Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Tomorrow. The truth. Or I let my pack decide what to do with you.
Gray's threat from last night sat between them like a third presence in the brewhouse.
He’d barely begun working with her, and his control was already fraying.
Lily hadn't run. That was something. She'd shown up at 4:52 AM, eight minutes early, moving through her prep work with careful precision. But she wouldn't meet his eyes, and the cheerful humming from yesterday was gone.
The silence was driving him insane.
"The temperature is at 148," she said, her voice professionally neutral. "Ready for the protein rest."
"Hold it there for twenty minutes." He moved closer to check the gauge, catching her scent—lavender and earth and that wild something that made his wolf pace. Witch. And witches meant trouble. "You sleep at all?"
"Some."
Bullshit. He saw the shadows under her eyes, the way her hands trembled on the controls. She'd probably been up all night, planning escape routes or crafting better lies.
"Look at me."
She kept her eye on the temperature gauge. "I'm working."
"Lily."
Still nothing. Stubborn woman. He found it both infuriating and oddly endearing.
Gray reached past her to adjust a valve, deliberately crowding her space. She tensed but didn't move away. When his arm brushed hers, a charge sparked between them—instant, undeniable, and getting stronger every time they touched.
Her breath hitched. Finally, some reaction besides professional distance.
"You promised me answers," he said against her ear, low enough that the other morning shift workers wouldn't hear. "Don't think I've forgotten."
"After the morning batch." Her voice came out breathy. "Please. Just... let me work."
He should push. Should demand those answers now. But something in her voice, not quite broken but close, made him ease back.
"Fine. But we're talking soon. No more deflecting."
She nodded, already turning away to measure out the specialty grains. Her movements were precise but mechanical, missing yesterday's natural flow.
He hated it. Hated that his suspicion had stolen her easy confidence. His wolf whined, wanting to comfort her, which pissed him off even more. Coddling her would not help.
They worked in tense quiet, the only sounds the bubble of fermentation and hiss of steam.
But even through the awkwardness, their bodies moved in sync.
She'd reach for the thermometer just as he needed it.
He'd hand her ingredients before she asked.
Like their bodies knew a dance their minds were still fighting.
After an hour, she finally started humming.
Soft at first, probably unconscious. Some melody that seemed to rise from her bones rather than her throat. The sound made the morning light seem warmer, the copper glow brighter, and his wolf practically purr.
But that wasn’t all…
His wolf noticed something else before his brain could catch up.
The humming carried threads of her magic that he could almost see.
Bits of green and gold drifting through the steam like gossamer.
Whey they brushed against him, his wolf didn’t bristle the way it should have at magic not his own.
Instead, something in his chest shifted. Settled.
"What is that song?" he asked, voice rougher than intended.
She startled, as if she hadn't realized she was doing it. "Sorry. I'll stop."
"I didn't say stop." The words came out before he could catch them. "It's... nice."
Color rose in her cheeks. "My grandmother sang it while brewing. Said it helped the beer know what it wanted to become."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" She looked at him, those green eyes holding a challenge. "You talk to your equipment. I've heard you. 'Come on, girl, just a little hotter.' Like the still is a living thing."
"That's different."
"How?"
He didn't have an answer. Because maybe it wasn't different. They both seemed to understand brewing was more than science—it was art and instinct and a little bit of magic, even without actual supernatural involvement.
"Keep humming," he said gruffly. "But don't think it gets you out of our conversation."
A tiny smile tugged at her lips—the first he'd seen today. His wolf wanted to lick it and get a taste of her happiness.
Jesus, get a grip.
She returned to measuring hops, that melody starting up again. Northern Brewer for bittering, Cascade for aroma. Her hands moved with more confidence now, and he watched them. Delicate but strong, coaxing perfection from simple ingredients.
What would those hands feel like on his cock? Delicate and strong, coaxing a different kind of perfection—
"Shit!" Lily lunged for the kettle. "It's boiling over!"
Gray moved on instinct, reaching around her to adjust the flame while she managed the foam. Her back pressed against his chest, her ass cradled against his hips, and fuck, his cock went from interested to granite in seconds.
She had to feel him hard against her, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed back, a tiny movement that might have been accidental but made him bite back a growl.
