Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
ISABELLA
I sit cross-legged on the floor of Arthur’s office, the smell of old wood and dust filling my nose as I rummage through the contents of the desk drawers. The light from the window is dim, casting long shadows across the room. It’s quieter here than I remember—too quiet, as if the clinic is keeping its own secrets and refusing to share.
Arthur’s desk is like a time capsule. Faded sticky notes, pens chewed at the ends, and crumpled papers are stuffed into every nook. But it’s not the ordinary clutter that draws my attention. It’s the thick notebook I uncover tucked at the very back of the bottom drawer, its edges worn like it’s been read and reread a thousand times.
The moment I open it, my stomach knots. The pages are covered in Arthur’s precise handwriting, each line a mixture of clinical observations and something else—something darker. Notes on injuries I don’t recognize:
Deep puncture wounds, irregular spacing, resembling bite marks. Too large for local wildlife. A few pages later: Found prints again near the eastern ridge. Too large for a wolf. Track pattern… wrong.
“What the hell were you doing, Arthur?” I whisper, the words barely audible in the stillness.
The notebook shifts between his usual professionalism and… paranoia? Frustration? I skim further and find a sketch—a pawprint, massive, outlined with measurements. Beside it, a note reads:
Near the clinic. Twice now. Unmistakable presence.
The room feels colder. I press my fingers to the edges of the page as though touching the paper will help me understand what he saw. My breath catches when I find another note, this one messier, hurried:
Too close this time. Must stay vigilant. Watch the woods. Are they watching me?
A chill runs down my spine, and I slam the notebook shut. I sit back on my heels, my heart pounding in my chest. Outside, the wind shifts, rustling the overgrown bushes near the window. The sound is enough to pull me back to the present. I push the notebook aside and rise, wiping my palms on my jeans as if I can scrub away the unease crawling under my skin.
I venture outside; the grounds are overgrown. Weeds twist through the fence posts, the gravel driveway is choked with grass, and the once-pristine flower beds are little more than patches of dirt. Arthur loved this place—he spent as much time maintaining it as he did with his patients. Seeing it like this is a gut punch, like staring at the shell of someone I used to know.
I step down the creaky wooden porch steps, the uneven boards shifting under my weight. I walk the perimeter, the faint scent of the trees and the mountains swirling around me. The clinic feels different out here, untamed and too quiet. Every shadow feels alive. Every movement in the woods pulls my attention.
The forest presses close to the property line, its dark edges swallowing the fading light. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but my eyes keep darting to the tree line, scanning for… something. Anything. The sensation of being watched prickles the back of my neck. My rational mind tells me it’s just paranoia. My gut doesn’t believe it.
I stop near the side of the building, where the forest seems closest. From here, the clinic looks both comforting and haunted. I know I should feel safe—this was Arthur’s haven. But instead, unease churns in my stomach.
“You’re getting in over your head,” I murmur to myself, the words bitter on my tongue. But leaving isn’t an option, not anymore. Not with Arthur’s cryptic notes and these woods that feel more alive—and more dangerous—than they should.
The evening air cools as the sun dips lower. A sharp gust of wind rustles the trees, and I swear I hear something faint, like footsteps. I spin toward the sound, my pulse hammering, but there’s nothing there. Just the trees swaying, their branches creaking in the breeze.
I exhale a shaky breath and rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to turn back toward the clinic. The building looms in the dusk, and I feel completely alone in this forgotten corner of the world. But beneath that isolation is something else—a spark of determination, stubborn and burning.
Arthur didn’t just stumble into whatever this was. He dug into it. He knew something. And whatever it is, it’s buried here, waiting for me to uncover it. And may be the key to finding out what really happened.
I glance at the woods one last time. They seem darker now, the trees impossibly still, like they’re holding their breath. The air feels heavy, like it’s caving in on me. Something is out there. Watching. Waiting.
I’m not sure if it’s the clinic, the forest, or my own imagination, but one thing is certain: Shadow Hollow has secrets, and they’re not going to stay hidden forever.
The next morning, the knock on the clinic door startles me. It’s been so quiet this morning that I’ve started to feel like the only person left in this town, a thought that’s both comforting and unnerving. I set down the file I’ve been flipping through and glance toward the window. Outside, Dorothy Canning is standing on the porch, a basket clutched to her chest. Her face is warm, kind, but there’s something sharp in her eyes, like she’s already weighed and measured me.
I open the door, plastering on my best polite smile. “Dorothy, hi. What brings you by?”
She beams, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The basket smells divine—sweet, buttery, and rich. “Oh, I thought you could use a little welcome. You’ve had such a rough time of it lately, poor thing.”
