Chapter 6 #2
I found a spot to park and killed the engine.
For a second, I just sat and watched the world go about its business.
Towns like this didn’t change much, but people noticed a six-foot-five man in a leather jacket, especially when he favored a limp and had a beard no matter how neatly trimmed.
The trick was to act like you belonged. The real trick was to believe it.
Inside, the bakery was chaos in miniature.
With almost every table full, the counter lined three deep, the din of conversation and laughter sparring with the country ballads that leaked from the old speaker in the corner.
Aspen was at the center, hair twisted up in a knot, hands moving fast and sure as she pulled cinnamon rolls from the oven and rang up orders with a smile that looked friendly, but stressed.
She wore a blue apron dusted with flour, and I could see, even from the door, the way her eyes lit up whenever she solved a problem, filled a plate, or made someone’s day a little happier.
What I saw—what no one else in that room could see—was the light.
Not a literal halo, but something close.
A warmth, a shimmer at the edges, like sun through a honey jar.
The longer I looked, the brighter it got, until the rest of the bakery faded into white noise and all I could do was stand there and stare like a fool. That light reminded me of something.
I glanced out the window toward the gazebo on the square. People milled about town. And Aspen was here, adding her own ray of sunshine to anyone lucky enough to encounter her. I decided right then that before I left with my cake, I would know more of who she was. Why exactly was she in Dairyville?
She looked up and saw me standing by the door. I certainly didn’t deserve the smile she graced me with after how I’d acted yesterday. She gave a small wave and indicated she’d be with me in a few minutes.
When the last customer cleared out, she told me to follow her back to the kitchen area where she pulled two layers of cake out of the cooler.
“I am so sorry I haven’t been able to fill and ice your cake yet. Happily, I’ve been busy non-stop today.” She beamed, and I’d never seen anything more beautiful.
I reassured her that it was no problem. Truth is, it was a joy to watch her work. Everyone who left the store seemed happier for it. I still wondered if she wasn’t using magic, even if she hadn’t realized it.
“Do you mind watching me work on your cake?”
I was surprised she’d allow it. She seemed a little nervous; kept checking under her work table like she’d lost something.
“I’d love to watch you work. And I hate to ask, but my Alpha had a few questions about your past if you didn’t mind answering. Just to know again, how you made your way to Dairyville and what your mother’s connection to Iron Valor might have been.”
She suddenly paused squeezing the bottle of liquid that she’d been infusing the cakes with. “Oh, yeah. I suppose he would. I am going to be feeding your entire pack. I understand that.”
“There is no accusation involved, Aspen. A few weeks ago we lived through our entire pack being poisoned through our water system. We had several die. We’re just being cautious. Please understand.”
I was shocked when she stepped towards me and took my hands into her much smaller ones. A tear traced down her cheek.
“I’m horrified that y’all had to live through that. I am not offended. I’m a stranger to your pack. And a witch on top of that. I’m so very sorry for the loss of your pack members. I know that had to be very painful.”
I wanted to wrap her in my arms. To feel her body against mine. But I let go. “Thank you for understanding.”
She moved to the cooler again and pulled out a tub of something creamy that smelled like lemons and a tub of what looked like buttercream.
She smiled. “I prepared these last night. I’ll work while I tell my sad little story, hmm?” She looked at me, her green eyes glistening with what I swear were unshed tears.
I simply nodded.
“I was a member of the Verdant Hollow Coven where my mother was one of the most powerful members. Her power rivaled the Wyrdmother’s herself.
Everything was fine until my mother advised Elaina, the Wyrdmother that she should vote in favor of King Menace’s mating claim with Queen Savannah.
The Wyrdmother had no intention of doing that, and she was furious that my mother took a public stand against her decision.
Shortly after my mother became gravely ill.
My mother was an excellent healer and potion mixer, but couldn’t come up with anything that could cure whatever had made her sick.
She told me she believed she had been cursed.
Apparently, upon the realization, she set about getting her house in order, which meant making sure I would be financially secure in the event of her passing.
” She grabbed a napkin and wiped the tears from her eyes.
I reached over and squeezed her elbow. A feeling of connection ran up my arm. “I’m sorry to put you through this, Aspen.”
“No, I understand,” she said through sniffles.
“I’m good. So, the night she passed she told me to pack immediately and go to Dairyville, Texas.
That’s when she informed me about the bakery.
She mentioned the Iron Valor Pack and said that if I got into any trouble to seek y’all out.
I grabbed her grimoire and a large envelope with the bakery deed and keys, bank account information, and other documents from her hiding place.
She also told me she had lied all these years.
That she knew who my father was but couldn’t tell me because he was other and if anyone found out I’d be in great danger.
More danger than I was already in. I asked her what she meant, and she just said, ‘run Aspen. Get away from here as fast as you can.’ And then she died.
I packed what I could and ran through the woods until I got to our car then drove until I got here. ” She took another deep breath.
“And that’s all you know?”
She laughed. “That’s it. And it makes no sense.
