Chapter 10
Lyanna
Islip into Silverwood town hall, purposefully early for the final festival coordination meeting. The room is already buzzing with community organizers arranging chairs and spreading large maps across folding tables. Mayor Wilson nods as I enter, her silver-streaked hair caught in the morning light.
“Lyanna! Perfect timing. We’re finalizing the last-minute assignments.”
I smile and move toward the central table, where colorful sticky notes mark different festival zones across the town map. The Spring Equinox Festival is only a week away, and the energy in the room reflects both excitement and mild panic about final preparations.
“The pack is ready to help wherever needed,” I say, scanning the map. “We’ve got everyone confirmed and on standby—they’ll rotate through between patrol shifts.”
“Wonderful!” The mayor beams as more townspeople file in, including several pack members. Harper slips in beside me, followed by Cassie and Nova—they’d stopped to pick up supplies from the hardware store while I came ahead for the meeting.
Callum enters last, scanning the room with that tactical sweep I’ve come to recognize—exits, threats, positioning.
Then his eyes find mine, and the hard vigilance softens into something private.
Something just for me. My breath stutters.
I look away first, but the warmth lingers in my chest long after.
The meeting moves efficiently through confirmations—fire department safety protocols, food stall arrangements, children’s activity schedules. When we reach the ski-joring competition, the mayor’s expression becomes more serious.
“This is our signature event, and we still need lead coordinators,” she says.
“The previous team had to withdraw due to a family emergency. We need two people who can take over immediately, handle course redesign for the expanded finish area, manage all safety protocols, coordinate equipment and registration, and work seamlessly under pressure. With only a week left, this is our most critical gap.”
Mrs. Holloway leans forward. “What about Callum and Lyanna? They showed remarkable coordination during the search and rescue operation a couple of months ago.”
The mayor’s face brightens. “That’s exactly the kind of partnership we need. You two would be taking over an event already in motion—all the groundwork is done, but the final execution requires excellent communication and quick decision-making.”
Callum steps forward, his expression carefully neutral, though there’s a notable twinkle in his eyes. “We can handle it.”
“Excellent!” The mayor hands us a thick folder. “Here’s everything from the previous coordinators—participant list, equipment inventory, preliminary course design. You’ll need to finalize everything and be ready to execute in four days.”
I take the folder, acutely aware of Callum’s proximity as our fingers brush.
“You two make such a natural team,” Mrs. Holloway says warmly. “I have complete confidence you’ll pull this together.”
“We’ll start immediately,” I say, feeling both the pressure of the compressed timeline and the anticipation of working closely with Callum.
As the meeting wraps up with final assignments confirmed, Callum moves beside me, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
“Looks like we’re partners on a tight deadline,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I’ll clear my afternoon.”
The next afternoon, I spread the revised course map across the table at the town hall’s planning room.
Safety Coordinator Deputy Grant Callahan stands beside me while Callum leans over the opposite side, marker in hand.
Grant is Liam’s brother—Liam’s the Beta of Shadow Peak—and his expertise with crowd safety protocols is proving invaluable.
“The previous coordinators did solid groundwork,” Grant says, tapping the marked route along Main Street, “but with the warm weather forecast, we need to adjust for potential slush conditions in the sun-exposed sections.”
Grant’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns. “Weather service just updated.” He turns the screen toward us. “Fifty-five degrees on festival day.”
My stomach drops. “That’s fifteen degrees warmer than predicted.”
Callum leans closer to read the screen, near enough that I catch his cedar scent. “That puts everything at risk. The ski-joring course, the ice sculptures—“
“The sculptures alone represent thousands in commission fees for local artists,” I finish. “This could devastate the festival budget.”
“Not to mention disappointing every kid in Silverwood,” Callum adds.
My mind races through options. “Wait—Nyxiana and Kaspian. Their vampire nature maintains a constant lower body temperature. If they positioned themselves strategically...”
Callum’s eyes meet mine. “Cold-keeping. We could create temperature control zones.”
“Their ambient temperature extends about fifteen feet in still air,” I say, already calculating. “If we position them at opposite ends of the festival grounds—“
“We could maintain snow integrity and preserve the sculptures.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll get them here.”
Within minutes, both vampires arrive at the planning room. When we explain the situation, Nyxiana looks momentarily surprised, then thoughtful. “You want to use our coldness as a feature rather than something to hide?”
“Exactly,” I confirm. “Your natural temperature regulation could save the entire festival.”
Kaspian grins. “Finally, a practical use for being naturally frigid.”
