Chapter 10 - Grayson
Grayson pressed his back to the crumbling brick wall of the warehouse and steadied his breath.
Voices drifted in his direction from inside, and their low timbre and occasional bursts of laughter mixed with the sound of rain dripping from the cracked gutters above.
Cedar Hallow was quiet at this hour—too quiet for his liking—but he was exactly where he needed to be.
The lead had come together faster than expected. A passing comment from Ryder, a slip of information gleaned from one of Zach’s patrols, and suddenly Grayson found himself standing in the shadows of a derelict building just outside a sleepy town two hours from Bellefleur.
Inside, he could feel the tension of something big unfolding. This was no petty operation. This was auction business. He could practically smell it.
He shifted his weight, keeping close to the wall as he crept toward a broken window.
Through the shattered glass, he spotted a group of men gathered around a table lit by a single lantern.
Papers were strewn across its surface and a map of what looked like Bellefleur’s surrounding areas was pinned in the center.
Grayson’s wolf stirred, growling low in his mind as he caught sight of the man standing at the head of the table.
Theodore Voss.
Grayson’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he observed the man who had become a ghost in his nightmares.
Theodore was polished and charismatic, with a dangerous edge that he wielded as easily as a weapon.
He was the mastermind behind the auction network, and it seemed he had no plans of slowing down.
“We’ll need to tighten security for this next one,” Theodore instructed. “The last incident was a fluke, but it rattled the buyers. We can’t afford another failure.”
One of the men, tall with a scar running down the length of his cheek, leaned forward.
“You’re talking about Kane, aren’t you? The shifter who ruined the last auction?
We had to shut everything down after his stunt.
Once word got out that a Black Ops shifter had infiltrated, the buyers started pulling out faster than we could contain the rumors. ”
Grayson’s name on their lips sent a rush of adrenaline through him, but he kept his breathing even, forcing himself to listen.
Theodore smirked. “Kane and his friends are a problem, yes. But problems have solutions. He won’t get close to this one.”
“And what about the witches?” another man asked. “Finding enough for the inventory isn’t exactly easy these days.”
Theodore tapped a finger on the map, drawing their attention. “Bellefleur. It’s a goldmine. Witches, shifters, and even a few stray humans with talent. We’ll bleed it dry if we have to. Consider it repayment for the trouble he’s stirred up for us.”
Grayson’s stomach twisted at the casual cruelty of Theodore’s words.
Bellefleur had always been a haven, but now it was a target—a playground for monsters who saw its people as nothing more than commodities to be bought and sold.
His wolf snarled, and it took everything in him to stay rooted in place, to not storm in and rip them apart where they stood.
Theodore continued, oblivious to the predator lurking outside. “We’ve already started rounding up the first batch. A few witches from the northern covens, one or two from the city. By the time Kane realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late.”
The men laughed, a cold, hollow sound that made Grayson’s claws ache to unsheathe. He needed to stay focused, to gather every piece of intel he could before making his move. But the image of Bellefleur—Cora—under siege by these bastards was a crushing weight pressing on his chest.
The meeting went on, and Grayson caught snippets of their plans: transport routes, holding locations, and the names of key players who would oversee the operation. It was a web of greed and violence, and Theodore sat at the center of it all, pulling the strings with practiced ease.
At one point, the scarred man asked, “What about Kane’s witch? The one he bonded with. Think she’ll be an issue?”
Grayson’s muscles coiled, and his wolf growled again, low and menacing.
Theodore chuckled. “He took her under false pretenses, and for that, I will repossess what is mine. In the meantime, he’ll be too distracted protecting his little toy to notice what we’re really doing. We can use that.”
The laughter that followed made Grayson’s blood boil, but he forced himself to stay still, to stay quiet. He couldn’t risk blowing his cover now, not when he was so close to getting what he needed.
Finally, the meeting began to break up. The men shuffled papers and exchanged curt goodbyes, and their voices faded as they filed out of the warehouse one by one. Theodore was the last to leave, and his confident stride carried him toward a sleek black car waiting just outside.
