.”
She nodded once. “Right.”
She clipped a single stem and slid it into a labeled bag. Heroically, she ignored the way his gaze followed her movements with an intensity she absolutely refused to analyze. She would not look at him looking at her. That looked suspiciously like a spiral she was not ready for. “Root stability looks normal,” she added, pressing gently into the soil. “Moisture’s balanced. No unusual compaction.”
“So this one’s fine.”
“This one’s fine, as far as I can tell.”
The relief that crossed his face was subtle but unmistakable. Almost personal. She understood that.
The second site sat farther upslope, where sunlight hit harder, and the soil ran rockier. Lupine this time, tall purple spires swaying lightly.
She walked the perimeter before kneeling. Leaf angle. Color saturation. Pollinator activity–a bee drifted lazily between blooms. That was good. She sighed her apology when the bee moved off, possibly because of them.
The soil here was drier, as expected, but not depleted.
“Can you brush the vine back from the base?” she asked, pointing to where creeping growth tangled around the stem.
Rex crouched and gently shifted aside low vine and loose bark fragments. His hands were large, capable, and unexpectedly careful. She watched. She watched so hard. “Don’t pull the root,” she said before she could stop.
“I know,” he replied, equally mild.
She smiled despite herself and returned to the task. She dug carefully, exposing part of the root structure without damaging it. Thick. Healthy. No blackening or rot. She sat back on her heels. “This one’s good too.”
“Then what are we missing?” he asked, scanning the rocky ground as if the answer might be lying there waiting for them.
