Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
ISABELLA
T he clinic feels too quiet, the kind of quiet that settles under your skin and doesn’t let go. I’m at Arthur’s desk again, poring over his notes, the pages soft and worn. Every line feels like a breadcrumb leading to a place I’m not sure I want to go. Yet here I am, following them.
Logging trail—east ridge. Unexplained injuries. Tracks inconsistent with local wildlife.
The note is circled three times, a smudge of ink running through the last few words as if Arthur was distracted—or hurried. My fingers trace the page, the edges rough where he pressed too hard with the pen.
“East ridge,” I murmur to myself, leaning back in the chair. Maybe it needs checking out.
The smart thing would be to stay here, lock the door, and pretend I didn’t see it. Or at the very least wait until tomorrow and go during full daylight. But smart hasn’t exactly been my strong suit lately.
When I arrive in the late afternoon at what the internet guide and the trail marker tells me is the East Ridge Trail, the forest is darker than I expect. The sun barely filters through the dense canopy, leaving the ground in a patchwork of shadow and weak light. The air feels cooler here, damp and thick with the smell of pine and moss.
My boots trod along the dirt path as I follow the old trail Arthur mentioned. Every sound feels amplified—the crack of a twig, the whisper of leaves shifting in the wind. My flashlight cuts through the gathering gloom, but it doesn’t stop my nerves from crawling.
This is a bad idea. I know it’s a bad idea, but I just can’t seem to help myself. My other hand rests in the pocket of my winter down vest—my fingers wrapped securely around the flare gun I thought to bring with me. But there’s something about the note, the way Arthur’s handwriting grew frantic near the end, that won’t let me stay away.
The trail narrows, the trees closing in on either side, their branches reaching like fingers. My stomach knots as I press on, the uneasy stillness of the forest pressing against my chest.
Then I feel it—the prickle along my spine like I’m being watched.
I stop dead in my tracks, the flashlight trembling slightly in my hand. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and my breath catches. The forest is silent now, too silent, like the world is waiting to see what will happen next.
“Hello?” My voice comes out stronger than I feel, but it echoes uselessly into the trees.
Nothing.
I take a step forward, then another, each one heavier than the last. The path dips, revealing a small clearing ahead. My heart pounds as I step into it, my flashlight sweeping over the ground.
That’s when I see them.
Tracks. Huge. Deep. They gouge the earth, their shape wrong—too large, too deliberate. My breath quickens as I crouch, running my fingers along the edge of one.
“What the hell…”
A low growl rumbles from the shadows, the sound vibrating through my chest.
I freeze, my pulse hammering in my ears as the growl grows louder, closer. My flashlight jerks toward the sound, but the beam catches only darkness and the faint glint of eyes—gold, sharp, and too intelligent.
“Turn around,” a voice growls from behind me.
I whirl, the flashlight swinging wildly until it lands on him as he steps out of the shadows, his movements fluid and predatory. He’s the most gloriously gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to be rimmed in amber. The strength and dominance rolls off him like a river rolling to the sea. As I stare at him, a curious thought forms in my mind: if he were a wolf, he’d be the alpha of the pack.
He’s shirtless, his skin slick with sweat like he’s been running through the woods for hours. What’s he doing out here in just jeans and boots?
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he snaps, his voice low and rough, like he’s holding back something darker.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I shoot back, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart is racing. “At least I’m dressed for the weather.”
He looks down as if noticing for the first time he’s shirtless. I couldn’t help but notice as I stare at his perfectly sculpted pecs and abs. The man steps closer, and I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, a mix of danger and heat that makes my skin prickle.
“This isn’t a game, Bella,” he growls. “You don’t belong here.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I make it my business to know the names of outsiders in Shadow Hollow.”
“Then you’re one up on me. And your name?”
“Ryder Stone, and as I said, you need to leave. You don’t belong here.”
“Well, I have a clinic and mill house that list me as owner, so regardless of what you or anyone else thinks, I’m here for the foreseeable future.”
“You need to leave,” he reiterates.
“We’ll just need to agree to disagree on that point,” I say, planting my feet. “I found something—a journal Arthur left—something he was looking into. I’m not leaving until I figure out what it is.”
His jaw tightens, and he just stares at me, his eyes burning with something I can’t name. Then he’s in my space, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of the forest and something wilder clinging to his skin.
“You’re out of your depth. You’d never understand,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Then explain it to me,” I respond, refusing to back down even as my body hums with the energy between us.
His gaze flickers, something like frustration warring with whatever else is burning behind his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
“Try me.”
The only sound I hear is my breathing, ragged and uneven, and the faint rustle of the trees around us. Then he steps back, his jaw clenched and his hands flexing at his sides as he curls them in and out of fists.
“Go home, Bella,” he says, his voice sharp and cutting. “And stay out of the woods.”
He starts to turn away, and I quickly tell him, “Arthur made a note about some unusual tracks he saw out here.”
“I don’t care. Arthur and I never discussed what he was working on.” His eyes flash again, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to argue. But then he turns, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he appeared, leaving me alone in the clearing with the tracks and the silence.