I close the door, leaning against it as I study her. Dorothy’s warmth feels genuine, but there’s an edge beneath it, a subtle tension that sets me on alert.
“That’s thoughtful of you,” I say, gesturing for her to follow me into the clinic’s main room. “I’ve been too busy to think about food.”
“That’s what I figured,” she says, setting the basket on the counter. “Where are you staying? No one’s seen you at the mill house.”
“Is someone looking for me?” I see the hurt cross her face. She’s only trying to be kind. “Arthur kept a cot in the back. I figured I’d stick closer to town and get the clinic cleaned up and then work on the mill house.”
“You sound like you’re planning to stay.”
“I haven’t made any real decisions, but I figure stay or sell, both places need to be cleaned up, Arthur’s things packed away, and stuff like that.”
“You’ve taken on quite the responsibility here, Bella. Arthur’s shoes are big ones to fill, aren’t they?”
“They are. But then I learned from Arthur, learned from the best. I might not be able to fill them in the opinion of others, but I can make sure his legacy lives on.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s considering her next move. “Looks like you’ve been trying to make some sense of Arthur’s notes. Looking for anything in particular? We were good friends. I might be able to help.” She busies herself unpacking the basket—muffins, a loaf of bread, and a jar of honey—though her tone is anything but casual.
“Not really. Just getting organized,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Arthur wasn’t the most… linear thinker when it came to filing. I need to understand the way he ran things.”
Dorothy glances up, her gaze cutting through me like she’s trying to peel back layers. “Surely you have an idea as to what you want. For the clinic and the mill house, I mean. For Shadow Hollow. It’s a small town, you know. Not always easy for outsiders to… fit in, but people want to know if we’re still going to have a local vet, someone who can handle large and small animals.”
Her words land heavy, though her smile never wavers. I meet her gaze, refusing to flinch. “The clinic I worked in just outside of Seattle had both a large and small animal practice. I did more than my share of large animal emergencies, and Arthur made sure I was an excellent diagnostician as well as a surgeon,” I say, more firmly than I intended. “I split up with my boyfriend and decided to come here to figure things out. Right now, this place feels more like home than anywhere else.”
Dorothy hums, noncommittal, and pats my hand like I’m a child trying to play grown-up. “Of course, dear. Just wanted to make sure you’re settling in. People in town—they’re curious, that’s all.”
Curious isn’t the word I’d use. Suspicious, maybe. Wary and nosy, most definitely. I bite back my frustration and thank her again for the basket. She leaves after a few more pleasantries, though her parting smile feels more like a warning than a farewell.
As the day drags on, I lose myself in paperwork, in trying to make sense of Arthur’s chaotic notes, but the uneasy feeling Dorothy left behind sticks to me like sap. I don’t even notice the rumble of an engine outside until it cuts off, followed by the crunch of boots on gravel.
When the door swings open, Gus Greenly fills the frame. He’s a tall man, broad-shouldered, with a permanent scowl etched into his face. His hands are rough, grease-stained, and they hang loosely at his sides, but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he looks at me.
“Afternoon,” he says, stepping inside. His voice is gruff, each syllable weighed down by disapproval. “Thought I’d come see how things are shaping up around here.”
“Afternoon,” I reply, wiping my hands on my jeans. “It’s coming along. Slowly.”
His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the piles of papers and half-unpacked boxes. “Doesn’t look like you’ve decided whether or not to stick around yet.”
I narrow my eyes, folding my arms across my chest. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
Gus snorts, like my words are some kind of joke. “You’re a smart girl. You’ve gotta know this place isn’t for everyone. Shadow Hollow’s got a way of… chewing up outsiders. Might be better to take the inheritance, sell the mill house and the clinic, and head back to the city where you belong.”
Something inside me snaps. “I don’t know where I belong, Gus—not that it’s any of your business. Arthur thought it might be here. He trusted me with this clinic, with his patients, and I’m not about to walk away just because some people don’t think I fit their definition of ‘local.’”
His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. “You think this place will just automatically accept you because Arthur left you his clinic and home? This is a small town, Bella, and things don’t work that way. If you think you’ll get a pass just because of Arthur, you’d best think again.”
His words land like a challenge, but I don’t back down. I step closer, meeting his glare with one of my own. “I’m not going anywhere. So, if you’re here to scare me off, you’re wasting your time.”
We just stare at each other, the air between us crackling like a live wire. Then Gus grunts, turning toward the door. “Suit yourself,” he mutters. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He leaves without another word, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows. I stand there, my heart pounding, the weight of his warning pressing against my chest.
