Chapter 8
8
ARCHER
I ’m chopping carrots in Hunter’s kitchen, the thud of the knife against the cutting board almost drowning out the howling wind outside. Fuck, the blizzard’s gotten worse in the last hour, turning the windows into solid sheets of white. Something about the storm feels wrong—too intense, too purposeful, as if it’s trying to keep us all trapped here. As if it’s hiding something out there.
“You know,” Hunter states from behind me, and I glance back to see him rustling through his walk-in pantry. “You don’t have to cook.” He emerges with a jar of honey-roasted peanuts, but there’s tension in his shoulders I’ve never seen before. “We could just...”
“What? Order pizza?” I keep chopping, harder than necessary, trying to focus on anything but her candy-peppermint scent lingering in the air. Even here, even now, it’s driving me crazy. Making my hands shake. Making my instincts surge with every breath of Omega I take. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of trapped here.”
“We’ve got supplies. Protein bars, trail mix...”
“Your idea of food is exactly why I’m cooking. Some of us actually like to taste what we eat.”
Hunter watches me, his expression knowing. “She’s getting to you.”
“Shut up.”
“The mighty Archer, losing his cool over an Omega.” He’s trying to keep his tone light, but there’s an undercurrent of worry. “Never thought I’d see the day. You’re usually so...”
“So what?”
“Controlled. Distant.” He studies me. “This one’s different.”
I point the knife at him. “You want to cook your own damn dinner?”
He raises his hands in surrender, but his eyes are serious. “Just... the way she looks at us like...”
“How?”
“As though she’s just as affected as we are. And that’s dangerous, considering we had no plans to take an Omega. Well, not yet, anyway.”
Soft footsteps on the stairs draw our attention. Thor appears first, followed by Lily. She’s wrapped in one of the bedroom’s thick blankets, but it does nothing to mask her scent. My knife slips, nearly taking off my finger.
The blanket has slipped slightly off one shoulder, and I trace the exposed skin where her shirt’s been pulled down. Those soft curls of hers are even more untamed, dark brown waves with golden highlights from the hallway light. They cascade past her shoulders, framing a face that makes my breath catch every time I see it.
“Thor kept pawing at my door. Apparently, he’s not familiar with the concept of being left alone.” She scratches his head, and I study her delicate fingers moving through his fur. “But he’s too adorable to ignore.”
My gaze drifts to the gentle curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder, to that tiny cupcake tattoo peeking out behind her ear. She’s got spirit. It has me wanting to see just how far that spirit goes.
“He’s appointed himself your guardian,” Hunter explains, sliding the jar of peanuts across the counter. “Hungry?”
She approaches cautiously, taking a few nuts. Her fingers tremble slightly, but she doesn’t back away. She pops a peanut into her mouth, and I find myself tracking the movement of her throat as she swallows.
“So,” she says, leaning against the counter with forced casualness, taking us both in. “Is this what you Alphas do for fun? Rescue stranded Omegas and force-feed them peanuts? Because I have to say, as far as kidnapping scenarios go, this is pretty tame.”
I chuckle. “Only the special ones.”
Her eyes meet mine, a flash of heat there, blood rushing. “Lucky me.” She picks up another peanut, rolling it between her fingers, Hunter watching her with barely a blink of an eye. “Though I have to admit, I had no idea Alphas cooked. That’s not in any of the fairytales I remember.”
“Maybe you’ve been reading the wrong stories,” Hunter adds.
She tilts her head, considering me. “Maybe I have.” Her tongue darts out to catch a bit of salt from her lip, and my grip on the knife tightens.
Hunter clears his throat loudly. “Hey, I just remembered—I’ve got some clothes that might fit you. My cousin leaves stuff here for when she visits in the summers as she visits us from Australia.”
“That would be amazing,” Lily murmurs, but her eyes linger on me. “Though I’m starting to think the blanket look works for me. What do you think, Archer?”
My name on her lips does things to me, dangerous things. “I think...” I start, but Hunter cuts me off.
“Clothes,” he says firmly. “Before you catch pneumonia. Or drive our resident chef to injury.” He pointedly eyes the way I’m gripping the knife.
Lily’s laugh is like honey, sweet and dangerous. She knows exactly what she’s doing… purposely teasing me. She straightens, adjusting her blanket with deliberate slowness.
“Lead the way.”
I stare at them heading upstairs, my hands clenched on the counter. Every one of my instincts screams to follow, to not let her out of my sight. The Omega who challenges me, who meets my gaze without flinching, who looks like everything I’ve ever wanted… I return to finishing the stew, throwing it all in a big pot on the stove with the rest of the ingredients.
Hunter returns alone, his expression casual but distracted. “She’s all set up there. I’m heading out to check our firewood supply. With this storm coming, I want to make sure we have enough logs to keep the place warm.”
