JAMES
I was restocking the front pastry case, head down, trying to line the last tray of lemon bars just right. My fingers worked automatically, but my thoughts were miles away.
On overdue bills, on Rafael’s mouth on mine, on how long I could keep pretending I was fine. That’s when it hit me. That electric prickle at the back of my neck.
It was like a warning. Like the air had thickened around me and was pressing in, slow and heavy. Like I was being watched. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, hackles up, tail tucked. Uneasy.
He didn’t growl, didn’t bare his teeth. He curled low, alert and wary, ears flicking toward the front windows. I straightened, slow. My heart thumped once, hard. Then again. Louder.
I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced up, telling myself it was nothing. Just my nerves acting up again. Just the echo of too many sleepless nights. But I knew better.
Sugarpaw Springs was usually calm this time of day. A few pedestrians. The occasional couple or dog walker. But when I looked out, I didn’t see calm.
I saw the delivery van parked across the street. Idle. Too idle. I saw the squirrel scrambling up the tree like it was trying to escape something.
I also saw a man, mid-thirties, dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie zipped halfway up, big and broad, with an ugly scar cutting through one brow.
He was standing near the corner, just out of reach of direct sunlight, half-hidden in shadow.
Pretending to scroll on his phone like he had nothing better to do. But he wasn’t reading. He wasn’t texting. His eyes kept flicking up. Watching the bakery. Watching me.
I recognized him. Not by name, but by presence. I’d seen him before. A few weeks back, loitering near my apartment building, same hoodie, same dead-eyed stare.
He’d leaned against a fencepost then, flicked a cigarette onto the pavement when I walked by. He hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.
The mesSean had been clear. My blood went cold. Avery. How dare he? How dare he send someone here?
This wasn’t some back alley. This was Wolf and Whisk. This was my safe space. My haven. The one place that hadn’t yet been tainted by Joel’s debt, by the suffocating mess I inherited the day my brother died.
I ducked behind the counter, nerves buzzing so loud I could barely hear myself think.
Was this it? Was today the day everything unraveled? I could feel it, like the tension in a storm cloud ready to burst. Callum would see. Rowan. Cyrus. Everyone.
The secret I’d worked so hard to bury was clawing its way to the surface. I reached for my phone, hands shaking. Thought about texting Rafael. No. I couldn’t keep dragging him into this.
He’d already done more than enough. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to pretend everything was normal. Just a guy with a phone. Just a weird coincidence.
Until I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Callum.
He was behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes narrowing as he caught the same vibe I had. Of course he did. Callum missed nothing.
His entire posture shifted in a blink. From relaxed alpha to deadly calm protector.
“James,” Callum’s voice came from behind the counter. “You okay?”
I blinked and plastered on a fake smile. “Yeah. Just zoning out.”
Callum looked unconvinced, and worse, alert. He turned his head just slightly and looked out the window. The way his body tensed told me everything. Oh no.
Without a word, Callum wiped his hands on a towel, untied his apron, and headed for the door.
“Callum, wait—” I started, tossing my apron off and scrambling after him.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped outside, and I cursed under my breath and followed. The sun was too bright, the street too quiet, like the whole world was holding its breath.
The goon straightened the second he spotted Callum coming for him. He looked like he was debating whether to bolt right then.
“Callum, stop!” I yelled.
