Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Gray Moore's nose caught it first.
Magic. Female. Fear.
The scent drifted across the brewhouse floor, cutting through the familiar blend of hops and fermentation. His hands stilled on the pressure gauge he'd been adjusting, every muscle tensing as he took another breath to confirm what his wolf already knew.
Not human.
He turned slowly, tracking the source of the disturbance. The afternoon, and now evening, had brought the usual parade of tourists through the tasting room, their bland mixture of excitement and alcohol consumption nothing remarkable. But this—this was something else.
She stood just inside the entrance, a tiny figure silhouetted against the fading daylight. Disheveled clothes and auburn hair escaping a messy braid. There was nothing overtly threatening about her appearance, but Gray knew better than most that danger rarely announced itself.
And we don't get her kind here. Whatever the hell she is.
He set down his tools carefully, wiping his hands on a rag as he observed her.
The workers nearest the door had noticed her too, their subtle shift in posture told him they'd also caught her non-human scent.
They glanced his way, awaiting instruction.
With a slight nod, he silently ordered them back to work.
This was his territory to defend, and he didn’t need their work interrupted for nothing.
Gray approached in slow, measured strides, using his height and broad shoulders to establish dominance as he moved across the brewing floor.
Up close, her scent was even more complex.
Earth and the unmistakable scent of live growing plants, fear laced with exhaustion, and something wild his wolf recognized but his human mind couldn't name.
And beneath all of that, something else made his body respond in a way that pissed him off. His wolf stirred, suddenly alert in a completely different way.
"Can I help you?" His voice came out low and controlled, professional but cold, making it clear he didn’t need whatever trouble she wanted to bring.
She startled slightly, those forest-green eyes widening as she took him in. For a moment, he thought she might bolt. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met his gaze.
"I saw the sign out front," she said, her voice steadier than her scent suggested. "I'm looking for work. I'm a brewing tech."
Gray crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately intimidating as he looked down at her. This close, he couldn't help noticing how the fading light caught the copper highlights in her hair, and how her faded t-shirt clung to curves that his hands suddenly itched to explore.
Focus, dammit. His wolf was going to make this ten times worse if he didn’t stop this shit.
"Really? The sign we just put up ten minutes ago?”
She shrugged, not answering his question.
“We're not hiring just anyone," he said, forcing his attention back to the potential threat she represented. "Tell me about your experience." He had no idea why he was indulging this when he had every intention of getting her the hell off the island as quickly as possible.
"I’ve worked for two years with artisanal ales." She pulled a resume from her jacket pocket, offering it with fingers that betrayed the slightest tremor. "I specialize in seasonal blends."
He reached for the paper without looking at it, using the moment to study her more closely.
Definitely not wolf. Or any other shapeshifter he recognized.
Something else. Something that made his wolf go a little wild.
Siren maybe. That made the most sense this close to the water.
She wouldn’t be the first to wander onto their shores, although it was rare.
When their fingers brushed during the handoff, a jolt of awareness shot up his arm. His wolf growled low in his mind, the sound equal parts warning and interest.
"We'll see." He glanced at the resume, noting the conveniently distant references and vague employment history. "Follow me."
He led her past the main work floor, where his pack mates moved between fermentation tanks, their eyes following the stranger with undisguised curiosity.
The festival season had them all working more overtime than was reasonable, and they desperately needed another skilled pair of hands, but not at the cost of security.
Not after what happened to Ash.
His small office was separated from the production floor by a glass partition that allowed him to monitor operations while handling paperwork. The space smelled of hops and the coffee he mainlined during sixteen-hour festival shifts. He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
"Sit."
She perched on the edge of the seat, back straight, eyes alert.
When she bit her lower lip nervously, Gray's gaze fixed on the motion.
Something hot and primal flashed through him, the sudden urge to lean across the desk, capture that lip between his teeth, and taste whatever magic made her scent so damn intoxicating.
He blinked and forced his focus back to the matter at hand. Siren was seeming like a safe bet.
