Chapter 18 #2
I smiled, shy. “Just enough to cause trouble.”
He laughed, loud and genuine. “That’s all any of us ever need. If you ever want to trade secrets, I make a mean campfire chili, and I hear you got a scone that can stop a wolf dead in his tracks.”
“I’d love that,” I said, and meant it.
He tipped his hat, polished off Papa’s water in a single gulp, and vanished back into the throng.
“Does he do that to everyone?” I asked.
Papa grinned. “Only the ones he likes.”
Our food came hot and heavy and everything I needed after a day of baking.
The gravy on the chicken fried steak was so rich I could’ve eaten it with a spoon.
The meatloaf was tender, the sauce tangy and a little sweet.
I took a bite and moaned, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth in embarrassment.
He leaned in, voice low. “You keep making those sounds, Sunshine, and I’ll have to carry you home before dessert.”
Oscar covered his face with his paws. “Have you no shame, Miss?”
I grinned at them both, and for a moment, everything felt so normal I forgot I was being hunted by at least two different supernatural species.
Then Arsenal showed up at our booth.
He stood there for a second, eyes flicking from me to Papa and back. He looked tired, older than the last time I’d seen him, and his voice was even rougher than usual.
“Big Papa,” he said. “Alpha wants you to call in tonight. Some security updates.”
JT nodded, all business. “Will do. You sticking around for the music?”
Arsenal shook his head. “Got patrol. But I wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true.”
He looked at me, then at the hint of the bite mark on Papa’s neck.
I met his gaze, trying to look brave. “It’s real,” I said, my voice small.
He didn’t smile. “Hope you’re ready.”
I swallowed hard. “As I’ll ever be.”
Arsenal gave a curt nod, then turned and walked away, boots silent on the old tile floor.
When he was gone, I let out a deep sigh.
Papa squeezed my knee. “Don’t mind him. Arsenal trusts no one. Not even himself.”
Oscar bristled, his voice prim. “The man is an oaf. He would not recognize a true mate bond if it bit him in the arse.”
Papa snorted. “Don’t judge a man too harshly unless you’ve walked in his shoes. I still think love is going to hit that one right upside his head someday.”
We finished our meal, talking about nothing important—the best donut in town, whether or not Oscar could learn to play chess, what time I should show up at the MC for the ceremony.
As we were walking out, Pearl caught Papa at the bar and wanted to discuss a few things about the ceremony.
I was just about dancing with the urge to potty, so I excused myself to the lady’s room.
“I’ll just be a sec,” I told him. “Nature calls.” He leaned back and looked down the hall towards the restrooms like he was checking for predators.
“There and back,” he ordered.
I handed him my bag, Oscar safely in tow, gave him a mock salute and headed that way.
The women’s restroom was down a narrow hall lined with black-and-white photos of Dairyville’s early days. Inside, it was the usual: two stalls, a two-sink vanity, and a mirror that made everyone look haunted.
I did my business, washed my hands, and stared at my reflection. The bite mark on my shoulder was half-hidden by my dress, but I could feel it pulsing with every heartbeat. I traced it gently with my finger, the memory of last night’s passion still burning under my skin.
“Nice mark,” said a voice behind me.
I spun around. A woman I’d never seen stood at the door, face pale and angular, her hair in a perfect twist. She wore a conservative navy dress that looked twenty years out of date, but her lipstick was red as blood.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know, some wounds never really heal.”
I turned off the faucet, dried my hands, and edged toward the door.
She stepped in front of me, blocking my way. When she looked at me, her eyes went completely white—no iris, no pupil, just a film of milky frost.
“You can run,” she said, her voice suddenly deeper, older, “but there’s no hiding. I’ve found you, and I’m coming for you. No wolf in the world can stop me.”
The air went cold. The lights flickered, shadows twisting on the tile. The smell of roses and rot filled the tiny room.
I staggered backward, clutching the edge of the sink.
The woman’s lips curled. “That’s right, Aspen. The Wyrdmother always gets what she’s after.”
I bumped the woman’s shoulder as I tried to get to the door. She blinked, and her eyes turned normal again, but she looked confused, like she had no idea where she was.
I finally ducked past her and ran out of the women’s restroom and straight into a wall of muscle and leather. My first thought was that the Wyrdmother’s assassin had followed me out of the restroom, but when I looked up, I saw Arsenal’s stony face staring back at me, eyes sharp as razors.
He grabbed my arms hard enough to hurt. “What happened?”
I tried to push past him. “Let go—”
He didn’t. “You’re shaking. What happened?”
I couldn’t catch my breath. The hallway was too small, the lights too bright, the air tasted like bleach and old secrets. I was going to scream if he didn’t let go.
“Hey!” Papa’s voice boomed from the bar. He was on us in three steps, shoving Arsenal’s hands off my shoulders with a growl.
“Let her go. Now.” His tone was pure wolf, and for a second, I thought Arsenal would fight him right there in the hallway.
I twisted free, stumbling into Papa’s arms. He held me tight, so tight I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. I needed something real to hold on to.
