Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
ISABELLA
T he following morning, the Moonlight Café smells like a warm hug—strong coffee, sizzling bacon, and the faint sweetness of cinnamon rolls warming in the back. It’s the kind of place where time slows down, where regulars have claimed their favorite tables for decades and the menu hasn’t changed in just as long. But the warmth in the air feels at odds with the sharp, probing stares that land on me as I step inside.
I feel their eyes, curious and heavy, tracking my every move as I make my way to the counter. The bell above the door jingles behind me, but the low murmur of conversation doesn’t pick back up until I sit down.
“Isabella Gordon,” the woman behind the counter says. “I’m Marjorie Reed. I own the Moonlight Café. Welcome. Coffee?”
“Please,” I say, forcing a smile as I shrug off my jacket. “Black would be great.”
Marjorie bustles around behind the counter, her silver bob catching the light as she pours a cup of coffee and sets it in front of me. “You’ve been busy. Word is you’re thinking about taking over Arthur’s clinic.”
I nod, wrapping my hands around the mug. “I am. Regardless of what I decide, there’s a lot of stuff to go through.”
Marjorie leans on the counter, her blue eyes sharp despite her pleasant smile. “Must be hard, coming back after Arthur’s death. Who’d have thought Arthur would leave his clinic and his house to you?”
“Not me,” I admit, keeping my voice light even though her words land like a subtle jab.
She hums thoughtfully, her smile never wavering. “Arthur spoke of you often. He always had a soft spot for you. But the clinic is quite a responsibility; are you planning to stay?”
The question hangs in the air, deceptively casual, but I know better. This feels more like fishing than small talk.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I respond, wondering why I feel like I’m lying, like I already know I’m staying.
Marjorie’s lips twitch like she knows it’s a lie too. “Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Like a lot of small towns, Shadow Hollow isn’t always overly welcoming to newcomers.”
Before I can respond, Marjorie continues on, “Breakfast?” she asks, her tone a little too bright. “On the house…”
“That’s not necessary…”
“Of course it is, any friend of Arthur’s and all that. What’ll you have?”
I smile. “If those cinnamon rolls I’m smelling are ready, I’d love one.”
“Coming right up.” Marjorie disappears into the kitchen, leaving me with my coffee and the low hum of muted conversations filling the café.
Arthur’s death was supposed to be an accident—a heart attack, the sheriff said, but I’m not buying it. My stomach twists as the cinnamon roll is set before me. When the bell over the door jingles, I glance over my shoulder. My breath catches when I see him. Ryder Stone.
He strides into the café as if he owns the place, his presence sucking the air out of the room. His tall, muscular physique is enough to take my breath away. With his dark, disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow, he looks like he’s been running through the woods again. His eyes sweep the room before landing on me, sharp and piercing, making my heart do an annoying little stutter. I can’t possibly be attracted to this guy, can I?
He doesn’t smile. It would seem Ryder doesn’t do smiles. Instead, he nods at Marjorie before coming to stand beside me. “Why are you still here?”
“Good morning to you too, Ryder,” I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though the heat in it makes my cheeks flush. “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record. Where’s your better looking, less menacing brother today?”
I hear several nervous twitters.
His jaw tightens, and he leans in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t Seattle.”
Something in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to back down. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not going to work. I’m not leaving.”
He straightens, his gaze burning into mine for a long, tense moment before he shakes his head. “You should.”
And with that, he turns and walks out, leaving me with more questions than answers and a lingering heat in the air that has nothing to do with my coffee.
As the door closes behind him, the room feels too quiet. I take a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the mug.
Whatever Arthur was looking into, it’s clear the town doesn’t want me to do the same. The question is, what are they so afraid I’ll find?
The Shadow Hollow sheriff’s station smells like old coffee and damp wood. The walls are lined with fading photographs of the town through the decades—black-and-white shots of loggers, miners, and one grainy image of a group of people standing just a little too far back in the woods to make out their faces. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like a stranger the second you step inside, even if you’ve been here before.
Sheriff Barnes sits behind his desk, a hulking man with graying hair and a sharp gaze that makes it clear he misses nothing. His uniform is neat, not a crease out of place, and there’s something about the way he leans back in his chair that suggests he’s used to being in control.
“Bella,” he says, setting down a stack of papers. “What can I do for you?”
I don’t sit, even though he gestures to the chair across from him. Sitting feels like telling him I think he’s in charge. He isn’t. Instead, I plant my hands on his desk, leaning in just enough to make it clear I mean business.
“I want to know what you know about Arthur’s death,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotions curling in my stomach.