“Hunter...”
“Everything’s fine,” he says, but there’s something in his tone I can’t quite read. He grabs his coat and heads out.
My mind keeps drifting back to her. The way she smiled at me in the bakery, how she teased and flirted. I reach down to adjust my cock, trying to get comfortable. I should leave her alone.
But somehow, I’m already moving toward the stairs, drawn up like a puppet on a string. From the moment I first saw her, she’s occupied my thoughts and filled my dreams. Each step brings her scent closer—sweet, intoxicating, dangerous. It wraps around me, pulling me forward until I’m standing outside the spare room.
The door is open, and she’s there in jeans and a loose hoodie among the shelves of clothes, looking lost in thought. When she turns to find me in the doorway, she startles slightly, taking an instinctive step back. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“Sorry,” I say, staying in the doorway to give her space. “Just checking if you’re settling in okay?”
“Thanks,” she says, trying for a light tone, but I notice the slight tension in her shoulders. “I have to warn you… my track record with men trying to help me isn’t great.”
“No?”
“Let’s just say that last week, one offered to help and ended up wearing his coffee instead of drinking it.” She busies herself examining the shelves, but I don’t miss her quick glance my way. “Though I suppose you’ve already proven yourself somewhat less awful than most.”
“High praise.”
“The highest.” She reaches for another sweater on the top shelf but can’t quite grab it. I stay where I am, making sure to keep my distance.
“I can get that for you,” I offer, then add with a small grin. “Promise not to be awful about it.”
She laughs, and fuck, she sounds beautiful. Some of the tension eases from her posture. She steps aside, letting me grab the sweater for her.
As I hand it to her, our fingers brush briefly, and the contact sends electricity through me. I take a deliberate step back.
“The bakery prepared me well for careful handoffs.”
“Ah yes, the great pastry-to-customer transfer. Very delicate business.” She hugs the sweater to her chest, but her eyes are sparkling with humor. “What brought you in on that day, anyway? Was it really a recommendation by someone else?”
“Fate, I like to think, seeing I was in town to deliver a purchased antique piece,” I say without thinking, then wince at how cheesy it sounds. “Or maybe just really good timing.”
She arches an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going with? Not, I was desperately craving a croissant ?”
“Would you believe both?” I lean against the doorframe of her bedroom door again, keeping the casual distance between us. “Finding out the baker was as interesting as her pastries was a bonus.”
She’s smiling. “How long have you known Hunter?” she asks, settling back on the edge of the bed. The question seems safer than addressing the electricity still crackling between us.
I absently run my thumb over the compass tattoo on my wrist—a habit I picked up years ago. “Since we were kids. His grandfather took us both under his wing when I moved to town. Taught us everything about surviving out here in the woods.”
“You weren’t always local, then?”
Something in her genuine curiosity makes me want to open up.
“No. Mom and I moved around a lot when I was young. Running from...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Family complications. We finally settled here.” I don’t mention that it was our last move together, that within months, she was gone, leaving me with only her books and the sound of her voice reading Poe in my head.
Her eyes drift to my wrist, to the tattoo there. “That must have been hard, moving so much.”
“It was. Never knew which direction we’d end up next.” I look down at the compass rose. “Got this after I learned she passed. The rose was for her—Rose was her name. The compass...” I pause, memories washing over me. “For all those years we spent searching for somewhere safe.”
“So sorry for your loss.” She pauses, the corners of her sweet lips drawn down.
“Speaking of storms,” I break the silence, not wanting to dwell on sorrow. “I was fourteen when I thought I was invincible. Decided to explore the woods alone even though the weather was turning.”
She turns from the window, interest sparking in her eyes. “Let me guess—it didn’t end well?”
“Got completely turned around in the snow. Couldn’t see three feet in front of me. And I swear...” I shake my head, remembering how terrified I’d felt. “I swear there was a wolf following me. Could hear it padding through the snow, getting closer.”
“Was there really a wolf?”
“Never found out. But I climbed a tree so fast, I ripped my favorite jacket. Sat up there freezing my ass off, convinced I was going to die, when I heard this booming voice… ‘ Boy, what the hell are you doing up there?’ ” I grin. “Hunter’s grandfather. And behind him, this gangly kid who was already taller than him. That was Hunter and the first time I met him.”
She laughs. “At least you have a good excuse for being stranded,” she says, shaking her head. “Last spring, my car died right outside of town during this massive thunderstorm. River was flooding, roads were washing out... and there I am, stuck on this little rise of land that’s getting smaller by the minute.”
“How’d you get out of that one?”
Her cheeks flush slightly. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Absolutely not.”
