Harvest Howler

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The connection to Devils Point Island cut through the Pacific Northwest mist like a direct path to salvation–or a trap.

Lily’s hand cramped around the steering wheel, her knuckles bone white. She had three thousand miles of running behind her, and one sketchy-looking bridge ahead. And on the other side? Wolves. Lots of them.

But these weren’t ordinary wolves. They were shifters. An entire pack of them, to be exact.

Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her memory. Wolves are territorial, little seedling. They’re protective of their own and have no care for outsiders who wander into their domain uninvited. Especially witches. Stay away from them.

She normally heeded her grandmother’s advice, but this time she had nowhere else to go. And her gut told her to take a chance. Crazy or not.

Her car’s engine coughed, reminding her she was nearly out of gas. The mist thickened as she crept forward, the bridge groaning under her vehicle’s weight. Below, dark water churned against weathered supports that looked older than her grandmother's grimoire.

It felt like a warning to turn back.

She'd never met a wolf shifter before. They weren’t the only ones who kept to themselves. Her coven preferred practicing magic in isolation, viewing other super naturals with suspicion at best, hostility at worst. Everything she knew about wolves came from whispered warnings and cautionary tales.

Predators. That's what they were. With instincts honed for hunting, senses sharp enough to smell lies, and pack loyalty that made outsiders dangerous by default.

And she was about to enter their territory. Alone. With fake credentials and secrets that could get her killed.

The bridge seemed to stretch forever. Halfway across, Lily's resolve wavered. She could still turn around. There were other towns, other islands, other—

No. She gripped the wheel tighter. There's nowhere else left.

Behind her lay truck stops and cheap motels, sleeping in her car when even the cheapest rooms cost too much, and the constant terror of her coven catching up to her. The crescent scar on her wrist throbbed, phantom pain from the binding ritual she'd barely escaped.

What laid ahead presented the only lead she had. A job posting on an obscure secret forum that had taken considerable effort to find.

Seasonal work available. Discretion guaranteed. Devils Point, Washington.

That single word, discretion, had given her hope. Maybe if wolves valued privacy as much as witches did, they’d ask fewer questions than humans would.

Or maybe she was driving straight into the trap that kept prickling at the back of her mind.

The mist thinned as the island materialized ahead. Lily's first glimpse stole her breath.

Autumn had painted everything in shades of crimson and gold.

Apple trees heavy with fruit lined the road, their branches reaching toward the grey sky.

Nearby blackberry bushes pulsed with late-season abundance.

Even through her fear, her tired magic stirred in response to such concentrated natural earth energy.

Beautiful. And dangerous.

She felt the mystical presence saturating the air, thick and wild and undeniably wolf. Pack energy. It was different from what she got from the coven. Far more territorial. Like the magical equivalent of scent markers warning intruders to keep out.

Her own power stirred in response, advising her to retreat, to protect herself from what might come. Every instinct screamed that she was prey entering a predator's den.

But she kept driving.

The parking area near the dock was surprisingly full.

As she surveyed the area, a family with two children clutching caramel apples strolled by.

And a couple sharing steaming cups of what smelled like mulled cider hovered nearby.

There was even an elderly group of women examining large ripe pumpkins in crates at a roadside stand she’d failed to notice only feet away.

They were tourists. Human tourists, oblivious to the unnatural undercurrents running through the island.

Which meant the wolves were good at hiding what they were. That was… something. Perhaps they wouldn't immediately recognize her as an outsider. Or maybe she’d blend in long enough to—

Who are you kidding?

Wolves would smell magic. Hell, they could probably sense her terror from across the water. There would be no blending in, and no hiding what she was.

But she was here now. And committed as hell. She had to convince them she meant no harm.

Through her windshield, the tiny Devils Point village spread before her like an image from a postcard.

Weathered buildings clustered around a small harbor where fishing boats bobbed beside sleek pleasure craft.

Carved wooden signs directed visitors to beer and whiskey tastings, and two food trucks were serving up something that smelled delicious. Her grumbling stomach attested to that.

Then there were the strings of festive lights already twinkling in the gathering dusk.

Everything about the island seemed picture-perfect. Almost too aggressively charming to be real.

But underneath that tourist-friendly veneer, power still hummed like a second heartbeat, sizzling through her veins. Not in an attacking kind of way like her coven’s aggressive magic. But definitely present. It pulsed through the air with awareness. Watching her.

The wolves knew she was here. They had to.

Close to where she’d parked, the Devils Point Distillery rose from the landscape ahead, and despite her fear, Lily experienced a flicker of something besides terror.

Hope.

The building exuded industrial function and Pacific Northwest charm with weathered cedar wrapped around the outside and gleaming copper accents sprinkled everywhere.

Massive windows revealed the brewing floor inside, where shiny stills rose like metallic trees, their surfaces polished to mirror brightness.

Steam drifted between them in ghostly spirals, and workers moved around with practiced efficiency.

She could smell it from the parking lot. Hops and fermenting grain, along with the rich earth scent of malt, and something wilder underneath. Something that made her magic hum with recognition even as her human mind whispered her wishes.

Please let them still be hiring. And please let them not ask too many questions. This has to work.

Lily forced herself out of the car and into the crisp evening air. Her legs felt like water after too many days of driving, and not enough rest. But she kept moving as the small festival crowd provided perfect cover. She threw her backpack over her shoulder and stretched.

