Chapter 13
13
LILY
T he warmth of the hot chocolate seeps through the ceramic mug into my palms as I stand close, trying not to stare at Archer’s hands as they trace the aged parchment on the table. The treasure map—well, half of one anyway—sprawls across the polished mahogany. The corners are held down by various objects—a silver paperweight shaped like a wolf, my mug, Archer’s compass, and Hunter’s heavy leather-bound journal.
“These coordinates here.” Archer points to the edge of the map. “They might lead to the entrance of the old mining system, but we’ve never been able to pinpoint it.”
Hunter leans forward, his broad shoulders blocking the warm glow of the fireplace. “The topography’s changed significantly since this was drawn. Landslides, forest growth… nature has a way of reclaiming what’s hers.”
I take a sip of my chocolate, enjoying the rich sweetness as I inspect the faded lines. “Have you tried using modern satellite imaging and overlaying the old map?” I suggest, reaching out to trace a mountain range with my fingertip over the glass top.
Hunter’s eyes light up. “That’s?—”
The study door creaks open, interrupting whatever he was about to say. James stands there, taking in the scene—me, Archer, and Hunter huddled over the treasure map—with a slow, measured stare that lingers on my face just long enough to make my cheeks burn.
His mouth curves into that knowing smile that sets my pulse racing, despite my determination to remain unaffected. He saunters into the room with his casual confidence, closing the door behind him with a soft click that somehow feels final, like the turning of a lock.
“So, have we officially got a fourth treasure hunter with us?” He directs the question to Archer and Hunter but keeps his attention fixed on me. “She knows our secret now...”
He winks, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. My lungs forget their fundamental function as James slides into the armchair nearby, stretching his long legs toward the fire as shadows dance across his face, highlighting those sharp cheekbones.
“Are you into treasure hunting, Lily?” Hunter asks. He reaches for my now-empty mug, and our fingers brush as I hand it to him. The simple contact sends a rush of heat through my body that has nothing to do with the fire or the hot chocolate.
Hunter’s laugh is low and smooth as he notices my reaction. “Your face is flushed. Is the fire too warm for you?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“She’s a natural,” Archer says, striding closer. “Sharp eye for detail. She’d make a perfect member.” The way he looks at me leaves me feeling like I’m the treasure they’re seeking.
“So, what exactly are you boys looking for?” I ask. “Gold? Jewels? The lost ark?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” Archer leans against the desk, arms crossed. “The legends vary. I’m hoping for knowledge. Ancient texts, maybe. Something that explains the history of this region better than our current records.”
James scoffs. “Always the scholar.” He tilts his head, studying me with those penetrating eyes. “I’m in it for the thrill of the hunt. The prize is secondary.”
Somehow, I don’t believe him, but maybe I’m just being paranoid, seeing he lied to me all those weeks we chatted, grew closer, and me grasping onto every message he sent me. Do Hunter and Archer even know about our conversations? That we’ve spoken more than they realize? From their relaxed postures, I’d guess not.
“What about you, Lily?” Archer asks. “If you could find any treasure, what would you hope it to be?”
I consider this for a long pause. “Truth of why they needed to bury a treasure,” I say finally, looking directly at James. “I’ve always valued truth above all else.”
Something flickers across his face before his mask of casual arrogance returns.
“Truth can be the most dangerous treasure of all,” he says quietly.
Hunter’s eyebrows draw together. “Getting philosophical on us, James?”
“Just stating facts,” James replies.
The room feels smaller, the air thicker. My skin prickles with awareness as the three of them seem to form a loose circle around me—Hunter to my left, Archer directly across, James lounging by the fire yet somehow dominating the space.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asks, brow furrowed. “You look... hot.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, though I’m anything but. Every nerve ending in my body feels like a live wire. “When will this storm let up, right?”
Archer glances toward the window, though all we can see is the white snow pelting the glass. “Forecast says most of the week.”
A week. A week trapped in this house with these three men whose mere presence seems to be triggering something primal in me. My mother’s words echo in my mind—her careful explanations about Omega biology, about how some Alphas could trigger stronger reactions than others, especially during times of stress or isolation.
“Cabin fever setting in already, Lily?” James asks with a rumble. “It’s only day two.”
I force myself to meet his gaze steadily. “I’m simply concerned about work. Some of us have responsibilities.”
“We all have responsibilities,” Hunter says seriously. “Mine are just on hold until this storm passes. Or if I get called in for an emergency search and rescue task,” he explains, and I notice how his posture straightens slightly with pride.