"Lily Mitchell," he read from her resume, watching her reaction to the name. She didn’t hesitate, either it was genuine or she was skilled at deception. "Says here you worked at Greenleaf Brewing in Enigma Falls, South Carolina. Wherever the hell that is."
"Yes. For two years. And it’s a small town. Larger than Devils Point, but not by much."
He smirked. "Funny. I know most of the craft brewers in the Pacific Northwest and keep tabs on notable ones across the country. Never heard of them."
Her pulse jumped, visible in the delicate hollow of her throat. The wolf in him tracked the movement, imagining how it would feel to press his mouth there, to feel her heartbeat against his tongue just before his teeth pierced her skin.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
"It was a small operation," she said, pulling him back from the unwelcome fantasy. "They closed last year."
Lie.
His wolf growled. But why lie about something so easily verified unless she was desperate? The question only heightened his suspicion.
"What brings you all the way to Devils Point? We're not exactly on the major tourist route."
She hesitated, and he could almost see her constructing the answer. As she searched for words, she nervously tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, the gesture drawing his attention.
"I heard about the harvest festival," she finally said. "That you might need seasonal help."
"And how did you hear that?" He leaned forward, waiting.
Another jump in her pulse. "I just got here and saw it. It felt like a good sign."
Truth.
Gray let the silence stretch, a tactic that usually made people nervous enough to fill the void with more information than they intended to give.
She held his gaze, though the fear in her scent intensified.
The small office suddenly felt too warm, too close.
Her scent surrounded him, teasing him with that mysterious blend of magic and femininity that his wolf found increasingly difficult to ignore.
"Where are you staying?" he finally asked, needing to break the tension.
"Nowhere yet." She bit her lower lip again, the nervous gesture sending another flare of heat through his system. "I was hoping to find work first."
He studied her more carefully. The exhaustion wasn't an act. There were shadows beneath her eyes, tension in her shoulders, and her clothes had seen better days. Whatever had driven her to Devils Point had clearly cost her.
But that wasn't his problem. The safety of his pack and his business came first.
"Let's talk brewing," he snapped. "Walk me through your process for a standard autumn ale."
If the resume was fabricated, this would expose her.
Instead, she launched into a detailed explanation of grain bills and mash temperatures that had him raising his eyebrows.
Her hands moved animatedly as she described hop schedules and fermentation techniques with the confidence of someone who'd done more than just read a book about making beer.
Gray found himself distracted by those hands. They were small but strong, with calluses that spoke of real work. He imagined those hands on the brewing equipment, skilled and confident. Then, unbidden, he pictured them on his body, tracing the lines of his chest, sliding lower...
"I'd finish with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg in secondary fermentation," she concluded, pulling him back to the conversation. "Just enough to complement the malt without overpowering it."
His body jerked back to attention.
Despite his insane behavior, Gray was impressed. She knew her craft—or had done her research extraordinarily well. His wolf, too, responded to the passion in her voice, the way her scent brightened when she talked about brewing. For a moment, he almost forgot the danger she might represent.
"Theory's fine," he said, forcing his voice to remain cool. "But I need someone who can handle the physical demands. Festival season means unreasonably long shifts, heavy lifting, high pressure. We're the main attraction on the island this time of year."
"I'm stronger than I look," she replied, a flash of pride cutting through her fear. She straightened in her chair, the movement emphasizing the subtle curves beneath her worn t-shirt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work. I prefer it."
His wolf rumbled at the determination in her voice. There was something about her quiet strength that stirred an unwelcome response in him, a heat that had nothing to do with the room temperature and everything to do with the way her scent changed when she showed that flash of fire.
"Why here? Why now?" he pressed, trying to focus on the questions that mattered. "There are dozens of breweries on the mainland hiring for the fall season."
Her scent spiked with panic before she controlled it. "I needed a change of scenery. Somewhere... quieter."
Her scent intensified. Not quite a lie, but not the full truth either.