His brow furrows. “What about it?”
“The investigation. Or lack thereof.”
Barnes sighs, leaning back in his chair. “There’s nothing suspicious about what happened to Arthur. The coroner ruled it a heart attack. Clean and simple.”
“I don’t buy it,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “Arthur was healthy. He hiked every weekend, for God’s sake. He wasn’t the kind of man who just dropped dead of a heart attack.”
Barnes’s eyes narrow slightly, the lines around his mouth tightening. “Sometimes these things happen,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “Even to people who seem healthy.”
“But what about whatever he was looking into?” I ask, refusing to back down. “I saw his notes, Sheriff. He was onto something, and now he’s gone. You’re telling me you believe that’s a coincidence?”
He hesitates, just for a second, but it’s enough to make my pulse spike.
“Arthur was always looking into something. He had some crazy theories,” Barnes says finally, his tone laced with something that makes my skin crawl. “But there’s no evidence—no proof—that whatever he was looking into had anything to do with his death.”
I lean in closer, my voice lowering. “Do you know what he was looking into, Sheriff?”
Barnes’s gaze hardens. “I don’t. He didn’t exactly keep me in the loop.”
“Bullshit,” I say, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “You’re the sheriff. My guess is there’s little that goes on in Shadow Hollow that you don’t know about. If Arthur was looking into something dangerous, you’d know about it.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Barnes’s fingers drum against the desk, a slow, deliberate rhythm that only adds to my unease.
“Whatever Arthur was into, let it go. It doesn’t concern you. It’s not worth chasing shadows or things that go bump in the night,” he says, his voice dropping to a near growl.
“Shadows and things that go bump in the night don’t leave notes,” I fire back, straightening.
His expression flickers briefly, but it’s enough to send a chill down my spine. He knows something.
“If you’re done here,” he says, standing and walking toward the door, “I suggest you focus on the clinic and the mill house. Deciding what you’re going to do with them is what should be your concern.”
“I haven’t decided if I’m staying.”
“Doesn’t matter,” says the sheriff. “The area needs a good vet. Either reopen the clinic and run it yourself or sell it to someone who will.”
I follow him to the door, my anger simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not dropping this, Sheriff,” I say, my voice sharp. “Arthur deserves better than that. And if you’re not going to find out what really happened, then I will.”
His hand hovers over the doorknob, his shoulders tense. “Be careful, Bella,” he says without turning around. “Outsiders aren’t always treated kindly.”
The words hang in the air as he opens the door, stepping aside to let me pass.
Outside, the sun filters through the clouds, but it feels colder than it should. I walk back to my Jeep, my mind racing. Barnes knows more than he’s letting on. I’m sure of it. But he’s not going to give me any answers.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I glance at the station one last time. Barnes is watching from the window, his face unreadable. If he thinks he’s going to scare me off, he’s wrong. I’ll find out what Arthur was looking into, and I’ll find out what’s really going on in Shadow Hollow, regardless of the consequences.
RYDER
The council chamber is as old as the forest, carved into the heart of the mountain like it’s been here longer than any of us. The air inside is heavy, damp, and filled with the faint, earthy scent of moss. Shadows cling to the stone walls, flickering in the dim light of the lanterns hung high overhead. This place has always made my wolf restless—like the council chamber is too small for the enormous egos that collide here.
The Nightshade Elders sit in a semicircle at the far end of the chamber, their expressions as stony as the walls around them. They’re waiting for me to speak, their patience as thin as my tolerance for their judgmental stares.
“She’s not a threat,” I say finally, my voice firm but controlled. “Bella Gordon doesn’t even know what she is, let alone what she’s stumbled into.”
Elder Marlow narrows his eyes at me, his graying eyebrows furrowing. “You can’t possibly believe that,” he says, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Arthur was one of us—well, maybe not wolf, but a shifter. He was sticking his nose into things that didn’t concern him.”
“The Crimson Claw should be of concern to everyone. Whatever they’re up to, I don’t think it just concerns the wolf packs.”
“She’s nosing around in things that don’t concern her.”
“And she’ll find nothing. She inherited a veterinary clinic and a mill house,” I snap, my jaw tightening. “Arthur was a part of this town. He never told her anything. There’s no reason to think Bella will find out anything.”
“You can’t know that. It’s not your call to make,” Elder Tannis cuts in, her voice sharp and unforgiving.
“You overstep, Elder Tannis. It is precisely my call to make.”