She caught her reflection in a shop window and winced. Three weeks on the run showed in her tired eyes, the shadows beneath them, and clothes barely clean from truck stop bathrooms. She looked exactly like what she was—desperate and running.

Would the wolves smell that desperation? And more importantly, would they use it against her?

Hay bales and corn stalks decorated every corner, their earthy scent mixing with sugar and wood smoke.

Visitors wandered between stands displaying gourds in every size and shape and late-blooming sunflowers.

The scents of caramel and cinnamon competed with the wild Northwest. Pine sap and moss, along with the recent rain on fallen leaves.

But it was the distillery that drew her focus. Golden light spilled from its windows, and she caught more glimpses of the equipment inside. This close, the stills resembled works of art, all curves and gleaming surfaces that seemed to hold their own inner fire.

A team of workers shifted between them, all moving with the controlled grace that spoke of predators playing at being human.

Wolves. They had to be.

Her mouth went dry.

As she moved closer, she spied a group of tourists clustered around outdoor tables, sampling amber ales and darker brews that caught the twinkling light like liquid bronze. Their voices created a cheerful buzz that did nothing to calm Lily's racing heart.

I can't do this. I can't walk in there and—

But her gas tank was empty and her bank account emptier. The magical reserves she'd been burning for weeks felt scraped raw. She needed work. Food. A place to hide from the coven that wanted to steal everything that made her who she was.

And wolves, for all their danger, weren't witches. They might have an issue with her being in their territory, but at least they wouldn't want her magic. There’d be no attempts to bind her consciousness to a collective for the supposed greater good.

However, they were still dangerous. Different though. Maybe survivable. And if they found her good enough, they might provide the sanctuary she needed.

Lily pressed herself against the side of a festival booth and fumbled for her herb pouch. The familiar textures steadied her. Rough lavender buds, smooth rowan berries, and crystals of blessed salt that shimmered in her hand like tiny stars.

Her grandmother's voice whispered through her memory again. Magic is about intention. Will and need and the courage to ask for help.

She needed help, of that there was no doubt. This had to work. If it didn’t, then there was nowhere else to hide.

She reached for what little remained of her power and began to weave it into something helpful. The glamour spell took almost everything she had left as threads of illusion wrapped around careful truth, masking scents and crafting credentials that might save her life.

Lily Mitchell, certified brewing technician. Two years' experience with a specialty in artisanal ales. References available upon request from previous employers located across the country and notoriously difficult to reach.

Not entirely lies. She used her real first name, and Mitchell was an old family name.

And she had helped with her grandmother's home brewing, learning the basics of fermentation and grain bills before she died and left her to the mercy of the Greenwood Coven.

Before they'd tried to steal her independence along with her power.

When the spell settled, exhaustion hit harder than before. Black spots danced behind her eyelids, and she grabbed the side of the booth to keep steady. The herb pouch slipped from nerveless fingers, scattering its contents across the ground.

Get up and move. You can rest when you have a job.

She knelt to gather the mess, hands shaking as she tucked them back into the worn velvet bag. A child's laughter drifted from somewhere nearby, bright and innocent. Nice and normal sounds.

This place could be safe. The wolves made sure of it by protecting the tourists, the businesses, and the peace.

Maybe they'd protect her too when they realized she alone didn’t pose a threat to them. And if she proved useful to the pack…

The thought was dangerous. Hope had abandoned her weeks ago. But as she straightened and looked at the distillery again, she couldn't quite kill it.

She approached with careful steps. Up close, the building stood even more impressive, although not as weathered as it had looked from a distance. New. She touched her hand to the artificially scarred wood and imagined how it would look after decades of weathering Pacific coast rain. It was perfect.

Beautiful brass fittings gleamed like old gold, and the windows were so clean that someone might have polished them with moonlight.

A brass sign by the oak door read: "Devils Point Brewery & Distillery - Established 2018 - Tours and Tastings Available.

" Below it, a handwritten sign in careful script: "Now Hiring - Seasonal Help Welcome. "

Through the window, she stared again at the full brewing floor in all its gorgeous glory. The stills at work sent steam drifting through the room like incense, and the entire space hummed with a productive energy that spoke to something deep in her chest.

This is it, Lily.

Last chance to run, too. She could get back in her car right now and try to find somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Somewhere that wasn't wolf territory.

The door's brass handle was warm under her palm as she took a steadying breath to slow her racing heart.

No matter what, she’d stick to the facts and offer them only what she absolutely had to. If she wasn’t careful, these wolves would smell her lies right through her spell, and then she’d be screwed. She shuddered at the images that conjured in her mind. The things they could do to her…

If they realized right away what she was, she would have to talk fast to save her neck.

Enough. There would be no help if she let fear keep her from walking through the door.

She took a deep breath, tasting wood smoke and possibility on the autumn air. Behind her lay nothing but highway and fear.

Ahead—well, she was about to find out.

She squared her shoulders, ignoring the way her legs trembled. Her grandmother taught her to be brave. To face her fears. To ask for help when she needed it.

Please don't let me regret this.

She stepped across the threshold into the brewing belly of Devils Point, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Whatever waited inside had to be better than what she'd left behind.

It had to be.