Chapter 8 - Grayson
Grayson leaned against the hood of his truck as he watched the dirt road leading up to the edge of Bellefleur’s wooded perimeter.
Ryder and Zach were late. He wasn’t surprised—pack business rarely adhered to a schedule—but the extra time only left him alone with his thoughts, and those were dangerous these days.
The scent of pine mixed with the faint trace of diesel from the distant logging road.
His wolf paced in the recesses of his mind, restless and alert as if sensing the tension that coiled tighter in his chest with every passing second.
The encounter with the unknown shifter a few days ago replayed in his mind.
The casual smirk. The veiled threat. The way he’d blended into the streets so easily.
Bellefleur had always been a sanctuary—a fragile, imperfect one—but a sanctuary nonetheless.
That safety had been fraying at the edges for years.
Grayson knew it and had seen the signs long before this mission.
The auction network infiltrating its borders wasn’t a question of if but when. And now? He had proof.
The low rumble of an approaching engine broke through his thoughts. Grayson straightened as a black SUV pulled up beside his truck. Ryder climbed out of the driver’s seat, and Zach followed from the passenger side.
“You look like someone kicked your dog,” Zach greeted, slamming the door shut. “Or is that just your default?”
Grayson didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” Zach quipped, gesturing to the empty road behind him. “You know how it is.”
Ryder ignored the banter and asked, “What’s this about?”
Grayson didn’t waste time. “A shifter followed us the other day. Not one of ours.”
Ryder’s frown deepened. “How sure are you?”
“Sure enough to run him off,” Grayson replied. “He wasn’t just passing through. He was watching Cora.”
Zach’s grin disappeared entirely. “Watching her how?”
“Tracking her movements. Taking his time. He didn’t get close but knew what he was doing.”
“Did you get a name?” Ryder asked.
Grayson shook his head. “He didn’t stick around long enough for introductions once I approached him. But he was too comfortable. Too prepared.”
“And you think he’s tied to the auction,” Ryder guessed.
Grayson gave a single, curt nod. “It fits. Voss isn’t stupid. If he’s making moves here, he’s not doing it alone. There’s a network, and they’re testing the waters.”
“Shit,” Zach muttered, leaning back against the SUV. “You think this guy was just recon? Or something worse?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Grayson responded. “Either way, he’s here because of Cora. That means they haven’t given up.”
“We’ve had reports of new faces in town,” Ryder acknowledged. “Shifters, mostly. They’re keeping to themselves for now, but they’ve been seen near the outskirts. Close to the old quarry.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?” Grayson demanded.
Ryder didn’t flinch. “We didn’t have a reason to think it was connected. Not until now.”
Zach ran a hand through his hair. “So what do we do? Just sit around waiting for them to make a move?”
“No,” Grayson insisted. “We keep them from making one.”
“Easier said than done,” Ryder pointed out. “If they’re tied to Voss, they won’t spook easy. We can’t just muscle them out without proof.”
Grayson’s wolf bristled, but he forced it down. “We don’t need proof to keep eyes on them. If they’re here for Cora, they’ll slip up.”
“And if they don’t?” Zach asked.
“Then I’ll make them.”
“You’re already too close to this, Kane,” Ryder warned. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking just fine,” Grayson snapped. “This is my job.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
Ryder wasn’t wrong, no matter how much it irked Grayson. The bond had blurred lines that shouldn’t have been blurred, making it impossible to separate duty from instinct. But that didn’t mean he was wrong, either.
“I’ll handle it,” he said after a moment. “Quietly.”
“Quiet isn’t your style,” Zach muttered.
“I’ll make it my style. You just make sure the pack is ready.”
“We’ll keep patrols tight,” Ryder offered. “Double the coverage near the quarry. If anything shifts, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.”
Zach pushed off the SUV and stretched. “Guess that means I’ll be babysitting the night patrol again. You owe me a beer, Kane.”
“Put it on my tab,” Grayson replied flatly.
Zach snorted but didn’t argue. Ryder glanced back toward the woods, and his gaze was distant for a moment before turning back to Grayson.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ryder warned. “This isn’t just about you.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Ryder’s voice softened just enough to make the words land harder. “Because it’s starting to look like you’re carrying the weight of the whole damn pack on your shoulders. You’re not alone in this, Kane. Remember that.”
Grayson didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Ryder and Zach climbed back into the SUV, and the engine rumbled to life. Grayson watched them go, staring after the dust from their tires that kicked up into the trees as they disappeared down the road.
He stood there for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around him again. The weight Ryder had mentioned was real enough, but it wasn’t the pack that bore down on him. It was her—the bond. The constant, incessant pull reminded him with every breath that she was his to protect.
And protect her, he would. Whatever it took.