She drops her eyes and modulates her speech, “You’re too close. Her presence puts the entire pack at risk. You should never have allowed her to return to Shadow Hollow.”
My wolf bristles at the words, but I keep my voice level. “She has a right to be here. Her grandmother...”
“Her grandmother,” Elder Marlow interrupts, his voice rising, “was banished from this pack for good reason. She betrayed us, and one of her bloodline should never have been allowed to return to these lands.”
Sometimes I forget how out of touch the Elders can be.
“That was decades ago,” I say, forcing the growl out of my voice. “Bella isn’t her grandmother. She’s not her grandfather, either. I understand things were different back then, but Bella is just trying to make sense of what Arthur left her.”
“Arthur left her questions,” Tannis says, leaning forward, her silver hair catching the light. “And if she starts digging for answers, it won’t be long before she finds us. Or worse—before she brings others here.”
They’re wrong. I will not allow their old prejudices to hold sway. They’re not afraid of Bella. They’re afraid of change… and that maybe they had been wrong to banish her grandmother.
“Trying to force Bella to leave will only make her more suspicious. I’ll handle it.”
“You’re too invested…” Marlow starts, his gaze cutting through me.
“I am alpha,” I say quietly and let that sink in. “Bella isn’t our enemy. Who knows? She might be able to help us.”
“Help us?” Tannis sneers, shaking her head. “What can she possibly offer us? She’s a liability, Ryder. Nothing more.”
I force myself to take a slow breath. “She’s smart. She’s a vet. She was Arthur’s protégé. Who knows she might have some insight into our declining birthrates or even the Crimson Claw. We could use her grandmother’s connection to this pack and make her an asset.”
“An asset?” Marlow scoffs. “Someone who only carries a trace of our DNA is no wolf at all.”
The words hit harder than they should, my wolf snarling beneath the surface, but I don’t let it show. “You’re wrong.”
“If she exposes us… ” Tannis says after a long pause, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
“Do not think to threaten me,” I snarl, “less you find yourself banished.”
I turn and leave the chamber, their judgment settling on my shoulders like a lead cloak.
Outside the mountain the air is cold and fresh, a stark contrast to that within the council chamber. But even as I breathe it in, I can feel the knot in my chest. The forest envelops me like a second skin. The anger from the meeting hasn’t left me—it’s settled low in my gut, mingling with the sharp tug of something else.
Bella doesn’t know it yet, but she’s standing on the edge of something far bigger than anything she could imagine. And if I can’t find a way to control this, she could tear apart everything I’ve built to protect the pack.
As I step into the forest, the scent of pine and damp earth fills my senses. But somewhere beneath that it is another scent, faint but unmistakable. Even now, she’s in my territory, her presence pulling at me in ways I can’t ignore. My wolf stirs, restless and sharp, as I make my way toward the scent, knowing that keeping my distance isn’t an option anymore.
Bella’s not a threat. But the more time she spends in Shadow Hollow, the closer she gets to something she can’t unsee. And if she does uncover the truth? She’s right in the middle of it with no way out.
I can’t stop thinking about her—her stubbornness, the fire in her eyes when she pushes back, the way she walks into danger without a second thought. She reminds me too much of myself, and that’s a problem. I’m supposed to protect the pack, but how do I do that when she’s my fated mate and my first duty is to protect her?
A sound pulls me from my thoughts—the faint sound of footsteps on the trail ahead. My senses go on high alert, my wolf stirring as I move toward the sound.
I catch her scent first. Fresh, sharp, a mix of wildflowers and something warmer, something uniquely hers. Bella steps into view, her head turning as if she feels me before she sees me. Her eyes catch the moonlight, their defiance clear even in the dark.
“You again,” she says, shaking her head. “Should I be flattered or concerned that you keep popping up everywhere I go?”
I step closer, unable to stop the pull. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’ve said that before,” she says, tilting her head, her voice laced with mockery. “Care to elaborate this time?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” I say, my voice low.
“You’ve said that too.”
I take another step, closing the space between us until I can feel the heat of her body in the cool night air. Her chin tilts up as she meets my gaze, and the defiance in her eyes sparks something dangerous in me.
“Go home, Bella,” I say, the words rough, almost a growl.
Her lips curve into a small, infuriating smile. “Not until I get answers to my questions.”
The energy between us is intense, sharp enough to cut. My wolf growls, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer.
She won’t back down. And that’s what concerns me the most. As she turns and walks away, her scent lingering in the air, I know one thing for certain: Bella Gordon isn’t just a problem—she’s a irresistible force ready to be unleashed. And I’m the immovable object standing right in her path.