My legs feel shaky, the air around me thick with unanswered questions. Ryder knows something—something he doesn’t want me to find out. And if he thinks I’m just going to walk away, he’s dead wrong.
The forest seems to close in tighter as I start back for my Jeep, I get about halfway there and stop, berating myself for allowing Ryder Stone—a man I just met—tell me what to do. Changing my mind, I head back toward the trail Arthur had marked, Ryder’s words clinging to me like a second skin.
Whatever Arthur was looking into, it’s not just dangerous, it might be deadly.
I clutch the flashlight tighter as I continue on, reminding myself what I’m doing out here. I need to figure out if whatever Arthur was looking into got him killed. I owe him that. A breeze whispers through the leaves, brushing against my skin like a warning.
I’m past where I encountered Ryder, and I wonder if I shouldn’t turn back as the sunlight is beginning to fade. Being out in the woods alone is probably not the best idea. I am thinking about turning around when I hear it. A twig snaps, loud and deliberate.
I whirl around, my heart pounding as the flashlight beam cuts through the shadows. Nothing. Just trees and the faint, restless rustle of branches. Ryder steps out from the shadows once again, blocking my path, his expression hard, his presence filling the space between us—raw, primal.
“Jesus, Ryder!” I snap, pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me with those piercing eyes that seem to see too much. There’s something almost predatory about the way he moves toward me, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I told you to leave,” he says, his voice low, rough, and utterly uncompromising.
“I heard you; I’m just not inclined to take unsolicited advice from a stranger.” My heart is still racing, but not because I’m frightened. For some reason I feel completely safe with him. His closeness makes my pulse quicken in a way that’s as infuriating as it is undeniable.
His jaw tightens, and he steps closer, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. “This isn’t a joke, Bella. You don’t know what’s out here.”
“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” I say, folding my arms, refusing to back down even as his presence threatens to overwhelm me. “Because all I’ve gotten so far are cryptic warnings and threatening stares. Maybe it’s time you explain.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I roll my eyes, the tightness in my chest sharpening into frustration. “Of course it’s not. Nothing ever is, is it? What is it with the people in this town? You were supposed to be Arthur’s friends, and yet you don’t question how he died or what he was looking into? Hot news flash, I’m not going anywhere until I have the answers I want.”
His hand snaps out, grabbing my arm, not rough but firm enough to make me freeze. His gaze locks onto mine, fierce and unrelenting. “Go home, Bella.”
“No.” My voice sounds shaky. His fingers linger against my skin, the heat of his touch burning through me. “I’m not some fragile little city girl who needs protecting.”
His eyes darken, his grip tightening ever so slightly. The air between us feels too charged, too heavy, like the woods themselves are leaning closer to listen. “I doubt you’re fragile. Arthur didn’t like fragile,” he says, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “But you’re not invincible, either.”
“Ryder,” another male voice cuts in, smooth and easy, breaking the moment like a cool breeze. “Ease up. I’m sure she doesn’t bite, and if she does, my guess is she’s had her shots.”
I glance past Ryder, my pulse still racing, to see another man emerging from the trees, laughing. He’s tall, built a lot like Ryder and just as striking, with a teasing grin that contrasts sharply with Ryder’s scowl. His dark hair is slightly longer, curling at the edges, and his eyes are warm, almost inviting, as they glance between us.
He hands Ryder a heavy sweater. “Put this on.”
“Lucas,” Ryder growls, his hand dropping from my arm as he takes a step back, takes the sweater and pulls it on. His frustration is palpable, though whether it’s with Lucas or me, I can’t tell. Probably both.
“Nice to meet you, Bella,” Lucas says, ignoring Ryder’s glower as he extends a hand toward me. “I’m Lucas. The less grouchy brother.”
“That wouldn’t take much,” I quip. I hesitate for a second before shaking his hand. His grip is firm, but there’s a friendliness in his smile and stance that puts me at ease.
“Younger brother,” Ryder corrects sharply, his tone like steel.
“Details,” Lucas says with a shrug, releasing my hand and leaning casually against a nearby tree. “So, what brings you out here, Bella? Decided to ignore all the ominous warnings and see what the big bad woods have to offer?”
“I was investigating something Arthur wrote in one of his journals,” I say, glancing at Ryder, who’s glaring daggers at Lucas now. “But apparently that’s a crime in these parts.”
“It’s not a crime,” Ryder snaps, stepping closer again, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “It’s reckless.”
I take a step back, my frustration boiling over. “You know what? If you two are done being two interfering old busybodies, I’ll be on my way.”
Ryder’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop me as I grab my flashlight and start back toward the trail. My steps are quick, fueled by anger and something else—something raw and confusing that lingers in the space Ryder just vacated.
The woods seem darker now, the air heavier, but I don’t look back. Not even when I feel Ryder’s gaze burning into me, like he’s still there, just out of sight, watching. Waiting.
Whatever Arthur was chasing… whatever’s out here… it’s bigger than I first thought. And I can’t seem to shake the feeling that somehow, I’m right in the middle of it.