Arsenal stood there, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
Papa ran a hand through my hair. “Sunshine, tell me.”
I tried. “There was a woman. In the bathroom. I—she—” My teeth were chattering, my whole body shaking.
Papa knelt to look me in the eye, gentle but relentless. “Start from the beginning.”
I gulped air, fighting the urge to throw up. “She had white eyes. Pure white. She said the Wyrdmother’s coming for me. She said—she said—‘no wolf in the world can stop me.’”
The words hung in the air, heavy as anvils.
Arsenal’s eyes narrowed. “Did she touch you?”
I shook my head. “She blocked my way. But I have protection spells. She couldn’t touch me. She just wanted to scare me.” My voice sounded hollow, even to myself.
Arsenal stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door, and returned thirty seconds later. “Empty,” he reported. “No trace.”
Papa pulled me closer, his hand splayed protectively over my spine. He turned to Arsenal. “See anything out of place?”
Arsenal shook his head. “Not unless you count a haunted mirror and an air freshener from 2005.”
Papa didn’t smile. “If you see anyone out of place, you bring the whole pack. We don’t take chances.”
Arsenal nodded, then left without another word, boots pounding down the hall.
I was still shaking. I took my bag from Papa so I could free Oscar from inside. His tiny head poked out.
“She’s not here now, Miss,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s safe to leave.”
Oscar climbed instantly onto my shoulder, visible only to us. “Come on,” Papa said, voice low and urgent. “We’re going home.”
He didn’t wait for argument. We cut through the bar, past the pool table and the empty stage and the thicket of voices that suddenly seemed a world away.
Outside, the wind had picked up, scattering gravel across the parking lot.
Papa’s truck loomed under the lone streetlight, dust swirling around the tires.
He opened the passenger door, helped me inside, and then slid behind the wheel. He started the engine, but before he put it in gear, he turned to me.
“You’re safe,” he said again. “I’ll never let her touch you.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But all I could feel was the cold in my bones and the ghostly echo of that voice.
He called Bronc on the drive home, hands-free on the truck’s Bluetooth. The conversation was short and sharp, like the crack of a whip. Papa relayed everything—the confrontation in the bathroom, the threat, Arsenal’s check—and then listened as Bronc spat a string of curses I’d never heard before.
“We up security,” Bronc said, voice like a stone wall.
“We double down on everything. You said she’s got her magic working now so she and Oscar can start getting wards up around the entire territory.
I trust them to keep those fuckers out. Tell her to go about her business but keep her head on a swivel. We’ll deal with the rest.”
Papa grunted agreement, then hung up.
My heart swelled with the feeling of family.
“Bronc has no idea what those words mean to me. Besides my mother, I’ve never had a family before. This moment is the first time in my life I’ve felt like that’s not the case.” I know I sounded pathetic, but it needed to be said.
He reached for my hand across the console, his palm rough but steady. I let him take it, clinging like a lifeline.
The prairie was pitch black outside the cab. The only light came from the dashboard and the occasional sweep of headlights across fenceposts and barbed wire. The engine was a low, soothing rumble, and the smell of leather and sugar clung to my clothes.
“Sunshine,” he said, voice soft now, “you okay?”
I tried to nod. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He squeezed my hand so hard it almost hurt. “None of this is your fault. Don’t ever say that.”
“But—” My throat closed up. “If I weren’t here, the pack wouldn’t be—”
He cut me off. “Don’t. You belong here. You heard what Bronc said. And I want you here. We’ll protect you.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I need to bake for the ceremony,” I said. “I won’t let them stop me.”
He smiled, just a little. “That’s my girl.”
Oscar patted my ear. “You are braver than you believe, Miss.”
I swallowed hard. “I can do it. I’ll finish the cakes. I’ll help with the wards. And if I have to—” I looked up at Papa, heart pounding, “—I’ll leave. I won’t let them hurt anyone else.”
Papa shook his head. “No, you won’t. Not unless I’m with you.”
I smiled a thin, fragile thing. “Deal.”
We turned onto the dirt road that led to his place—our place—and the headlights caught a pair of eyes reflecting in the brush. Deer, probably. Maybe a raccoon. But my witch senses tingled all the same.
“I’ve already warded the house. We’re safe in here.”
He parked in front of the house, then walked me to the door, never letting go of my hand. Oscar scampered ahead, checking every shadow before we entered.
Inside, everything was just as we’d left it: the scent of clean linen, the warmth of the wood stove, the silent promise of safety. Papa made me tea, real chamomile with honey, and sat with me on the sofa until I stopped shaking.
I stared at the fireplace, flames crackling and spitting, and made three silent vows: I would bake every cake on time. I would ward this territory, even if it cost me sleep and blood. And I would never let the past win, not even for a second.
Papa pressed a kiss to my temple. “We’re gonna make it,” he said.
I believed him. I had to.
Because when the monsters came, I wanted them to find me ready. Not hiding. Not afraid.
I fell asleep on the couch, Oscar curled on my chest, the fire dying down to embers. Papa stayed beside me, one hand over my heart, as if daring the world to try to take me again.