“That’s impressive,” I say, remembering the well-stocked meat freezer I’d glimpsed earlier. “I saw the game in your basement freezer. You hunt well, too.”
“I do.” A hint of that dimple appears in his chin as he nods. “Tracking comes naturally to me, animals or people.” There’s something in the way he says it, a predatory edge beneath the matter-of-fact statement, that sends a shiver down my spine. “My grandfather taught me to track and hunt before I could even read. Said it was more important to know how to find your way and feed yourself than to know your ABCs.”
“Priorities,” I murmur, smiling despite myself.
“He was right, though,” Hunter continues, his attention holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I’ve used those skills more often than anything I learned in school. When you’re tracking, you have to notice everything—disturbed soil, broken twigs, the way animals go quiet when a stranger passes. It’s all about paying attention to what most people miss.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if he’s tracking me now, noticing every quickened breath, every flush of my skin, every involuntary reaction to his presence.
“So, what’s your theory?” I ask, gesturing to the map and trying to redirect. “You have half a map to a treasure you can’t identify. What’s the plan once the weather clears?”
The three exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them that speaks of years of friendship.
“The other half of the map was given to my cousin Travis in my grandfather’s will, so I’ll first try to get him to give me his half," Hunter explains, his jaw tightening slightly. He glances at me momentarily. “After our parents died, Grandpa took me in, but Travis got shipped off to his mother's family. Nasty people who didn’t treat him right, from what I heard. Travis has held a grudge against me ever since, convinced I somehow stole his place." He shakes his head, his brow pinching with frustration. "The bastard even resented when Grandpa took in James and Archer years later—as if that was another personal slight against him. Didn't even visit Grandpa in his final five years, even knowing how sick he was getting.”
“And why that fucker won’t part with his half of the map,” Archer barks. “We’ve been trying for weeks.”
“That’s why we’re going to use our map to track it down ourselves,” James chimes in, tracing a line on the parchment with his finger. “We have enough to work with.”
Hunter nods, determination etched into his features. I can see they’re men who don’t give up easily, who’re set on finding this so-called treasure. There’s something exciting about their resolve and single-minded pursuit.
The guys return their attention to the map, pointing out landmarks and theories, completely in their element. They lean in, arguing over interpretations and sharing ideas. But James keeps glancing my way when he thinks I’m not looking.
“I need some fresh air,” I announce, suddenly feeling the need to escape his stare, to put some distance between us.
“In a blizzard?” Hunter asks, concerned.
“Just... air. Different air.” Not one filled with Alpha scents that seem to be deepening. I’m not making sense, and I know it.
“You okay?” James asks, that sly grin returning. He knows exactly what effect he’s having.
“Perfectly fine,” I manage, forcing a casual smile.
I head out of the study, maintaining my composure until I’m safely in the hallway. Then I lean against the wall, breathing heavily, trying to sort through the riot of sensations coursing through my body.
What’s wrong with me? James lied to me about being in prison, yet I still react to him like a compass needle to magnetic north. And it’s not just him—Hunter’s strength and Archer’s intensity affect me just as strongly. It’s like my libido has kicked into overdrive.
And what did I almost do earlier? Nearly kiss Archer. As if I’ve completely lost my mind—or my self-preservation instinct.
My fingers drum against the wood-paneled wall as I try to steady myself. When I’m anxious or overwhelmed, I need to do something with my hands. Baking. Yes, baking will help.
I make my way to the kitchen and locate the pantry—a walk-in space stocked surprisingly well for a remote cabin. I grab flour, sugar, and baking soda, then scan the shelves for chocolate chips. Finding them, I pile the ingredients into my arms, already planning the cookie recipe in my head.
“Planning to feed an army?”
I whirl around, nearly dropping everything. Hunter fills the doorway of the pantry, his massive frame blocking the exit. In the confined space, his presence is overwhelming—all broad shoulders and woodsy scent that reminds me of pine trees after rain.
“I, uh—” I laugh nervously, shifting my precarious tower of baking supplies. “When I get nervous, I like to bake.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, revealing that devastating dimple. “Do we make you nervous?”
I bite my lip, considering how honest to be. He tracks my movement, darkening slightly. “A bit. I don’t really know you all, and I’ve never been this close to Alphas for so long… let alone three. I’m starting to understand what my mother once told me about the impact they have on Omegas.” I swallow hard. “It’s... a lot.”
