4. Fiona
4
FIONA
F iona straightened a stack of flyers on the community center's front desk, hyper-aware of the brooding presence behind her. For the fifth day in a row, Caleb Rivers loomed like a storm cloud in a perfectly good sky. His reflection in the window showed him scanning the room, arms crossed, jaw set in that perpetual scowl.
"You know, if you keep frowning like that, your face might stay that way," she said, not bothering to turn around.
"Just doing my job."
"Which apparently involves haunting this desk like a particularly grumpy ghost?" The corners of her mouth twitched as she heard him shift his weight.
"Making sure everything runs smoothly."
Fiona spun in the chair, raising an eyebrow at him. "Right. Because the potted plants might stage an uprising?"
His blue eyes narrowed, but she caught the slight quirk of his lips before he smoothed his expression. The security cameras in every corner caught her attention again. Something had happened here - something that had the mighty alpha wolf prowling around like a watchdog.
"Just keep me updated on any... unusual activities."
"Define unusual. Because Mrs. Henderson's interpretive dance class gets pretty wild on Thursdays."
That earned her an actual chuckle, brief as it was. Progress. She'd counted exactly six laughs from him in five days - not that she was keeping track.
Whatever had happened here had left more than physical marks. She could feel it in the way the pack members glanced at the doors, in the tight set of Caleb's shoulders. But asking outright would probably get her nowhere with Mr. Broody McAlpha.
Later that day, Fiona adjusted the thermostat, letting a touch of her fire magic warm her fingertips. The community center's ancient heating system wheezed and clicked, struggling against the autumn chill. A group of teenage shifters huddled near the entrance, shooting her suspicious glances.
"The basketball court's open for another hour," she called out, keeping her tone light. "Unless you'd rather stand there giving me the evil eye?"
One of the boys - Travis, she remembered - shuffled his feet. "We're good."
"Suit yourself. But I hear standing around being suspicious burns zero calories."
A few snickers broke out among the group before they shuffled toward the court. Small victories. She'd take them.
"You shouldn't antagonize them." Caleb materialized beside her desk like a particularly broody ninja.
"I wasn't antagonizing. I was... encouraging physical activity through gentle sarcasm." She pulled up the month's schedule on her laptop. "Speaking of activity, the yoga instructor called in sick. Again."
"And?"
"And I can fill in if that’s okay. I'm certified."
His eyebrows shot up. "You teach yoga?"
"Don't look so shocked. Even us witches need to stay limber." She winked at him, delighting in the way he almost - almost - cracked a smile. "Unless you'd rather disappoint Mrs. Peterson? She's been talking about her hip all week."
"Fine. But I'll be watching."
"You always are." She gathered her hair into a ponytail, ignoring the warmth that crept up her neck under his steady gaze. "Though if you're going to lurk, you might as well participate. Those shoulders look like they could use some stretching."
"I don't do yoga."
"Afraid you can't keep up with Mrs. Peterson?"
His eyes narrowed, but there was that ghost of a smile again. Progress. She'd been collecting those almost-smiles like trading cards these past few days.
After yoga class, the day continued in its usual rhythm of spreadsheets, community questions, and dodging Caleb's watchful presence. Between organizing the weekend potluck and mediating a dispute over pickle ball court time, Fiona found herself settling into a comfortable groove at the community center.
The afternoon sun streamed through the community center's windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Fiona's fingers flew across her keyboard, organizing next week's schedule when a gentle tap on her desk drew her attention.
An elderly man with silver hair and laugh lines around his eyes stood before her, leaning on a wooden cane carved with intricate wolf designs.
"Excuse me, dear. These old eyes can't read the activity board anymore. Could you tell me when the chess club meets?"
"Of course." Fiona pulled up the schedule. "It's Thursdays at two. Would you like me to write it down for you?"
"No need. The memory's still sharp, even if the eyes aren't." He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "I'm Emmett, by the way. Been part of this pack longer than most of these pups have been alive."
"Fiona Ashwood." She gestured to the chair beside her desk. "Would you like to sit? I just made a fresh pot of coffee."
"Don't mind if I do." Emmett settled into the chair with a contented sigh. "You're doing good work here, you know. Place hasn't run this smooth in years."
Heat crept into her cheeks. "Tell that to the teenagers who look at me like I'm going to hex their basketball."