“The physiological mechanics would work,” Nyxiana explains. “We naturally pull ambient heat toward ourselves, creating cold zones. We could maintain it for eight to ten hours without strain.”
Callum spreads out the festival map. “If we position you here and here, we create overlapping cold zones covering the main areas.”
“You’d need to rotate positions every few hours,” I add. “And we should warn attendees about temperature variations.”
“We could add signage,” Kaspian suggests. “‘Winter Magic Zones’ or something similar.”
With the vampire solution in place, we return to the course adjustments.
Callum draws an alternative path on the map.
“If we shift this segment to stay in the mountain shadow here, we keep firmer snow conditions. Nyxiana and Kaspian can focus their cold-keeping efforts on the start and finish areas instead of spreading too thin.”
I trace the new route, mentally recalculating emergency access. “That actually improves our medical support positioning. We can consolidate the first aid stations here and here.” I adjust two red pins. “Better vehicle access for any serious incidents.”
Our hands brush as we both reach to mark the barrier placement. He doesn’t pull away immediately, and the brief contact sends warmth through me despite my exhaustion.
Grant looks impressed. “You’ve turned a potential disaster into a feature.”
Callum nods. “It’s not just a solution—it’s an opportunity to showcase integration. Natural abilities benefiting the whole community.”
As we finalize the details, I feel a rush of satisfaction. What started as a crisis has transformed into a showcase of supernatural cooperation.
The Lodge is silent except for the occasional creak of the old building settling. It’s nearly midnight the night before the festival, and Callum and I are hunched over the final equipment list, checking inventory for tomorrow’s ski-joring competition.
“Almost done,” I murmur, checking off the last safety barrier. “Just need to verify the medical supply count one more time.”
Callum leans closer, his arm brushing mine as he studies the list. The casual contact sends warmth spreading through my body despite my exhaustion. “Looks like we’re only short two thermal blankets. I can grab those from the emergency cache before setup.”
“Perfect.” I mark it on the checklist. “I think we’ve thought of everything.”
“You’re good at this,” Callum says, his voice low. “Finding problems before they happen.”
“So are you.” I smile, feeling the quiet intimacy of the moment. “We make a good team.”
His amber eyes hold mine, and the air between us changes. The checklist suddenly seems less important as awareness of his proximity floods my senses—the cedar and leather scent of him, the way his shoulders block out the rest of the room, the slight roughness of his breathing.
“We do,” he agrees, his voice deeper than before.
My gaze drops to his lips, then back to his eyes. The space between us seems charged with unspoken possibility. His hand rests beside mine on the table, our fingers nearly touching on the spread of papers.
“Lyanna,” he whispers, and there’s a question in how he says my name.
I lean forward slightly; drawn by something I can’t resist. His hand slides over mine, warm and solid. The touch sends electricity through me as we both move closer, the distance between us shrinking until I can feel his breath against my lips.
Just as our lips are about to touch, Callum’s phone buzzes sharply against the table—the emergency tone. We both jerk back, the moment shattered. His jaw tightens as he grabs it.
“Montgomery,” he answers, voice rough. His expression shifts to focused attention. “Yes. I understand. We’ll handle it.” He hangs up and turns to me. “That was Grant. Weather forecast just updated—even warmer than expected. We need to adjust the cold-keeping zones.”
“Right,” I say, my voice unsteady as I reach for the map. “We should recalculate the positions.”
We both pretend to focus on the new problem, but the interrupted moment hangs between us. When our hands accidentally touch again over the map, we both pull back quickly.
“I think that covers everything,” I finally say, gathering the papers. “We should get some sleep before tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Callum agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. “Big day.”
We stand, both aware of what almost happened. The Lodge feels too quiet, the space between us charged with unresolved tension.
“I’ll walk you back,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
“You don’t have to—“
“I know.” But he’s already moving toward the door, holding it open for me.
The night air is crisp against my skin as we step outside. Our footsteps crunch softly on the gravel path leading to the cluster of cabins. Mine sits at the edge of the clearing, far enough from the others to give me space but close enough to feel part of the pack.
We walk in silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. When we reach my porch steps, we both stop.
“Well,” I say, turning to face him. “This is me.”
“Yeah.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, jaw tight. “Lyanna ...”
I wait, but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips.
“Goodnight, Callum,” I say softly, climbing the first step so we’re nearly eye level.
“Goodnight.” His burnt amber eyes hold mine for a moment longer than necessary, and I see the war playing out behind them—duty against desire, protection against trust.
Then he steps back, and the spell breaks.
I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders tense beneath his jacket, before slipping inside my cabin and closing the door between us.