Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Five AM arrived uninvited, reeking of trouble and burnt coffee.
When the alarm screeched in her ear, Lily jumped from the bed, her body protesting in agony after weeks of far too little sleep. She had half a mind to throw that vicious little box of a clock across the room and crawl back under the covers.
Had Gray set that god-awful sound for her on purpose?
Thoughts of him sent her spiraling back into the dream of him that had plagued her sleep. But the inexplicable pull to a man she barely knew had left her nerves raw and with a mad need to punish her body for betraying her.
I.e., she needed a cold, freaking shower.
But once in the shower, the brutal shock of ice-cold water had her gasping and swearing as water sluiced over tender skin. She finished in record time.
Annoyed with herself, she yanked her hair into a tight braid, pulled on her least-destroyed jeans, and headed down to the brewing floor. She shoved the weird thoughts out of her head and pulled on her positivity pants. She would not start her new job with a bad attitude.
The distillery already hummed with purpose. Some workers were prepping equipment, while others gathered around a table covered with a full array of savory breakfast foods and sweet treats.
Gray stood at the main kettle, testing gauges with hands that knew their business.
Morning light turned the copper to liquid fire and caught the dark stubble along his jaw and the strong column of his throat above his work shirt.
Her breath caught, forcing her to take a second to find her bearings again before she crossed the room.
He looked up when she approached, tracking her like prey.
"You made it."
"Told you I would."
His grunt could have meant anything. "Go ahead and eat. We’ve got to work on a new batch of harvest ale this morning.
Festival's going through our supply faster than we can make it.
" He moved toward the grain sacks, and she caught herself staring at how his shoulders stretched his shirt. "Try to keep up."
He walked her through the grain bill—pale malt for base, crystal for sweetness, and chocolate malt for depth. When he scooped grain to show her the texture, his forearms flexed, and her mouth went dry.
"Balance matters," he said, but she was watching his hands, imagining them rough on her skin. "Too much crystal—"
"And it's cloying. I know."
His eyes sharpened. "Right. Your extensive experience."
The challenge in his voice should have worried her. Instead, heat pooled between her thighs. When he handed her the scoop, their fingers touched, her magic surged again. Wildly.
No. Not here. Not now.
She gripped the grain, fighting for control, but her plant magic recognized the barley's sleeping potential. It was old life waiting to transform. The connection thrummed through her bones like arousal.
"Good." His approval rumbled low. "Most people just dump it. You actually feel what you're working with."
The praise did something stupid to her insides. He had no idea.
They worked through mashing, Gray explaining while she pretended his proximity wasn't making her insane. Every time he reached past her, she fought not to reach for him. She was getting dangerously close to inappropriate at this point.
"These are the specialty ingredients just for this ale." He opened containers of cinnamon, nutmeg, and dried orange. "This is what makes it autumn in a mug."
The spices screamed to her magic. Or something did. There were vivid memories of earth and sun filling her head as she imagined the spices being transformed. Her grandmother's lessons echoed in her head. All brewing is alchemy, little seedling.
"Careful with the cinnamon," Gray warned, measuring precisely. "Too much—"
"Overpowers everything." Her hands shook taking the container. The spice pulsed against her palms, begging to bloom and become more.
Her magic had leaked. Just a few threads. Barely anything. But this was how it started. Small leaks become more until the power explodes and goes nova, leaving a crater twenty feet wide.
Just like her mother.
The thought sent ice through her veins even as the cinnamon exploded into pure autumn. Not visibly—but the essence deepened, concentrated into crystalline perfection that filled the air with impossible richness.
Gray went predator-still. "What did you just do?"
"What do you mean?” She shook her head. “Nothing."
"Bullshit." He moved closer, caging her against the kettle. Heat from the copper at her back, and heat from him at her front. "The air changed. The scent—"
"It's just steam—"
"Stop lying." Each word dropped lower, rougher. His wolf was close to the surface now, she could sense it. Could feel it in how he crowded her space, not quite touching but making her achingly aware of every inch between them.
He leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the side of her face, his breath fanning against her skin. “You don’t smell like anything I’ve encountered before. What are you?”
His question jerked her back to reality as shock flooded through her. “You don’t know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I did,” he barked at her.
For an instant, she considered blurting everything out. The idea of telling him every detail begged for release. Instead, she wriggled past him and away from his overwhelming presence. He was better off not knowing.
“Hey, boss.” One of the other men materialized next to them. “You want me to take over working with the new girl?”
“No,” Gray snarled. “I do not.”
The other worker’s eyes widened, but he said no more. He may have walked away, but it was a good reminder that they weren’t alone and this was not the time or place for this conversation. Gray must have agreed, because he turned his back on her and went back to work.
They continued brewing, but he watched her like a hawk.
When she stirred the wort, her control slipped again—magic threading through the liquid, changing, no, perfecting the recipe.
The difference was instantaneous. Color deepened to liquid gold that seemed lit from within.
The aroma exploded with impossible harmony, making her feel like she stood outside in the middle of the apple orchard as leaves of gold, red, and orange swirled around her.
"Fuck." Gray grabbed a sample, the liquid catching light like captured fire. He tasted it.
His eyes turned wolf-gold.
"This is impossible." He took another sip, his tongue sweeping his lower lip in a way that made her clench. "No one makes beer this perfect. Ever. It tastes like... Christ, it tastes like everything you could want from fall."
"Maybe you're just—"
He slammed his palms on either side of her. "What. Are. You?"
The heat from his body made her dizzy. Or maybe that was his scent-aroused male wolf who wanted answers almost as much as he looked like he wanted to bend her over his equipment.
A descendant of the original earth witches. The bloodline my coven would do anything to harness and control.
