Chapter 4 - Dylan
I can still hear them celebrating behind me, their laughter and music carrying through the trees like I should be joining them instead of pacing alone at the forest's edge. Like this is something to celebrate.
Sera Daley. Of all the eligible females in Silvercreek, the lottery chose her.
I rake my fingers through my hair, probably making it stand on end.
The universe has a sick sense of humor. Or maybe it's the elders—I wouldn't put it past Elder Amelia to engineer this disaster for her own amusement.
The woman has been pushing for the "integration" of the Cheslem refugees since they arrived.
A twig snaps behind me, and I spin instantly, senses on high alert. But it's just James, Nic’s best friend and my direct superior, approaching with two bottles of beer.
"Thought you might need this," he says, extending one toward me.
I accept it wordlessly, appreciating that he doesn't offer congratulations or, worse, advice. We stand in silence for a moment, looking back toward the Hollow where torchlight still flickers.
"It's not the end of the world," James finally says, taking a swig from his bottle.
"Says the man who got a mate that actually likes him."
His lips quirk. "You think that was easy? She hated me at first."
"Sera doesn't just hate me," I reply automatically. "I think she’d strangle me if she had half a chance.”
"And what do you think of her?"
I shrug, unwilling to voice the complicated tangle of impressions that constitute my thoughts on Sera Daley.
How am I supposed to explain that while I find her politics na?ve and dangerous, her stubborn defense of those same principles makes something in my chest tighten?
That I've caught myself watching the way sunlight catches in her hair?
That her scent makes my wolf stir with interest even as her words make me want to growl in frustration?
"She's... complicated," I finally say.
James nods like I've said something profound instead of completely inadequate. "The lottery doesn't make mistakes, Dylan."
"So everyone keeps saying." I take a long pull from my beer. "Doesn't mean it's true."
He claps me on the shoulder, then leaves me to my brooding. I'm grateful. Social niceties have never been my strong suit, and tonight, they're beyond me entirely.
As the celebration begins to wane, I spot her—a solitary figure slipping away from the Hollow, moving deeper into the forest. Before I can reconsider, I'm following, drawn by the need to confront this situation head-on.
She's not hard to track. Her scent, now tinged with stress, leads me to a small clearing where moonlight filters through the canopy. She stands with her back to me, arms wrapped around herself, blonde hair silver in the moonlight.
"Daley," I say, making my presence known.
She doesn't startle. Either she heard me coming or she's too lost in thought to react.
"Zaleska." Her voice is flat, resigned.
"We should talk."
"About how spectacularly terrible this is?" She turns to face me, her expression composed despite the tension evident in every line of her body. "Or about how we're going to get out of it?"
"Is that what you want? Out?" The question comes automatically, though I already know the answer.
"Don't you?" Her eyes find mine, direct and challenging. "I'm the last person you want to be paired with. We both know that."
I move closer, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to converse privately, far enough to maintain some semblance of distance. "What I want doesn't matter. Pack law—"
"Don't." She cuts me off, a sharp gesture punctuating the word. "Don't give me the party line about tradition and duty. Not right now."
"Then what do you want me to say?" Frustration edges my voice. "That this is a disaster? That whoever engineered this match should be demoted to omega? Fine. I agree."
"Well, that's something." The ghost of a smile touches her lips before disappearing. "At least we're on the same page about one thing."
Moonlight catches the curve of her cheek, the slight tremor in her hands that she tries to hide by crossing her arms. Despite everything, I find myself noticing details I shouldn't—the way her borrowed dress hugs curves that have filled out since her arrival, how her eyes reflect starlight.
I clear my throat. "Luna says there's no way out except—"
"Becoming a rogue. I know." She sighs; the sound heavy with resignation. "Not exactly a viable option for either of us."
"So we're stuck."
"Apparently."
Silence stretches between us, filled with the night sounds of the forest—distant owl calls, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, the whisper of wind through pine needles. In the distance, the celebration at the Hollow continues to wind down, voices growing fainter.
"I won't force this," I finally say, the words emerging rougher than intended. "The bond. We have a month."
Something flickers in her expression—relief? Disappointment? It's gone too quickly to interpret. "A month to figure out an alternative."
"Or to adjust to the idea."
She raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you're doing? Adjusting?"
"I'm trying to be practical."
"Practical," she repeats, almost to herself. "Ever the security chief."
I bite back a retort, recognizing the bait for what it is. "One step at a time, Daley. We don't have to figure everything out tonight."
She opens her mouth to respond, but footsteps approaching rapidly from the direction of the pack house interrupt us. Thomas emerges from the trees, his expression unusually serious.