Shadow Hollow doesn’t want me here. That much is clear. But I’m not leaving. Not until I find out what really happened to Arthur—and what secrets this town is so desperate to keep buried.
RYDER
The woods feel alive tonight, the wind weaving through the forest like whispers carrying warnings. The clearing glows faintly under the full moon, a perfect circle surrounded by towering trees, their shadows stretching across the soft earth. My pack waits in tense silence, their faces drawn, their eyes watching me with a mixture of expectation and unease. The weight of their stares presses on me, but I don’t falter. I can’t.
“We have a problem,” I begin, my voice low and steady, cutting through the rustle of the trees. “And it’s one we can no longer ignore. This pack, our pack, isn’t just facing a threat to its future. We’re staring down extinction if we don’t act.” My gaze sweeps over them, holding steady even as unease churns in my gut. “I won’t let that happen. But we have to be smarter about how we approach it.”
A murmur ripples through the group. Most of them already know what I’m about to say. The birthrate crisis has been gnawing at us for years, and every failed pregnancy feels like a wound that won’t heal. But hearing it out loud makes it real, and real means I have to fix it.
There’s a flicker of dissent in the crowd—subtle, but there. I can feel it, like static in the air before a storm. My brother, Lucas, steps forward, his expression calm but his jaw tight. “It’s not just the declining birthrate, it’s the Crimson Claw. They are more than a nuisance. They’re coordinated. They’re closing in on our borders in ever smaller circles like they’re testing us. You think that’s a coincidence?”
“I think,” I bite out, “that you’re letting paranoia cloud your judgment.”
Lucas doesn’t flinch. He never does. “And I think you’re too focused on the bigger picture in the Rainshadow Region to see the problems we have right here. As much as you would like to believe nothing is changing and that we can maintain the status quo, we can’t.”
The pack shifts uneasily, their murmurs intensifying. I step forward, letting the weight of my authority roll through the clearing. “This isn’t a debate. The birthrate crisis and the Crimson Claw are the priority. We don’t need chaos or speculation tearing us apart.”
“And what about the human?” Lucas says, his voice cutting through mine like a whip. The mention of her makes my muscles tense, and he knows it. His eyes narrow, searching my face. “She came back, Ryder. I don’t think she’s just passing through. She seems far more interested in this town than she should be. You think that’s a coincidence?”
“I think she bears watching, but Isabella Gordon is none of your concern,” I snap, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s no threat.”
“She’s Arthur Whitfield’s protégé,” Lucas fires back. “You don’t think he told her anything? You don’t think she’ll start asking questions?”
“I think we have bigger things to deal with than one curious human female.”
It’s a lie. And Lucas knows it.
The pack goes quiet, the air heavy with the unsaid. I feel their unease, their doubt. They’re looking at me, waiting for a crack, a hesitation, but I don’t give them one.
“We stay focused,” I say, my tone final. “We keep the Crimson Claw out. We continue to work on resolving the birthrate decline. What we don’t do is let anyone, human or otherwise, unravel what we’ve built here.”
Lucas holds my gaze for a long moment before stepping back, his silence more cutting than anything he could have said. I know he’s not done haranguing me.
The meeting ends, the pack dispersing into the night. But I stay behind, staring at the shadows between the trees, listening to the quiet rustle of the forest. It should feel like home—this place, this role I’ve fought for—but right now, it feels like a cage.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The truth is, I don’t know what Isabella Gordon knows. I don’t know what Arthur might have told her before his death, or how far she’s willing to go to find answers. What I do know is that her being here could be a complication I can’t afford. Not now.
She shouldn’t matter. But she does.
Her scent lingers from the memory of my dreams, unshakable, like the forest after a rainstorm. Sharp, earthy, and alive. And it makes me want to drag her closer and push her away all at once.
A rustle in the trees snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn sharply, my senses on high alert. For a moment, I think it’s one of the pack, circling back. But then I catch it—a faint, familiar scent carried on the wind.
I step into the shadows, my instincts taking over as I move silently into the trees. I don’t call out. If the Crimson Claw is nearby, they shouldn’t know I’m here. I need to assign one of my warriors to keep watch over her. I’d rather do it myself. Hell, I’d rather she was tucked safely in my bed, but that’s not possible. Not right now. I’ll keep her safe, even if it means staying in the dark where she can’t find me or the answers she seeks.
The pull toward her is stronger than it should be, stronger than I want it to be. And as I move deeper into the forest, one thought keeps pounding in my head, relentless and undeniable.
She doesn’t belong here, but unlike others, I don’t want her to leave.