His smirk deepens, his eyes darkening to the color of aged bourbon. “And the same could be said about the impact you’re having on us.” He steps closer, taking the bag of flour from my arms. “Let me help you with that.” His fingers brush mine deliberately, lingering longer than necessary.
The contact leaves me buzzing, and when I glance up, I can tell he felt it, too, by this sly grin.
We’re standing so close in the narrow pantry that the heat radiating from his body envelopes me. He smells like woodsmoke and something uniquely him—earthy and masculine and intoxicating.
“Thanks,” I murmur, grabbing vanilla extract and salt while he relieves me of the heavier items. I reach past him for the cinnamon on an upper shelf, and my arm brushes against his chest. Even through layers of clothing, the contact feels electric.
“Sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sorry at all.
“Don’t be,” he replies. He doesn’t step back to give me space, forcing me to navigate around him, our bodies in constant near-contact in the confined area.
“Why do you have so much baking stuff, anyway?” I ask, scanning the impressive collection of cake pans and cookie sheets on the metal shelves. “Do you bake?”
“Sometimes I have friends pop over, and they like to bake.”
“Like girlfriends?” The question slips out before I can stop it, accompanied by a telltale blush.
Hunter smiles as he studies me. “They are girls and friends, yeah. And sometimes more.”
I remember the dress I spotted upstairs in one of the other bedrooms yesterday. “Well, I don’t expect Alphas like you three to be without girls hanging off you and Omegas ready to go.” I force a laugh and try to squeeze past him, but he shifts, effectively caging me against the metal shelving.
“If that’s your way of asking if we have Omega mates, the answer’s no.” His voice drops lower, rumbling in his chest. I can feel the vibration in the scant space between us. “We’re not with anyone right now. Well, I know about me and can only assume for the other two based on conversations we’ve had.”
My attention is drawn to the strong muscles of his throat and the shadow of stubble along his jaw. “Not even James? He never spoke of anyone?”
Hunter raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Should he have?”
I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “Just curious about the dynamic between you three. You seem close.”
“We are.” He doesn’t elaborate. “James has a darker past, but he means well. Even he doesn’t tell us everything, especially in his love life.”
“And what about your private life?” I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.
His lips quirk up at one corner. “What do you want to know?”
Everything, I think, but instead, say, “For starters, are you going to let me out of this pantry so I can actually bake something?”
He chuckles, low and deep, but doesn’t move immediately. “I kind of like you right where you are.”
His attention drops to my lips for a heartbeat before he finally steps aside, allowing me to slip past him. As I do, I’m aware of every point where our bodies nearly touch, the sensation of contact making my skin tingle.
I hurry into the kitchen, where I set everything down on the counter. My heart pounds as I arrange ingredients in the order I’ll need them—a small attempt to create order in the chaos of my emotions.
“What are you making?” Hunter asks, setting down his armload and taking a seat at the island counter across from me.
“Chocolate chip cookies,” I reply, finding comfort in the familiar routine. “I need to keep my hands busy, and when I’m nervous or anxious, they’re what I drown in.” I offer him a tight smile.
He sets his massive forearms on the granite countertop. In the bright kitchen light, I can fully appreciate his rugged beauty—sandy brown hair that falls just past his ears, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes the color of a dusty sunset. He wears a simple Henley, pushed up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms crossed with old scars. Unlike James’s sleek, dangerous vibe or Archer’s intense energy, Hunter radiates a steady, earthy strength.
Those hands—large, capable with thick fingers that could probably do some amazing things… I imagine those hands on my skin and quickly look away, focusing intently on measuring flour.
“Can I help?” he offers.
“Keep me company?” I counter, reaching for a mixing bowl. “Tell me more about yourself. When did you start doing search and rescue?”
I begin measuring flour.
“After my parents passed,” he says, a shadow crossing his features as I glance up. “Avalanche took them when I was young. Grandfather raised me after that.”
I pause in my measuring, recognizing the familiar pain of early loss. “God, I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, but I can see the old wound still aches in his eyes.
“It shaped me. Made me want to save others from similar fates.” His stare meets mine, deep and sincere. “What about you? What shaped Lily into who she is today?”
The way he says my name—soft, almost reverent—sends a shiver through me.
