Chapter 6 - Connor
Nic’s call comes before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee.
“How’s our guest settling in?” he asks.
I set down my mug and lean against the kitchen counter. “There’s been a development. She found out. About us.”
A pause. “Found out how?”
“Her patients were talking about wolves and shifting. She started asking questions and cornered Skylar in the break room. I had to tell her the truth before she decided the whole town was delusional.”
Nic exhales slowly. I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s frustrated. “You told a human about the pack without consulting me first.”
“There wasn’t time. She was already piecing things together on her own. Would you rather she thought we were all suffering from some kind of mass psychosis? That wouldn’t exactly inspire confidence in her new employer.”
“How did she take it?”
“She said she needed air and walked away. I let her go.”
“And you haven’t spoken to her since?”
“Not yet. I was planning to check on her this morning.”
Another pause, longer this time. Through the phone, I can hear Luna’s voice in the background, though I can’t make out the words. Nic mumbles something back to her before returning his attention to me.
“Feel her out,” he instructs. “See where her head’s at. We need to know if this is going to be a problem.”
“She’s not going to be a problem.”
“You sound confident about that.”
I am confident, though I can’t fully explain why.
Something about the way Fern looked at me yesterday, even as her world was crumbling.
She wasn’t hostile. Scared and confused, yes.
Overwhelmed, definitely. But there was no anger in her eyes, no disgust. Just a woman trying to process something impossible.
“She’s a good person,” I state. “She came here running from something bad, and she’s been nothing but professional since she arrived. Finding out her patients are werewolves doesn’t change who she is.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. The lottery is tonight. I don’t need any complications.”
The reminder sends a jolt through my gut. Tonight. In a few hours, I’ll be standing in the Hollow, waiting to hear which woman fate has chosen for me. The thought makes my coffee taste like ash.
“I’ll talk to her,” I promise. “Make sure she understands the importance of discretion.”
“Good. And Connor? Be gentle with her. She’s been through a lot in the past few days.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye. Classic Nic.
I finish my coffee, shower, and head into town. It’s the kind of autumn day that makes Silvercreek look like something from a postcard. Leaves are starting to turn gold and red on the trees lining Main Street. Mrs. Patterson waves from her porch as I pass, and I wave back automatically.
My feet carry me toward the eastern edge of town, toward the cottage where Fern is staying.
I’m not sure what I’m going to say to her.
Yesterday I dropped a bomb on her entire worldview, and now I’m supposed to make sure she’s not going to cause problems for the pack. The two goals feel mutually exclusive.
I’m halfway down her street when I spot her walking toward me.
She’s dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, and her ash blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Dark circles shadow her eyes, suggesting she didn’t sleep much last night. When she sees me, she stops short, and for a moment, I think she might turn and walk the other way.
But she doesn’t. She stands her ground and waits for me to approach.
“Hey,” I offer when I’m close enough. I was coming to check on you. See how you’re doing after yesterday.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “How am I doing? Let’s see. I found out that werewolves are real, that I’ve been living in a town full of them, and that my new boss apparently forgot to mention this during my interview. So I’d say I’m doing great.”
“Fair enough.”
We stand there for an awkward moment, neither of us sure what to say next. A car drives past, and the driver waves. Fern doesn’t wave back.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” I ask. “Or we could take a walk. I’m sure you have more questions.”
She eyes me, and I can practically see her weighing her options. Stay and talk to the werewolf, or retreat to her cottage and pretend none of this is happening.
“A walk,” she decides. “I’ve been cooped up all morning. I could use the fresh air.”
We fall into step together, heading toward the trail that winds along the eastern edge of town. The path is quiet this time of day, bordered by towering pines and the occasional birch tree. Squirrels chatter in the branches overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out.
“So,” Fern begins after a few minutes of silence, “werewolves.”
“Werewolves,” I confirm.
“And everyone in town knows about this? Everyone is… one of you?”
“Not everyone. Most of the population is shifter, but we also have some humans living here. Shop owners, service workers, people who married into the pack.” I step over a root jutting across the path. “We’re not as isolated as you might think.”
“But I’m the only one who didn’t know.”
“Patricia should have told you before you started. I don’t know why she didn’t.”
Fern shoves her hands into her sweater pockets. “Maybe she assumed I’d run screaming the moment I found out. Which, honestly, isn’t an unreasonable assumption.”
“But you didn’t run.”
“I thought about it.” She glances at me sideways. “I spent most of last night packing and unpacking my suitcase. Couldn’t decide if staying was brave or stupid.”
“What made you decide to stay?”
She’s quiet for a long moment as she keeps her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. And despite everything, this is the first place I’ve felt safe in months. Ironic, right? I feel safer in a town full of werewolves than I did in New York.”
I want to ask about that. About the ex, about what she was running from, about the fear I still see lurking behind her eyes. But I don’t push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“We’re not dangerous,” I assure her instead. “Not to you or to anyone who doesn’t threaten the pack. We’re just… people with a few extra talents.”
“Like turning into wolves.”
“Like turning into wolves, yes.”
She laughs again, and this time there’s a hint of genuine amusement in it. “God, this is insane. I keep waiting to wake up and realize this was all some kind of fever dream.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the crunch of leaves beneath our feet the only sound. The trail opens up into a small clearing with a wooden bench overlooking a stream. I gesture toward it, and Fern sits down with a sigh.
“Tell me more,” she requests. “About how it works. The pack, the shifting, all of it. I want to understand.”
So I tell her. I explain the hierarchy—Alpha, Luna, Elders, and the rest of the pack.
I describe what shifting feels like, the way the wolf is always present beneath the surface, a second consciousness sharing your mind.