"Ah, they'll come around soon enough." Emmett's eyes twinkled. "Wolves are creatures of habit. We don't much like change, but loyalty..." He tapped his cane against the floor. "Loyalty always wins out in the end."
"Even for a fire witch?"
"Especially for someone who cares enough to organize Mrs. Peterson's water aerobics class around her grandson's soccer practice." He winked. "Word gets around here fast."
Fiona laughed, warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with her magic. "I just want to help."
"And that's exactly why they'll come around." Emmett pushed himself to his feet. "Now, how about that coffee you mentioned?"
As Fiona poured two cups, adding cream to Emmett's per his request, she felt some of the tension she'd been carrying ease. Maybe she didn't need everyone's approval right away. Maybe, like the gentle turning of seasons, acceptance would come in its own time.
The evening sun cast shadows across Fiona's desk as she reviewed contractor quotes on her laptop. A familiar woodsy scent hit her nose seconds before Caleb's reflection appeared in her screen. Her heart did that annoying little skip it always did when he showed up unannounced.
"Still here?" He leaned against her desk, his dark hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it.
Fiona kept her eyes fixed on the screen, pretending the way his henley stretched across his shoulders wasn't completely distracting. "Some of us actually do work instead of prowling around looking mysterious."
"What kind of work is that?"
"I found a construction crew to rebuild the playground." She pulled up the quote. "Their rates are reasonable and they can start next week."
His jaw tightened. "No."
"No?" Fiona swiveled her chair to face him. "That's not an answer, that's a toddler's favorite word."
"We're not hiring outside contractors."
"The playground needs fixing. Unless you've got a secret construction company hidden in those tight jeans of yours?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. Heat crept up her neck.
His lips twitched. "We can't trust random contractors."
"They're not random. They're licensed, bonded, and have great reviews." She pulled up their website. "Look, they even did the renovation at Sacred Grounds Coffee."
"Still no."
"You’re impossible." Fiona stood, jabbing a finger at his chest. "What's your brilliant solution then? Let the kids play on broken equipment?"
"We'll figure something out."
"Figure something..." She stopped, an idea clicking into place. "Wait. What if we got volunteers from the pack? Make it a community project?"
Caleb's expression shifted from stubborn to considering. "Go on."
"I’m sure we've got carpenters, contractors, and general handymen in the pack already. Plus, it would show everyone coming together after the vandalism."
"That..." He nodded slowly. "That could work."
"Of course it could work. I came up with it." She dropped back into her chair with a triumphant smile. "I'll start organizing teams tomorrow."
"Good thinking, Ashwood." His hand brushed her shoulder as he straightened up. "Just run the volunteer list by me first."
"Yes, and would you like me to get that notarized too?"
He chuckled, the sound doing dangerous things to her concentration. "Smartass."
Thirty minutes flew by. Fiona flicked off the last set of lights, her keys jingling in her hand. "And that's another day of successfully preventing community center chaos."
"You mean another day of creating chaos," Caleb said, but his usual scowl had softened into an almost-smile.
"I prefer to think of it as organized pandemonium." She pushed open the oak doors, the cool night air carrying the scent of autumn leaves. The parking lot lights cast shadows across the asphalt, and somewhere in the distance, a car alarm chirped.
"You really have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"It's part of my charm." She turned to lock up, wondering if the flutter in her stomach came from their playful banter or just indigestion from lunch.
Heavy footsteps pounded against pavement. Wade burst around the corner, his usually neat brown hair disheveled. "Cale! Nightfang—they're coming!"
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Caleb's entire demeanor shifted, his almost-smile vanishing faster than her last paycheck. The term 'Nightfang' meant nothing to Fiona, but judging by the way both men tensed, it wasn't good.
Then she saw them.
Three massive wolves emerged from the shadows between buildings, their movements fluid and predatory. The largest one, with silver-gray fur that gleamed under the streetlights, had to be the size of a small horse. Its companions, one russet and one dark brown, flanked it like living shadows.
Fiona's heart hammered against her ribs. The rational part of her brain—the part that usually handled things like taxes and grocery lists—informed her that wolves shouldn't be that big. The rest of her brain was too busy processing the fact that she was apparently starring in her own personal wildlife documentary gone wrong.
"Oh," she said faintly, her keys slipping from suddenly numb fingers.
The silver wolf's lips pulled back, revealing teeth that would make a great white shark feel inadequate. Beside her, Caleb let out a sound that was definitely not human.