“My mother died when I was young, too.” I crack eggs into the bowl, focusing on the task to keep my response steady. “My dad did his best, but raising two girls alone wasn’t easy for him. Mom loved flowers, so every weekend, I get a fresh bunch for my home, which always makes me feel like she’s still with us. We normally take a bunch of flowers to my grandmother, who is in a nursery just out of town too. She loves flowers.” I pause for a long moment, lost in trying to bat away the tears that always come when thinking of my family. “I barely remember her some days. Just fragments—the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laugh. And I don’t want to forget her.”
“You never will. She is always with you.” He watches me measure vanilla extract with careful precision. “What’s your favorite scent?”
The question catches me off guard. “Hmmm.”
“Everyone has one. A smell that makes them feel instantly at home or happy.”
I think about it as I add brown sugar to the bowl. “The smell of cookies. It’s sweet, comforting, and inviting,” I decide. “You?”
“Pine forest in early morning,” he answers without hesitation. “When dew is still clinging to everything, and the sun hasn’t quite burned through the mist.”
I can picture it perfectly—Hunter in his element, moving silently through misty trees at dawn, tracking, hunting.
“Favorite food?” I ask, stirring the mixture.
“I’m boring—Bolognese with extra garlic and parmesan.”
“Sounds divine,” I say, measuring vanilla. “Mine’s my grandmother’s apple pie with homemade cinnamon ice cream. It’s heaven in a bowl.”
“I would have guessed something with chocolate,” he teases, that dimple appearing again.
“That’s for comfort, not favorite,” I correct him with a smirk. “Important distinction.”
“So, what other distinctions do you make?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What else comforts you besides chocolate?”
There’s something easy about talking with Hunter. The conversation flows naturally as I finish mixing the dough.
“Want to help roll these into balls?” I ask, pushing the bowl toward him along with a parchment paper-covered baking tray.
He nods, washing his hands at the sink before joining me. When he returns to my side, standing close enough that our elbows brush, I have to remind myself to breathe.
His large hands are surprisingly deft as he rolls perfect spheres of cookie dough.
“You’re decent at this,” I observe. “Are you sure you don’t have a girlfriend somewhere? You seem skilled in the kitchen.”
A shadow passes over his face. “I had one years ago. Vanessa.” He focuses intently on the cookie dough, rolling it between his palms with perhaps more force than necessary. “Let’s just say she never had faith in me, and that ended up being our downfall. Got to have trust in any relationship.” His eyes flick to mine, searching for something. “What about you? Anyone waiting for you back home?”
“No,” I admit, shaking my head. “My last relationship ended about a year ago. He was a Beta, but it wasn’t serious, in all honesty. More like overcoming boredom.” I laugh at how lame I sound.
The kitchen door swings open, and James and Archer enter, both sniffing the air.
“What smells so divine?” Archer asks, scanning the kitchen.
“Chocolate chip cookies,” I explain, nodding toward Hunter.
James watches us, something unreadable in his expression as Archer dives in to wash his hands and help with the rolling. I made a triple batch, so there’s plenty to do.
“I have a great idea for tonight,” James announces suddenly. “To keep us entertained.”
“Sounds crazy already,” Archer laughs. “Your ideas normally are. But they’re fun.”
Hunter chuckles in agreement, and I find myself curious despite my wariness of James.
I refuse to ask what he has planned. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I care that much. Instead, I turn to put the first two trays of cookies in the oven, Hunter’s words echoing in my mind.
Trust is needed in any relationship.
And trust is exactly what’s missing between James and me. So, why can’t I stop my heart from racing whenever he looks my way?
James never stops staring at me. Hunter moves beside me, reaching over my head to grab a plate from a high cabinet, his chest brushing against my back momentarily. The contact, brief as it is, sends another wave of heat through me. From across the kitchen, Archer looks at the freshly baked cookies with undisguised hunger that seems directed more at me than the treats.
“So, what’s this great idea of yours, James?” Hunter finally asks, breaking the charged silence.
James’s slow, predatory smile worries me. “A fun game,” he says. “Best way to pass the time in a storm.”
I feel a dangerous thrill race through my veins.
“Unless you’re afraid of a little fun, baker girl?” James adds with challenge behind his words.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I lie, despite the heat rising to my cheeks.
Hunter’s hand brushes against my lower back. “Good,” he murmurs. “This should be fun, then.”
Three pairs of eyes watch me like predators sizing up prey. I know this will only lead to trouble. But as the storm rages outside, I find myself nodding.
“Fine,” I say. “But don’t blame me when this goes sideways.”
James’s smile turns wolfish. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”