She rolls her eyes but continues. “The flood rescue team shows up in this big truck. Very heroic. Very dramatic. And I...” She covers her face. “I was so startled by their sirens that I slipped right off the hood of my car into the mud. Had to be fished out looking like some kind of swamp creature.”
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “I thought you said it was a heroic rescue.”
“Oh, it was. Nothing more heroic than fishing a mud-covered girl out of a ditch while she’s cursing about her ruined shoes.” She laughs, too.
“See, this is why I stick to tree climbing. Much more dignified.”
“Yes, very dignified. The proper way to flee from imaginary wolves.”
Something in my chest loosens. When she smiles so freely and unguarded, it’s more captivating than any deliberate flirtation could be.
I lean closer, drawn by her warmth, her smile when I near.
That’s when her attention lifts to something behind me. Moving past me—the brush of her body against mine sending electricity through my veins—she stops in front of a photograph in the hall.
“That’s...” She reaches out, touching the glass. “I wanted to ask you or Hunter about this photo.”
I follow her gaze to the black-and-white image—two people outside an old-fashioned bakery. One is clearly Hunter’s grandfather, decades younger but with the same strong features. And the woman beside him...
“That’s my grandmother,” Lily whispers. “In front of the bakery. But why... how...” She turns to me. “Hunter’s grandfather... did he know her?”
My heart stops for a moment, and I shrug at the implication. “I... maybe. Could be.” My mind races through possibilities because what if… they’re related? “Fuck, it would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”
“Interesting?” She studies my face. “That’s one word for it.”
The notion hangs heavy in the air between us. I want to tell her it doesn’t matter, that whatever connection might exist between their families won’t affect what I’m feeling for her, but the words stick in my throat.
“You should probably check on that stew before it burns,” she finally says and retreats to her room.
As soon as her door closes, I head downstairs, taking the steps two at a time, my mind spinning. I need to talk to Hunter. I need to see if he knows anything.
The front door bursts open before I reach the bottom step. James stumbles in from the storm outside, clearly having just arrived at the cabin, covered in snow, his bulky shoulders made more imposing by the heavy winter gear. His face is pale with cold and frustration. He was due here an hour ago.
“The roads,” he gasps, collapsing against the wall. “They’re all blocked behind me. Ain’t anyone leaving the woods any time soon. Barely made it here.”
“Good, you got here then.”
He removes his boots, then shrugs off his coat.
I lift my head, calling out, “Hunter! Got a minute?”
Hunter emerges from a back room. “What’s up?”
“That photo upstairs, the one of your grandfather outside the old bakery? Who’s that woman with him? The one with all the curls?”
“What?” Hunter’s brow furrows. “Hell if I know. Someone he worked with, I assume. Never really asked about it. Why?”
I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. “Well, our guest says that woman is her grandmother.”
“What the fuck!” Hunter’s eyes go wide, his gaze shooting to the ceiling. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Which could mean...” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “You might be related to the prettiest baker in town.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hunter growls, but there’s shock written all over his face. “Grandfather never mentioned...”
“Well, guess you’ve got some family history to uncover.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Though this definitely puts her out of your league now, bruh.”
“What are you two yapping about?” James interrupts. Prison didn’t soften his edges—if anything, it made them sharper. He’s all muscle and threat, even casually leaning against the wall.
Hunter straightens. “We’ve got a guest staying until the storm passes. Young woman from Whispering Grove, whose car broke down nearby.”
“A woman from a bakery?” James’s eyebrows shoot up, something predatory crossing his face. “Here?”
“Back off,” I say, lowering my tone. “She’s not looking for company.”
“Wait.” James’s face changes, recognition flickering in his eyes. “You said she’s from Whispering Grove?”
Hunter steps forward, tension radiating off him. “Yeah, and she’s staying here for now. So don’t fucking start with your shit, understood?”
“Me?” James raises his hands, but there’s something calculating in his smile that I don’t like. “When have I ever caused trouble?”
“You want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” I ask, keeping my tone light even as I position myself between him and the stairs.
“Look at you two,” James sneers, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “All protective of some female you just met.”
“Says the man who once punched a guy for looking at Hunter’s ex wrong,” I remind him with a grin.
“That was different,” James grumbles. “Guy was a creep. I’m a gentleman. So, Hunter… Should we start calling you her brother?”
“Don’t start,” Hunter warns, but there’s no heat in it. He heads toward the kitchen. “Since you’re both so concerned about my possible family tree, you can help check the generator and bring in more firewood before this storm gets worse.”
“Always with the manual labor,” James sighs dramatically, but he’s already shrugging his coat back on.
“You could always go back to prison labor instead,” I suggest helpfully, ducking the glove he throws at my head.
And just like that, we’re back to being teenagers hauling wood for his grandfather, complaining the whole way but doing it. Some traditions you don’t mess with.