Chapter 6 - Rafael
Autumn settles over Rosecreek like a fever breaking. The last warm days fade into crisp mornings, leaving the streets carpeted in red and gold. Time seems to move differently here than in the cities—slower, steadier, marked by the rhythms of pack life rather than the relentless pace of the outside world.
A week passes in these rhythms. I train with the team, run patrols, and help Zane and Maisie search for a proper house close to the clinic. They’re desperate to move out of the pack center and into their own real home.
Every morning, I tell myself I won't look for Thalia. Every morning, I find myself searching for her anyway.
She's good at avoiding me—professional enough in meetings and training sessions, but otherwise, she’s a ghost. Sometimes, I catch her scent in a corridor, but she's always just left. Never quite there when I am.
"You're brooding again," Zane tells me one afternoon as we carry boxes down to one of the pack’s trucks to dump in a storage unit on the other side of town, ready for when all their stuff can eventually be unpacked. The sky threatens rain, and the wind carries the scent of wet leaves and woodsmoke. "It's making me depressed just looking at you."
"I don't brood."
"Right." He sets down a box labeled 'Kitchen - Fragile' in Maisie's neat handwriting. It must have come from her previous apartment, above the clinic. "And I'm not due to be a father."
The reminder makes me smile despite myself. Zane's whole energy has changed since they found out about the baby—softer somehow, though he'd probably punch me if I said it aloud. Maisie’s only four months pregnant, but they’re practically parents already. "Speaking of which, how's Maisie feeling?"
"Sick as a dog in the mornings, but Rosa sent some herb thing that helps." He leans against the truck, studying me. "Stop changing the subject. What's going on with you and the new girl?"
"Nothing's going on."
"Bullshit. You've been watching her like a hawk since she arrived."
"Because I don't trust her."
"Because you want her."
I nearly drop the box I'm holding. "That's not—"
"Save it." Zane's grin is knowing. "I've seen how you look at her when you think no one's watching. Hell, the whole pack has."
"The whole pack needs to mind their business."
"Can't. We're shifters. Gossip is genetic."
I snort, but my mind is already drifting to Thalia again. To the way she moved in training yesterday, all controlled power and hidden grace. To how she seems to vanish the moment work is done, like smoke dissipating in the wind.
To the growing certainty that she's hiding something.
"Look," Zane says more seriously, "whatever's eating at you, figure it out. The pack needs you focused right now. Especially with assholes from Montana to Michigan still making threats against Aris and the team.”
He's right, of course. He and Maisie know better than anyone what’s at stake now that we’ve well and truly fucked with some seriously nasty criminals. But focusing is harder when my instincts are screaming that there's danger right under our noses, wearing Thalia's face and speaking with her voice.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of moved boxes and furniture. Maisie joins us eventually, fussing over where everything might go in the new house. She's barely showing yet, but there's a glow about her that makes Zane look at her like she hung the moon. Watching them together—the casual touches, the shared smiles—something in my chest aches.
I tell myself it's just worry for the pack. For the threats we face. For the secrets, I can't quite uncover.
But later, as dusk settles over Rosecreek and I catch another phantom trace of her gunpowder scent in an empty corridor, I wonder if I'm lying to myself about more than just that.
Night falls early now that winter's approaching. By eight o'clock, the streets are dark save for the warm glow of shop windows and the occasional streetlight. I need to talk to Thalia about a neighboring pack's movements—Keira picked up some chatter about a possible attack on Aris. Thalia's scarily accurate insights into the surrounding territories could be valuable.
If only I could find her.
She's not in the pack center's gym, though I know she’s been recently—she left her half-full water bottle on a bench. Not in her room, and the showers are empty. Not in the conference room where the team usually gathers, or the communal kitchen where Percy's teaching some of the younger pack members to make fresh pasta from scratch.
"Haven't seen her," he says when I ask, flour dusting his cheeks. "But there's plenty of carbonara if you're hungry."
I'm not, but I accept a bowl anyway, letting the familiar banter wash over me as I eat. The kitchen is warm, full of light and laughter, but my mind wanders to darker places. To questions I can't answer.
Where does she go when she disappears? What secrets is she keeping?
Why can't I stop thinking about her?
The coffee shops downtown are mostly closed, but I check the few still open. The clinic is dark except for one window where Maisie's working late, but she hasn't seen Thalia either. Even the lake path where some team members regularly go running is deserted, leaves skittering across the worn dirt in the bitter wind.
Finally, frustrated, I head back to the pack center, seeking out the security office, where I seldom find myself. Byron's systems are running smoothly even with him on leave—screens across every wall show various angles of the pack center, its grounds, and the rest of Rosecreek and its perimeter, seen through the eyes of cameras that never sleep.
"Come on," I mutter, scanning through the feeds. "Where are you?"
There—a figure moving through the trees beyond the northern border. In unsecured territory.
Even in the grainy night-vision footage, I'd know that fluid grace anywhere.
She's on her phone, head bowed, body language tense. As I watch, she glances over her shoulder, checking if she's being followed.
My wolf rises, hackles raised. We've had the borders patrolled for months, ever since the Haverwoods' attack. No one's supposed to leave the secured area without clearance, especially not alone at night.
Especially not to make secretive phone calls in the dark.
I consider talking to her tomorrow—but I can’t hold off that long. Instead, I wait in the shadows near the north entrance to the pack center, where she'll have to return if she wants to get back to her quarters.
The wind picks up, carrying the scent of coming snow and, finally, her scent.