Half an hour later, Grayson parked his truck in the narrow space behind Cora’s building and sat there for a moment, replaying his conversation with Ryder and Zach.
The pack was on edge, the shadows around Bellefleur were growing darker, and all he could think about was the woman upstairs, who had no idea how deep the danger went.
He climbed the stairs to her apartment, and the familiar pull of the bond grew stronger with each step. It was a constant presence that had settled into the background of his life but never truly faded. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before unlocking it and stepping inside.
The smell hit him first—something floral, sweet, and distinctly magical.
Grayson frowned as he closed the door and set his keys on the counter.
Cora was at the kitchen table with her laptop shoved to one side and a half-dozen jars of herbs, powders, and liquids spread across the surface.
She didn’t look up when he entered. Her focus was fixed on the small cauldron in front of her.
“Working on a cure for the common cold?” he quipped.
Her head snapped up, and the glare she shot him could’ve curdled milk. “What do you want, Grayson?”
“Just checking in,” he explained, crossing the room to stand at the edge of the table. He gestured to the mess of ingredients. “What’s all this?”
“Research,” she replied before dropping a sprig of dried lavender into the cauldron. A puff of smoke rose from the mixture. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
He folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’re trying to break the bond.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” She reached for a vial of something pale green. “Give the man a prize.”
Grayson watched her work, noting the careful way she measured and mixed.
She was good at this—methodical, precise.
It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, and it caught him off guard.
It made sense that she worked in a bakery.
Making potions and making cookies weren’t so different, process-wise.
“Do you really think it’s going to work?” he asked after a moment.
“I have to try. I need my magic back full force. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
He didn’t. And the determination in her voice made something inside him twist. She was so desperate to regain control, to find some way to undo what had been forced on her. He admired it, even as it stung.
“Let me help,” he offered, surprising even himself.
She paused with her hand hovering over a jar of crushed petals. “Help? With magic?”
“Why not?”
She shot him a skeptical look. “You’re a shifter. What do you know about magic?”
“Enough to follow instructions,” he claimed as he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “What do you need?”
She sighed and slid the jar across the table toward him. “Fine. Start with this. Two pinches. No more, no less.”
Grayson followed her directions carefully, watching as she added a pinch of powdered quartz and a drop of something that smelled faintly of citrus. The mixture in the cauldron began to bubble, and its color shifted from pale green to deep gold.
They worked in silence for a while, with the only sounds being the clink of jars and the soft hiss of the potion simmering. It was…peaceful in a way Grayson hadn’t expected. The tension between them seemed to ease with every step of the process, replaced by a quiet sense of cooperation.
“Where did you learn all this?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.
Cora glanced up. “My mom. She ran our coven back in Lythara. Potions were her specialty.”
“Lythara?” he repeated. “That’s a long way from Bellefleur.”
She shrugged. “I needed a change of scenery. The coven wasn’t exactly a great fit for me.”
“Why not?”
Cora’s hands stilled over the table. For a moment, Grayson thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she let out a long breath and leaned back in her chair.
“They had expectations. Rules. I wasn’t exactly the poster child for obedience.”
Grayson smirked. “Shocking.”
Her lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It wasn’t just that. My parents… They wanted me to take over someday. Be the next leader. But I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want it.”
“So, you left.”
“Yeah.” She toyed with the edge of her sleeve. “I thought if I came here, I could figure out who I was without them breathing down my neck. And for a while, it worked.”
Until the auction. She didn’t say it, but Grayson could hear the unspoken words in the way her voice faltered.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he assured her.
For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know enough. You didn’t ask for any of this, Cora. But you’re still standing. That says something.”
She looked away, returning her concentration to the concoction in the cauldron. “Yeah. Sure.”
Grayson watched as she returned to her work, noting that her movements were slower now. He didn’t press her for more, sensing that she’d given him as much as she could for the time being.
“Okay,” she declared after a while, straightening in her chair. “That should do it. For now.”
Grayson glanced at the cauldron. The potion inside was now a shimmering shade of amber. “What’s next?”
“Testing,” she said, though her tone was more cautious than confident. “But not tonight. I need to let it cool.”
He nodded and stood. “You did good.”
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
“With the potion,” he clarified. “You’re good at this.”
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she busied herself with tidying up the table. “Thanks. I guess.”
Grayson didn’t push her further. Instead, he moved to the window and glanced out at the quiet street below. His wolf stirred, restless but not urgent. For now, Bellefleur was calm. For now, she was safe.
But he knew better than to trust the calm.
“Get some rest,” he suggested over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
“For what?”
“For whatever’s coming,” he said simply.
He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he left the kitchen and settled onto the too-small couch, letting the bond’s quiet hum lull him into uneasy sleep.