Chapter Three
The kitchen smelled like heaven. Bacon, eggs, pancakes—everything they’d thrown into the pan after shifting back left the counters a war zone, but neither of them cared.
Isaac leaned back in his chair wearing nothing but shorts, plate piled high, fork moving like a machine.
Hunger gnawed at every inch of him, a hunger that wasn’t just physical but something primal, something newly awakened.
His stomach cramped with the sheer intensity of it, as if the shift had burned through every reserve his body had ever carried.
Nolan shoveled in his food with the same abandon, half a pancake stuffed into his mouth. “So ... we’re shifters,” he mumbled through a spray of crumbs.
Isaac arched a brow, chewing methodically, his manners still intact despite the fact that he was eating like a starving wolf. “You don’t say. Thought maybe the claws and the howling were just a new allergy.”
Nolan snorted, almost choking, and reached for the orange juice to wash it down. “Yeah, real funny. I mean—what the hell does that even mean for us? For the world? One minute I’m dreaming of battlefields, the next I’m sprouting fur like some kind of werewolf extra in a bad movie.”
Isaac gestured with his fork toward the muted TV across the room. “Guess we’ll find out. I’m sure CNN has a breaking news banner. ‘People around the world burst into animals. Experts blame climate change.’”
Nolan barked a laugh and flicked a crumb at him. “Nah, they’d blame TikTok. Everything’s TikTok’s fault. Or maybe avocado toast.”
Isaac chuckled, shaking his head. “Imagine the hashtags. #HowlTok. #WolvesOfWallStreet. #AlphaFails.”
Nolan perked up instantly, eyes glinting. “Don’t tempt me. I could go viral in five minutes. Shirt off, shorts low, wolf ears just starting to sprout—bam. Ten million likes.”
Isaac groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “God help our kind if you’re the spokesperson.”
They switched on the news anyway, grease-stained fingers fumbling for the remote. Weather. Sports. Politics. Absolutely nothing about anyone else turning furry. The silence of it made Isaac frown.
“Nothing,” Nolan muttered. “Not a damn thing. You’d think someone else would be howling about it. I mean, come on—what are the odds we’re the only two?”
Isaac leaned back, expression thoughtful, tapping the handle of his fork against his plate.
“Nope. And you know why?” He tapped his temple.
“Because the second we shifted, we knew. This world isn’t ready for the truth.
Not yet. People lose their shit over pineapple on pizza.
Imagine telling them their neighbor sprouts fur and turns into a fuck-off huge wolf at will? ”
Nolan grinned, lips shiny with syrup. “Yeah, that’d go over well. ‘Hi, we’re with the Fire Department. Also, I can turn into a 200-pound wolf. Don’t worry, totally house trained.’”
Isaac smirked. “You’d leave a note in the kitchen that says, ‘Don’t feed after midnight. May bite.’”
“Damn straight.” Nolan licked his fork clean. “We could start our own YouTube channel. ‘Firehouse Wolves: Watch Us Save Cats from Trees, Then Eat a Steak Raw.’”
Isaac shook his head, though a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “In 1813 we had to hunt for what we ate. Now we’ve got Wi-Fi and Uber Eats. Some things have improved.”
“Some didn’t,” Nolan shot back. “At least back then, people believed in magic. Now, if you tell them about curses or witches, they’ll stick you on a reality show. ‘Love Island: Supernatural Edition.’”
Isaac laughed, nearly choking on his bacon. “I can see it now. Contestant profiles—‘Likes long walks under the full moon. Dislikes silver jewelry and commitment.’”
Nolan leaned back, holding his fork like a mic. “Name’s Nolan, I shift under the moonlight, and I’m single. Swipe right if you don’t mind a little fur.”
Isaac groaned again, dropping his face into his hands. “If there’s a Moon Goddess up there watching, she’s probably already regretting giving you back your wolf.”
They fell into companionable silence, plates steadily emptying, before Nolan’s expression sobered. He set his fork down with a clatter. “About that curse...”
Isaac’s fork stilled halfway to his mouth. He’d been thinking the same, but hearing it aloud made his skin prickle. “Matthew’s curse. But if we shifted again ... maybe that means it’s broken.”
Nolan blinked, then slowly grinned, syrup shining at the corner of his mouth. “You’re right. If we’re here, if shifters are back—then Matthew must be dead. And Liam, Jacob ... they must have found Libby again.”