"Gray—"
Gray leaned closer, his breath hot on her neck. “Magic.” The word came out like an accusation. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A witch.” His eyes bored into hers, waiting for the lie. “What did you do to my beer?”
Her magic responded to his proximity, wanting to rise, to meet his challenge despite his obvious disgust. "You're one to talk. Your eyes just went gold. You have as much magic as I do."
“I’m not the one lying about what I am.”
“Aren’t you? I haven’t heard you say the words.”
He growled, actually growled, and her panties got damp. “My pack runs this island, I’ll give you that. But I’d bet you already knew that before you crossed that bridge. You, however, are the one here under false pretenses. A witch, using magic on my beer—”
“Making it better—”
His hand slammed the kettle beside her head, making her jump. “Making it dangerous. Witches are dangerous. You think I don’t know what your kind can do? The chaos you bring?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care what you meant.” He was close enough she could see his canines had lengthened slightly. “You’re going to tell me exactly what—”
The wort bubbled over.
Not a little—violently. Her leaked magic had been building, fermenting too fast, creating pressure that sent foam cascading over the edge.
"Shit!" Lily lunged for the valve, but Gray was already moving. They collided, her body slamming into his chest as they both reached for the controls. His arm banded around her waist, yanking her back as boiling liquid splashed where she'd been standing.
"The temperature—" she gasped.
"I've got it." But he didn't let go. His arm stayed locked around her, her back pressed to his front as he adjusted valves one-handed. She felt him hard against her backside, and she could feel his chest rumble with barely contained aggression.
They moved together as if they'd been partners for years—him turning valves while she managed pressure, anticipating each other's needs without words. The crisis passed, but neither moved.
"You could have been burned," he said against her ear.
"You protected me."
"My wolf—" He cut himself off, but his arm tightened. "This is too much. You're dangerous."
She turned in his hold, bad idea, terrible idea, because now they were chest to chest and his eyes were still gold-tinged. "I'm not trying to be. I just wanted to work."
"But you are." His free hand came up, fingers barely grazing her throat. “That’s why this won’t work.”
"Your wolf doesn't mind." The words slipped out, breathy and wanting.
His pupils blew wide. For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Or, perhaps, kill her. His hand slid from her throat to grip her braid, tugging just enough to make her gasp.
"The next time we’re alone," he growled, "you're going to tell me everything. Starting with why you're really here, and what you're running from."
"How do you—"
“I can smell fear on you, little witch. The kind that means someone hurt you.” His thumb brushed her pulse point, feeling it race. “But right now? You’re going to help me fix this batch before it explodes. And you’re going to keep your magic to yourself.”
“I can’t—”
“You will.” He released her abruptly, stepping back. The loss of heat made her sway. “Or I’ll personally throw you off this island. Witch or not. No matter how good you smell or what my wolf wants.”
How I smell?
He said nothing else as they worked in charged silence, her fighting to contain her magic while he radiated controlled violence. Every time she reached for equipment, he was there. Not quite touching but close enough for her to feel his heat. Watching. Waiting.
When she mentioned trying a different hop addition, he'd already been reaching for it. When he needed the thermometer, she had it ready. They moved around each other like a dance, professional precision at war with personal tension.
The batch, when finally transferred, was beyond perfect. Other workers stopped to stare at the impossible golden liquid that seemed to hold light. She heard whispers:
Never seen anything like it.
Smells like heaven.
What did Gray do?
That new girl's got magic hands.
Not just her hands. Her actual magic, twining with his expertise, to create something extraordinary.
"You’re finished for the day. Go," Gray ordered. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
She ran.
But she only made it to the second landing before he caught her, spinning her against the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head, his body close enough to feel the fury radiating off him.
"You're not leaving." Not a question.
"You told me to go—"
“To your room. Not to run away.” His eyes were fully gold now. “You should never run from a wolf. We cannot resist the chase. Now go upstairs slowly and be a good little witch. You are not running away. Not until I know what trouble you’ve brought to my territory.”
"I haven't brought anything—"
"Liar." The word was more growl than speech. "You reek of more magic than your own and fresh fear when we talk about it. Someone's coming for you."
Her heart stopped. "How—"
"Because I know what hunted looks like." His hand moved to her throat again, gentle but possessive. "And little witch, you're being hunted."
The truth of it hung between them, sharp as broken glass.
“I should throw you out,” he continued, thumb stroking her pulse. “You’re a witch. You’re danger walking. Every instinct I have says to get you off this island before you bring your coven’s trouble down on my pack. Before your magic does something we can’t control. But—”
“But?”
“My wolf wants you here. He wants you close.” His confession sounded torn from him. “He doesn’t care that you’re a witch. Doesn’t care about the danger. And that pisses me off more than your lies.”
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed below. Gray stepped back, but his eyes stayed gold.
"Tomorrow," he said. "I expect the whole truth. Or I let my pack decide what to do with you."
His threat kind of terrified her. One thing was for sure. Somehow, someway she was losing her mind.
She fled to her room, slamming the door and sliding down it. Through the floor, she heard the distillery running, could feel Gray's presence like a magnetic pull.
Coming here had started something she couldn’t stop. And her magic was completely fucked. It had gotten tangled up with wanting him, responding to his wolf like it was something essential. Something like–.
No. Absolutely not.
Her mother had thought she'd found her mate too. Right before her magic went nova and turned him to ash along with everything else in a twenty-foot radius. The original earth witch bloodline—too powerful for its own good, making the witches who wield it too dangerous to love.
A howl echoed across the island—not Gray, but another wolf. Then another. The pack called to each other as darkness fell.
Tomorrow he'd demand answers. And she'd have to decide—trust the wolf who made her magic sing, or run before her coven found her. Before she destroyed everything she touched.
Another howl split the night, and her magic rose to answer it.
Gray.