They got the boil under control, but neither moved. Her breathing had quickened, and when she turned her head slightly, he saw her pulse racing in her throat.
"Gray," she whispered.
"Don't." He stepped back abruptly, needing distance before he did something idiotic like bend her over the kettle and discover if she was as wet as she smelled. "Check the pH levels."
She nodded, moving away on unsteady legs. Losing her warmth left him aching.
"Well, well. Didn't know we were running a dating service now."
Gray spun to find Damien, lead Alpha of the three brothers who ran the pack, leaning against the doorframe with knowing eyes. Shit. How long had he been watching?
"Just training the new hire," Gray said evenly.
"Is that what we're calling it?" Damien's attention shifted to Lily, who'd gone rigid by the testing station. His nostrils flared slightly, and Gray knew the exact moment Damien identified what she was. The Alpha’s eyes sharpened, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly into something more guarded.
"You must be the one turning our beer into liquid gold. "
"I'm just following the recipes—"
"No one follows recipes that well." Damien moved into the brewhouse with the casual authority of an apex predator. "The tourists can't get enough. The word is out and the line is down the sidewalk this morning."
Lily shot Gray a panicked look. He stepped closer to her, not quite blocking Damien's approach but making his position clear.
Damien noticed. Of course he did. His eyes sharpened with interest.
Gray frowned. “That’s not possible. She only started helping. None of the beer she touched will be available to customers for weeks.
Damien ignored him, all his attention focused on her.
"I'm Damien, by the way. My brothers and I run this island." He held out his hand to Lily. "And you are?"
"Lily Mitchell." She shook his hand carefully, but Gray saw Damien's eyes narrow slightly at the contact. "I'm temporarily helping with the festival rush."
"Hmm." Damien studied her with the intensity that made him a good Alpha—and a dangerous one. "Interesting timing, showing up right when we need help. And interesting... qualities as well."
Gray's wolf stirred. Damien was fishing, sensing there was more to her than what he could see.
"She's got brewing experience," Gray said firmly. "That's what matters."
"Is it?" Damien's smile was all teeth. "Is that why you're standing between us like she needs protecting? And why your scent is all over her? Or why your wolf is about two seconds from challenging me?"
Fuck. Gray forced his wolf back, but it was harder than it should be. The need to protect Lily from any perceived threat, even his own Alpha, ran bone deep.
"I should check the other kettle," Lily said quickly, trying to escape.
"Stay." Damien's voice carried Alpha command, though he kept it somewhat gentle. "I'm not here to interrogate you. Just wanted to meet the person who's got my best brewer tied in knots."
"I haven't—"
"You have." Damien's expression softened. "And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Gray's been alone too long. But secrets, Miss Mitchell? Secrets in a pack are dangerous. It causes unrest."
Gray winced. He knew exactly what Damien was referring to.
Three years since Ash died, Gray thought, the reminder hitting like a punch to the gut. And all that time existing without really living, and now this woman was making him feel things he'd buried with his brother.
His Alpha had every right to be concerned.
Lily's hand moved unconsciously to her wrist, to that crescent scar. "I'm not trying to cause trouble."
“No. But you’re not entirely human either, are you?
There’s something different about you that makes our beer sing and has Gray ready to fight his own Alpha.
” Damien kept his voice conversational, but Gray heard the steel underneath.
“A witch.” Damien’s voice lost its casual warmth.
His gaze cut to Gray, sharp and assessing.
“And from the way you’re positioning yourself, I’d say your wolf has already made its choice. ”
Gray’s jaw clenched but he didn’t respond.
Damien studied Lily for a long moment. “What coven?”
“I’d rather not—”
“That wasn’t a request.” He pushed more Alpha command into his words. She met his eyes, refusing to submit despite the pressure.
“Greenwood.”
“Never heard of it. Where?”
“Southeast.”
“And they know you’re here?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed at the ‘yet.’ He looked at Gray. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
“Because it doesn’t look like it. It looks like your wolf is making decisions your brain hasn’t caught up to.” Damien crossed his arms. “Witches mean coven politics. Blood feuds. Complications we don’t need during festival season with tourists everywhere.”
“I can handle it,” Gray said.