Grayson waited until the engine roared to life and disappeared into the night before moving. He slipped into the warehouse, keeping his steps silent against the damp concrete floor. He scanned the map, memorizing the routes and locations Theodore had pointed to.
Grayson’s wolf stirred again, eager for action, but this wasn’t the time for confrontation. Not yet. He needed to get back to Bellefleur, warn the pack, and prepare for what was coming. They couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.
As he turned to leave, his gaze landed on a stack of folders left carelessly on a nearby crate.
Curiosity—and instinct—drove him to open the top one.
Inside were photos and profiles of witches and shifters, each marked with a price.
His jaw ticked as he flipped through the pages.
He recognized more than a few of the faces.
They were people he’d seen in Bellefleur, in passing or during patrols. Some were friends.
The last photo stopped him cold.
Cora.
Her name was scrawled in bold black ink beneath her image, along with the word: “Priority capture.”
Grayson clenched his grip around the folder. Theodore’s network had her on their radar, and that meant it was only a matter of time before they tried something. The thought sent a surge of protectiveness through him so fierce it nearly choked him.
He closed the folder, slid it back into place, and moved quickly toward the exit. The rain had picked up, soaking him as he slipped into his truck and started the engine. His thoughts raced as he turned onto the main road and the warehouse disappeared in his rearview mirror.
Bellefleur wasn’t just a target. It was the epicenter of Theodore’s plans. And if Grayson didn’t act fast, the sanctuary he’d fought so hard to protect would fall apart—along with everyone in it.
As the miles stretched ahead of him, one thought repeated over and over in his mind, a mantra he couldn’t shake.
They won’t touch her. Not while I’m breathing.
The drive back to Bellefleur stretched longer than it should have.
Each passing mile was weighed down by the storm raging in Grayson’s mind.
Theodore’s words played on a loop, the images of the auction plans and the map burned into his memory.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and his knuckles whitened as his truck rumbled down the quiet road leading to Cora’s apartment.
By the time he pulled into the narrow alley behind the bakery, the moon was high in the sky. He parked and killed the engine before sitting in the cab for a moment longer than necessary as he forced his wolf’s restless growl into submission.
When he finally climbed the stairs, the familiar pull of the bond grew stronger with each step, grounding him in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. He pushed open the door, expecting to find Cora poring over one of her potion books or stubbornly working late into the night.
Instead, the scent of something savory and rich greeted him.
Grayson paused in the doorway, momentarily thrown by the sight of Cora bustling around the small kitchen.
The table was set with mismatched plates, and a bottle of wine stood in the center.
The warm glow of a single lamp softened the edges of the usually cluttered space.
“You’re back,” she noted without looking up.
“Yeah,” he replied cautiously, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “What’s all this?”
She glanced over her shoulder with a small smile playing on her lips. “Dinner. You know, that thing normal people do when they’re not running off to save the world.”
Grayson raised an eyebrow, slipped off his jacket, and hung it by the door. “You’re being suspiciously domestic. Should I be worried?”
Cora laughed with her back still to him as she stirred something on the stove. “Don’t get used to it. I just figured you could use a real meal for once. Even a big, bad wolf needs to eat.”
He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” she promised as she turned off the burner and plated the food. “Just sit. Eat. I won’t even yell at you for not knocking this time.”
Grayson obeyed and sank into the chair she’d set for him. He watched as she placed a plate in front of him. The meal was simple—roast chicken, vegetables, and potatoes—but it smelled incredible.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” she replied, sitting across from him with her own plate. “But I wanted to. Don’t make it weird.”
They ate in silence for a while with the clinking of silverware filling the quiet. Grayson couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that didn’t come out of a takeout box or involved reheating leftovers. It was good—comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.
But the weight of what he’d learned earlier lingered, pressing against the moment like a storm cloud on the horizon. He set his fork down, and his appetite faded as the responsibility he carried reared its head.
“Cora, we need to talk.”
She looked up from her plate, and her expression instantly shifted to concern. “What happened?”