I promise you, I’m nothing. When I told you I have no magic, that was the truth.
The other girls in the coven had a nickname for me.
They literally called me ‘The Dud.’ I could do only the smallest things.
I never got any real magic when all the other girls were conjuring spells, making flowers grow, controlling wind, commanding fire.
I just watched from the sidelines or was being pelted by the elements they commanded as they laughed at me.
So unless they just want my mother’s grimoire, which I can’t even open, I don’t get it. ”
“You can’t open the book?” I was surprised at this.
“Nope.” She popped the “p” in the word.
“Can I see it?”
She reached to the counter behind her, again looking around, and gathered the book in her arms.
“Something weird has happened with this book, though.”
She proceeded to tell me how she’d had it under her pillow and had had a dream that she cannot remember. When she woke, the sigil on the cover had changed, and the book was warm to the touch. I could feel the heat from the book. The clasp was warmer than the leather.
“Definitely warm.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m gonna lie about it.”
I couldn’t hide my grin. I liked her fire. “No, Sunshine. I don’t suppose you would. Can you tell me about the dream you had when the grimoire heated up?”
“That’s just it. I cannot remember it. I believe that dream may hold the answer to who my father is. Or maybe it’s just another way I’m defective.”
I walked around the prep table and touched her cheek.
“Aspen. You are anything but defective. You are brave and beautiful, and if I can do anything to help you, please know I am only a phone call away.”
I stepped back before I made her uncomfortable. She likely didn’t want me crowding her space.
She had put the finishing touches on the small tasting cake. It looked amazing. I was proud to take it back to the compound for everyone to taste.
“So you have my number in your phone, right?”
She grabbed her phone to check. When she discovered she didn’t, I had her give hers to me, and I texted her so I was sure she’d have it. And now I had her number. I needed Wrecker to get a tracker onto her phone just in case.
Aspen walked me to the door with the cake boxed up, surprised to see I was in a truck.
“Little known secret: We don’t always ride our bikes. Especially when transporting things like delicious cakes.”
She laughed, and it sounded like heaven to my ears.
“I hope you stop by again, even though we’ve all but completed our cake business.” She told me at the door.
“You can count on it, Sunshine.” I turned back toward the bakery when she put the CLOSED sign on the door and locked it, and I swear there was a gopher or a prairie dog wearing a jacket, walking beside her as she made her way back to the kitchen.
By 7:15, the energy in my body had nowhere left to go. That’s when I called Gunner.
He showed up at my door ten minutes later, still wearing the same sweat-stained T-shirt from his evening run. He looked at me, took in the tightness of my jaw, and just shook his head.
“Tell me you’re not gonna keep being weird about the bakery girl,” he said, still calming his breath from his run.
I let out a bark of a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But if I don’t burn off some of this, I’ll be a liability while I’m trying to write the words for the ceremony.”
“Fair.” He nodded toward the woods. “Arsenal’s game. I saw him by the barn. Let’s run it.”
The next five minutes were a blur of muscle memory—stripping down, shifting, the skin-crawl shudder that came with dropping the human shell.
There’s no dignity in the change, no matter what the movies say.
It’s ugly, primal, and loud. My body twisted, bones crackling like dry wood.
I felt my fingers fuse, my teeth lengthen, the world tilt as my senses dialed up to eleven.
When I came up on four legs, Gunner and Arsenal were already waiting at the tree line. Gunner’s wolf was a ruddy giant, bigger than most, with a lazy, unhurried lope that belied how fast he could really move. Arsenal—jet black, lean, mean—was already pacing, tail high and eyes sharp.
We shot through the woods like bullets. The world was sound and motion and the thudding, electric pulse of pack-mind: every step, every turn, synced like a drummer’s hands.
We weaved through the low pines, tore through thickets, bounded over the dry creek bed in a flying leap that left Gunner rolling with laughter on the far side.
On the first incline, I cut right and nipped Gunner’s flank—just enough to leave a mark and start a chase.
He spun and barreled after me, teeth bared but tongue out in that wolfy, shit-eating grin.
We ran until the air was knives in our lungs, the frost sharp enough to sting even through a fur coat.
At the ridge, we paused and howled, long and low and rolling over the valley.
Arsenal was the first to start the teasing.
He loped up, nipped my ear, then flopped onto his back and kicked his paws in the air. Gunner picked up on it right away. Even in wolf form, they had perfected the art of sarcasm.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think wolves weren’t supposed to laugh, but we did.
We cackled and yipped and tumbled down the slope, three grown men reduced to overgrown pups.
The run wasn’t about territory or dominance.
It was about life, the reckless thrill of being alive after thinking you might not make it to next month.
We wrestled until my side hurt, and Gunner’s tongue was lolling.
Then we collapsed in a heap, fur tangled, noses buried in the ground.
This was a part of our brotherhood. We were bound by more than friendship.
It was a bone-deep sense of belonging that we each shared.
We had each other’s backs even if we didn’t understand or agree with every decision we made.
We’d fight anybody who tried to stand in our way.