Page 35 of Wild Thorns

"It doesn't have to be theoretical," he said. "You're safe here, Serena." He tilted his head, considering. "The property is protected. More protected than you know. Nothing gets past the boundaries that we don't allow." His voice dropped slightly. "Trust me."

The way he said boundaries made me think of the strange symbols on the fences. The wrought iron around the preserve, inscribed with sigils. The way certain areas of town were marked, claimed, warded by things I didn't understand.

"I'm trying," I said.

"That's enough." He started toward the stairs, then paused. "Mom said to tell you she's making gumbo tomorrow. If you want to come early and learn the recipe, she'd like the company."

"Rowena wants to teach me to cook?"

"She wants to spend time with you." A small smile. "Cooking is just an excuse. She's decided you belong here. When Mom decides something, arguing is pointless."

He left a few minutes later, disappearing into the main house with that quiet, deliberate grace that all three brothers shared.

I sat on my porch until the moon rose, watching it silver the magnolia tree, thinking about belonging. About the way Rowena had said I fit. About Lila's warning that once you were in with the Voss family, there was no halfway.

About Eli saying I was worth protecting like it was obvious, like it was fact, like anyone who thought otherwise was simply wrong.

This family. These brothers. Different ways of making me feel seen, protected, and understood.

I didn't know what was happening to me. I didn't know why I felt pulled toward all of them, why the thought of choosing just one felt impossible, why being near them made everything inside me quiet down and pay attention.

The howling started around midnight, rising from the preserve in those familiar coordinated waves. Three voices, weaving together in the darkness. I listened until the sound faded, until the preserve went quiet again.

Then I went inside and checked the locks. Not out of fear this time. Out of habit, and something else. A sense that things were shifting, that the ground beneath my feet was about to change in ways I couldn't predict.

I was almost asleep when I heard it.

A knock at my door. Soft. Deliberate. Three times.

My heart stopped. Then started again, too fast.

"Serena." Callum's voice, low and rough, coming through the wood. "We need to talk. All of us. Tonight."

I lay in the dark, listening to him breathe on the other side of the door, and I knew that whatever came next would change everything.

The question was whether I was ready for it.

Chapter ten

The Fourth Howl

Sunday dinner at the Voss house was apparently was a long-standing tradition. And as last night’s discussion with the family had shown me, I was safe and truly welcome here. I needed to learn how to accept that.

Rowena had invited me with the casual certainty of a woman who didn't take no for an answer, "You're part of the household now, dear, and we don't let household members starve on Sundays" and now I'd found myself at a table full of people I barely knew, eating enough food to feed a small army.

The dining room was impressive in the way that old Southern money often was: high ceilings, heavy furniture, paintings on the walls that looked like they’d been there for generations. But it didn’t feel stuffy or formal. It felt lived-in. Warm. The kind of room where people had been gathering for decades, where the scratches on the table told stories and the slightly faded curtains meant more than any designer fabric ever could.

Rowena presided over the meal like a general commanding troops, directing the flow of dishes and conversation with practiced ease. The triplets fell into patterns I was beginning to recognize: Callum at the head of the table, quiet and watchful; Jasper filling silences with easy chatter; Eli listening more than speaking, his attention moving from face to face like he was recording everything.

And then there was Dex Fontaine.

Up close, the auto shop owner was even more intimidating than he'd seemed at The Daily Grind. He was approximately the size of a doorframe, with shoulders that strained his button-down shirt and a face that suggested he found most of humanity mildly suspicious. When he looked at me, I felt like I was being evaluated for structural integrity.

He’d arrived just before dinner, greeting Rowena with a kiss on the cheek and the brothers with the kind of casual physicality that spoke of long familiarity—a clap on Callum’s shoulder, a mock punch to Jasper’s arm, a nod to Eli that seemed to communicate entire conversations.

When Rowena introduced us, his eyes swept over me with an assessment that felt almost clinical.

"You're the tenant," he said. Not a question.