"There you are," he says, slightly out of breath. "Nic needs you both. Now."
I straighten immediately, instincts shifting to alert. "What's happened?"
"Emergency situation. He'll explain." Thomas is already turning, clearly expecting us to follow. "It can't wait."
Sera and I exchange a glance, momentary allies in our confusion. Without discussion, we fall into step behind Thomas, heading for the Alpha's office.
The main pack house is eerily quiet at this hour; most residents are either still at the Hollow or already asleep. Nic's office door stands open, light spilling into the darkened hallway. Inside, he paces behind his desk, expression grim. Luna sits in a corner chair, her face equally serious.
"Close the door," Nic instructs as we enter.
Thomas complies, then takes up position beside the window, arms crossed. The tension in the room is palpable.
"What's going on?" I ask, automatically scanning for threats.
Nic gestures for us to sit. Neither of us does.
"Forty minutes ago, I received an emergency communication from the pack near Pinecrest, fifty miles away," he begins without preamble. "One of their scouts was attacked while passing through human territory past our southern border. Silver bullets. Professional hunting equipment."
My blood runs cold. "League remnants?"
"Unknown," Nic replies. "But the hunter wore the symbol of a local group calling themselves 'Guardians of Pinecrest’. They've apparently been stirring up anti-shifter sentiment for months, but they’re keeping a low enough profile that we missed them—until now.”
"The scout?" Sera asks.
"Alive, barely. Made it back to his territory with three silver fragments in his shoulder." Nic's expression darkens. "This can't go unanswered, but we can't risk open conflict either."
"What do you need?" I'm already mentally preparing, calculating response options.
"Intelligence. Infiltration." Nic's gaze moves between us. "I need two wolves in Pinecrest, posing as humans, gathering information on this group before they escalate further."
Realization dawns slowly. "You want us to go undercover. Together."
"You're both uniquely qualified," Luna speaks for the first time. "You have weaker Shifts than most of the pack, so your shifter natures are less obvious than most—fewer physical traits, less frequent shifting requirements."
"A perfect cover," Nic adds. "Newly married couple moving to Pinecrest for work. No one will question your presence."
"Married," Sera repeats, voice faint.
"The lottery timing provides perfect cover for your absence from pack events," Thomas notes. "Everyone will assume you're taking time to get to know each other. All of this stays locked down—it’s a need-to-know basis."
And, no one bothers to add, neither of you has a family around to wonder where you are.
I stare at Nic, understanding the full implication. "You're sending us to a town of human hunters. Together. Now."
"The timing is non-negotiable," Nic says firmly. "We have a narrow window before these 'Guardians' become emboldened by their success. The next victim might not escape."
My mind races through scenarios, weighing risks against duty. Humans targeting shifters. Silver bullets. Organized hunters. Every protective instinct I possess screams to action.
"When do we leave?" I ask, decision made.
"Dawn," Nic replies. "Thomas has already secured a rental property on the edge of town. Your cover identities and essentials will be ready within the hour."
I nod, then glance at Sera. Her face has gone pale, but her expression is resolute. She looks like she’s walking the plank, commanded toward her own death.
"I understand why you chose Dylan," she says carefully, "but why me? I'm not exactly field-trained."
"Aside from your weaker shift, your medical background gives you instant access to local information networks," Luna explains. "Hospitals, clinics—places where hunting 'accidents' might be reported. Plus, your experience with both humans and shifters gives you the perspective we need."
"This mission takes priority over your personal situation," Nic adds, addressing the elephant in the room. "Whatever issues you have with the lottery match can be addressed after Pinecrest is secured."
An unexpected reprieve. I feel Sera's sideways glance, but keep my expression neutral.
"We'll be ready," I tell Nic, already mentally cataloging what we'll need. "But I want daily secure communications and emergency extraction protocols in place."
"Already arranged." Nic holds my gaze steadily. "This isn't an assassination mission, Dylan. Information gathering only. Clear?"
The implication stings, but I nod curtly. "Clear."
"You have three hours to prepare," Thomas says. "Pack light. Anything too... wolfish might raise suspicions."
As we're dismissed, the full weight of the situation settles over me. In a few hours, Sera and I will be alone in hostile territory, dependent on each other, playing the role of a mated pair while postponing the reality of our actual match.
It's not the escape I would have chosen. But if hunting down these anti-shifter extremists keeps Silvercreek safe—keeps anyone else from experiencing what Ethan did—I'll endure whatever uncomfortable partnership is required.
Even one with the most infuriating, contradictory, inexplicably compelling woman I've ever met.