I talk about pack bonds, about the way we can sense each other’s emotions, about the full moon runs through the forest.
And I tell her about the lottery.
“It’s a tradition that goes back generations,” I explain. “A way of ensuring strong matches within the pack. Names are drawn, and the chosen pair is expected to mate.”
“Expected to mate?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Like an arranged marriage?”
“Something like that. Though it’s not as archaic as it sounds. The lottery has a kind of magic to it. It doesn’t just pick randomly. It finds compatible matches, people who are meant to be together.”
Fern looks skeptical. “And people just… accept this? Being told who they’re supposed to spend their life with?”
“Most do. The matches usually work out.” I think of Nic and Luna, of Ruby and James. “It’s seen as an honor to be chosen. A service to the pack.”
“But what if you don’t want to be matched with whoever gets picked?”
I shrug, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in my stomach. “Then you deal with it. Refusing the lottery is basically refusing the pack itself.”
Fern shakes her head slowly. “That’s… a lot.”
“It is.”
“Have you ever been in the lottery?”
I swallow hard before I respond, “Not yet.”
“But you will be?”
“Eventually.” I keep my voice neutral, not wanting to reveal just how soon “eventually” actually is.
“Not every shifter goes through the lottery. Sometimes the Elders call for one, or sometimes a pack member volunteers. It’s usually tied to rank or bloodline, or times when the pack needs strengthening.
Plenty of shifters find their own mates without it. ”
She nods, though I can tell she has more questions. Instead of asking them, she changes the subject. “What about humans? Can humans be part of the pack?”
“Some are. As I said, we have humans who’ve married in, who’ve become part of the community. They’re protected, same as anyone else.”
“But they can’t be in the lottery.”
“I’m not sure there’s even an official rule on that. It’s never come up.”
We sit by the stream for another hour, talking about everything and nothing. She asks about pack customs, about shifter biology, and about the history of Silvercreek. I answer as honestly as I can, trying to paint a picture of a community that’s strange but not threatening.
And somewhere along the way, she starts asking about me.
“What made you become a security officer?” she inquires, tilting her head.
“Someone had to keep an eye on things. I’m good at reading people, at spotting trouble before it starts. Seemed like a natural fit.”
“And before that?”
“I grew up here. Did all the usual pack stuff—training, schooling, learning to control my shift.” I pick up a pebble and toss it into the stream. “Nothing exciting.”
“What about family?”
“Parents are gone. No siblings. The pack is my family now.”
Fern goes quiet, seemingly waiting for me to elaborate. When I don’t, she replies, “I’m sorry. About your parents.”
“It was a long time ago.”
She nods, and I can see her filing that information away. Then she surprises me by offering something in return.
“I was engaged once,” she admits. “It didn’t end well.”
“The ex you’re running from?”
“Yeah.” She picks at a thread on her sweater. “Robbie. We were together for three years. Engaged for six months before I realized what he really was.”
I want to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of comfort. But I sense that would be the wrong move right now. Instead, I keep my voice gentle. “You’re safe here, Fern. Whatever it takes, we’ll make sure he can’t hurt you.”
She gives me a small, tired smile. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
We stay by the stream until the afternoon starts fading into evening. When she mentions needing to head back, I walk her to the edge of town before peeling off toward my own cabin. I need to shower and change before the ceremony tonight.
The lottery. My stomach clenches at the thought.
Hours later, I’m standing in the Hollow with the rest of the pack, torchlight flickering against the ancient trunk of the Mother Tree.
The air is saturated with the energy of dozens of wolves gathered for one of our oldest traditions.
Nic and Luna stand on the raised platform with Elder Amelia beside them, with the ceremonial bowl cradled in her weathered hands.
The eligible females are arranged in the innermost circle, and I’m positioned in the outer ring with the other unmated males, trying to keep my breathing steady.
This is it. In a few minutes, my life will change forever.
I look around at the faces of the eligible females. Some I’ve known since childhood. Others came to us from the Cheslem pack after its fall. A few catch my eye and offer small smiles, hopeful or nervous. I look away, not wanting to encourage anyone when I have no idea who the magic will choose.
My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, unusually agitated. He’s been this way all day, ever since my walk with Fern. I tell myself it’s just nerves about the ceremony, nothing more.
Elder Amelia raises her hands for silence, and the crowd goes quiet.
The ceremonial bowl rests in her weathered palms, firelight glinting off its polished wooden surface.
She closes her eyes and begins the traditional blessing, words so old their original meaning has been lost to time. The pack watches in reverent silence.
“Tonight, we honor the bond between wolf and mate,” Amelia intones. “Tonight, the spirits guide our hands and reveal what has always been destined.”
She reaches into the bowl and stirs through the folded slips of paper with her fingers.
Each slip bears the name of an eligible female—unmated women between twenty and thirty who could become my match.
Whoever Amelia draws will be bound to me, and I to her.
That’s how the lottery works. One name, one chance, one fate sealed by ancient magic that supposedly knows better than we do.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Then I hear a twig snap behind me.
I turn, and my heart nearly stops.
Fern is standing at the edge of the clearing, her face pale in the torchlight. She’s clearly been hiking—there are leaves in her hair and dirt on her boots—and she’s staring at the gathered pack with an expression of complete bewilderment.
Before I can move toward her, Elder Amelia’s voice cuts through the night.
“Wait.”
The entire pack turns to look. Amelia is staring at Fern with wide eyes, her hand pressed to her chest.
“This is unprecedented,” she announces with her voice trembling with something that sounds almost like awe. “A human, arriving at this exact moment, at this sacred ceremony. The spirits have sent us a sign.”
My blood runs cold.
“Her name,” Amelia declares, “must be added to the lottery.”