Isaac felt something tight in his chest ease for the first time in centuries. He let out a long breath. “That’s why we’re back. That’s why our wolves woke. Because they did it. They finished it.”
Nolan thumped his fist on the table, plates rattling. “Damn right they did. Our brothers finally got their happy ending. And now it’s our turn.”
They both sat back for a moment, grins spreading slow and certain, celebrating the knowledge that the sacrifice they had made had not been for nothing—that shifters once more walked the world.
Isaac pushed his plate away, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table. “You remember what the glowing lady said? At the end of the dream?”
Nolan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “She said our mate was close. In danger.”
The words hung between them like thunder. Their mate. Saffron. The woman who had walked through fire and centuries for them, the one with one golden eye and one blue who haunted their blood and bones.
“Tomorrow,” Nolan said firmly. “We hunt for her. The bond—it’ll lead us. Faster than anything else. We’ve waited too long already.”
Isaac nodded slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck where tension had settled like iron. “And we figure out what the Moon Goddess meant. About saving her. About fixing all this.”
Nolan’s grin sparked, wild and reckless even through the seriousness. “First step, find her. Second step, solve whatever insane Goddess quest we’ve been dumped into. Third step, happily ever after. I’m calling it.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Right. And somewhere in there, we’re supposed to track down a druid stone. Don’t even know what the hell that is.”
Nolan leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head, smug as a cat. “Details, details. How hard can it be to find one mystical rock in the entire world?”
Isaac stared at him flatly. “Two hundred years and you haven’t changed a bit. You’re still the reckless one.”
Nolan winked. “And you’re still the cranky one. Balance, brother. It’s all about balance.”
Isaac snorted, pushing his empty plate away and standing to pour himself more coffee. His reflection in the dark surface trembled slightly, wolf eyes glowing faintly. “Balance. Fine. But mark my words—tonight’s the last night we spend without her. Tomorrow, everything changes.”
Between them, the unspoken truth hummed like a heartbeat. Over two centuries of loss and longing, and tonight would be the final night without their mate where she belonged. And that was happy and healthy and pressed between the two of them. Preferably naked.
****
The low hum of machines and the faint buzz of a tattoo needle filled the air at Fated Ink.
The parlor smelled of ink, disinfectant, and the faint spice of incense that Ursula always kept burning.
The walls were lined with framed artwork—wolves, ravens, Celtic knots—and shelves of ink bottles glinting under soft lights.
A couch sprawled against one wall, occupied at the moment by Willow, who could barely sit still as she hovered around her mates.
Saffron crouched on the arm of a chair in her cat form, tail flicking lazily.
She preferred it this way tonight. Easier to ignore Ursula’s pointed looks, easier to pretend she didn’t hear the tattoo artist’s musings.
Easier not to talk. Sometimes, two centuries of words were too much, and silence inside fur was her only refuge.
On the main chair, Liam sat shirtless, muscles taut but jaw relaxed, the needle buzzing over his skin as Ursula etched an intricate Celtic knot across his shoulder, sweeping down to his left pec.
Over his heart, the names Willow and Libby had been stenciled together, waiting for ink.
Beside him, Jacob waited his turn, rolling his shoulders like he could barely contain his excitement.
His design was identical, and over his heart the same two names—Willow and Libby—were placed as a joint tribute.
Willow leaned over, pressing a kiss to Liam’s temple. “You’re sure about this?”
Liam smirked, though his hand tightened on hers. “Never been more sure. Ink fades slower than memory, but both last forever.”
Jacob grinned. “Besides, I want Libby right here. A mark no curse can erase.”
Saffron’s chest tightened. They had wanted it—a tribute to the woman who had anchored them across centuries, who had lived and died to break Matthew’s hold. She kneaded the arm of the chair with her paws, as if grounding herself.
Willow fussed, offering Ursula a bottle of water. “Do you need anything? More light? Different ink?”
Ursula shook her head, smiling faintly. “I’ve got it, babe. You keep those boys distracted. They flinch, I’ll blame you.”
Laughter rolled between them, warm and bright. Saffron let it wash over her, the ache inside twisting. She wanted to join, to laugh, to lean against them like she once had—but her mates weren’t here. Not yet.
Ursula’s eyes flicked toward the cat on the chair. “I know what you’re thinking. You are wondering if your mates came back last night,” she murmured under her breath. The needle buzzed on. “The Moon Goddess promised that you would get your fated ending.”