When Thalia rounds the corner toward the entrance, she looks harried and exhausted, curls coming loose from her tight hair tie, clothes rumpled. She looks profoundly exhausted. As if all she wants in the world is to be able to sleep for a while.
She freezes when she sees me, but recovers quickly. "Rafael. You're up late."
"So are you." I push off from the wall, studying her face in the dim light. "Lovely night for a walk in unsecured territory."
"I needed air."
"With your phone?"
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Are you monitoring my calls now?"
"Should I be?"
She tries to move past me, but I step into her path. "Move, Rafael. I’m not in the mood. I mean it."
"Not until you tell me what you're really doing out there."
"I told you. I needed air."
"Try again." I take a step forward, and she takes one back. "The truth this time."
Her back hits the wall. I plant my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. This close, her scent is intoxicating. I can’t stop staring at her mouth, her full lips, how they’re slightly parted. Anger or shock, I can’t tell.
She draws back an elbow, warning me implicitly that she’ll strike if I get any closer.
"You don't want to do this," she says softly.
"Do what? Ask why you're sneaking around outside our security perimeter?”
Thalia sniffs haughtily. "I had to make a call to a contact who wouldn’t have accepted it if it came from your network. It was for the pack. Maybe I'm just good at what I do."
"Maybe you're just good at lying."
Her eyes flash. "You don't know anything about me, Diaz.”
"I know enough." But even as I say it, I know it's not true. I know scattered fragments—a little girl with a trophy, a weapons specialist with suspicious gaps in her history, a woman who feels like a stranger, and something inevitable all at once.
"If you know so much," she says, tilting her chin up defiantly, "why haven't you told Aris to throw me out?"
The question hits uncomfortably close to home. Why haven't I? Every instinct tells me she's dangerous, and yet…
"Because he wouldn't listen—because—”
I cut myself off, but her lips curve slightly. "Because?"
"Don't play games with me, Thalia."
"I wouldn't dare." But there's something almost like amusement in her voice now, despite the tension thrumming between us. "Are we done here? Or would you like to throw me up against more walls?"
The words send heat through my body that has nothing to do with suspicion. I step back abruptly, fighting for control.
"This isn't over,” I promise her.
"It never is, with you." She smooths her jacket, but her hands shake slightly. "You’ve decided I’m your enemy. There’s nothing I can do about that. Goodnight, Rafael."
I watch her walk away, her steps measured and graceful even now.
Only when she's gone do I let out the breath I've been holding.
I pace the empty corridors of the pack center for a while, trying to calm the storm of emotions churning inside me. Anger, frustration, and something else—something that has nothing to do with suspicion and everything to do with the way she felt pressed against that wall, the defiance in her eyes, the slight tremor in her voice.
By the time I make my way to Aris's office, snow has started falling outside. The pack center is quieter now; most team members and residents are either asleep or settled in for the night. A few lights still burn in the windows, creating pools of warmth in the darkness. The sound of laughter drifts from the common room, where Percy's pasta-making session has evolved into what sounds like a full, chaotic dinner party. I hear the high, warm sound of Veronica’s laughter.
Aris's office door is ajar, and a warm lamplight spills into the hallway. I knock anyway, more out of respect than necessity.
"Come in," he calls, sounding exhausted.
The office hasn't changed much since I first saw it—same old leather chairs, same wall of books, the same collection of framed photos showing the pack through the years. The room smells like coffee and old paper. The Alpha is surrounded by reports and maps at his desk, looking like he hasn't slept properly in days.
"Rafael." He rubs his eyes. "It's late."
"I know. I'm sorry, but—" I hesitate, suddenly aware of how this might sound. "It's about Thalia."
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. There are new grey strands in his beard that weren't there a month ago. "What's happened?”
I tell him about finding her in the woods, the phone call, and her evasive answers. He listens without interrupting, though his frown deepens with each word.
"You're certain?" he asks when I finish. "About what you saw?"
"She's hiding something,” I confirm. “I worry she’s… working for some other party. At the very least, she’s running from something.”
Another sigh. Aris’ hand moves automatically to his beard—a nervous habit he's had as long as I've known him. "Most people are running from something, Rafael."
I bristle despite myself. “I know that. But at a time like this—"
"It’s exactly why we need her." He fixes me with a tired look. "At a time like this, we need all the help we can get. And we can’t afford to be picky when it comes to qualified people. Even if it’s hard to trust, Rafael, we have to do it anyway. That’s what leadership is about.”
I think of her racing heart, her subtly shaking hands.
"I know that," I admit. "It’s just... a feeling."
"Then we keep watching. Keep her close." Something knowing crosses his face, but he's too tired to make anything of it. "For now, that's all we can do."
"And if I'm right?"
"Then we'll handle it." His voice carries a hint of the Alpha's authority, but it's muted by exhaustion. "Just... keep an eye on her. Work with her. But Rafael?"
"Yes?"
"Trust your instincts, but not when they’re speaking alone." He turns to the window, where, finally, it begins to snow over Rosecreek, the dark sky swirling with specks of white. "The pack can't afford any complications right now."
The snow falls harder as I settle to sleep, coating the windowsill of my small unit on the top floor of the pack center. Somewhere in the darkness, a wolf howls—one of ours, probably running the perimeter.
I think of Thalia out there in these woods, speaking to someone we don't know about things we can't guess. Think of her eyes in the darkness, defiant and afraid all at once.
Whatever she's hiding, whatever game she's playing, I'll figure it out.
I have to.
The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.