Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lily was checking the morning's first batch when she spotted two men through the distillery window, standing on the street and staring at the woods behind the building.
At first, she didn't think much of it. People looked at the trees all the time.
The fall colors were stunning. But these guys had been there for several minutes now, and they weren't admiring the leaves.
One of them crouched down near the tree line, running his hand over the ground like he was looking for something.
The other held his phone up, slowly scanning it across the forest.
Festival crowds walked past them, laughing and carrying bags, but the men didn't even glance their way. Just kept studying those woods. Their intensity made her skin crawl.
Lily's stomach twisted. She reached out with her senses, checking for that familiar hum of coven magic, but there was nothing. These men had nothing to do with her coven.
So, what were they looking for?
"Problem?" Gray's voice came from right behind her, close enough that she felt his warmth against her back. That pine and amber scent hit her, the same one that had filled her head yesterday in the shower.
She shook off the thought and pointed toward the window. "Those two. There’s something off about them. They aren't here for the festival."
Gray went still beside her. Not the way someone freezes when startled, but the way a predator does when it locks onto prey. His nostrils flared slightly as he scented the air.
"Ryker," he said without looking away from the window. "Check that our inventory counts are updated. All of them."
It sounded like normal brewery business, but Ryker's expression sharpened. "Want me to verify with our suppliers?"
"Wouldn't hurt."
Something unspoken passed between them. Ryker disappeared into the back, already pulling out his phone. He wasn’t calling suppliers, Lily would bet. Was he warning someone?
The two strangers split up on the street. One headed toward the general store. The other walked straight toward the distillery.
Shit.
"I need to check inventory," Lily said, but Gray caught her arm before she could move. Heat spread from where his fingers gripped her, mixing danger with desire.
"You're shaking."
She hadn't realized. Her hands trembled in his hold, her body recognizing a threat even if she couldn't name exactly what it was.
The distillery door chimed and they both looked up. The stranger entered with an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze swept the room, logging exits, workers, and the stairs leading up. When he found her, his attention lingered just a second too long.
"Beautiful operation," he said to Gray, though he kept watching Lily. "Heard you make the best autumn ale in the Pacific Northwest. Is there something special in the water here that makes it different?"
Gray shifted, putting himself between Lily and the stranger. The protective movement sent heat through her belly.
"Just traditional brewing methods and a skilled crew. Nothing special."
Shaw emerged from behind the fermentation tanks. Gray caught his eye, just a flicker, but Shaw's shoulders straightened. He moved to the window, casual as anything, but Lily recognized someone going on guard when she saw it.
"Funny." The stranger pulled out his phone, pretending to check messages while clearly taking photos.
"The locals say it's magical. That there are long lines every day.
People driving hours for a taste. And I noticed some unusual botanical growth around the property.
A few flowers blooming out of season and vines growing faster than they should.
Thought you might have found a special ingredient. "
Gray's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "It’s the Pacific Northwest. Everything grows well here. And of course, our ale recipes are also exemplary, but they are proprietary. We don’t share.”
"Some things grow too well." The stranger's smile stayed pleasant. "Wildlife too. Wolves, I hear. Big ones."
The temperature in the room dropped. Every pack member in the brewery went still, not frozen, but ready. The air itself changed, charged with sudden tension that made Lily’s power prickle under her skin.
Gray's expression never wavered, but something passed between him and Shaw. The younger wolf slipped out the back door without a word.
"Tourists love their stories," Gray said.
"Some stories are true.” The stranger’s smile widened. “Especially about predators that shouldn't exist anymore. I'll take a flight of your autumn ales. For research."
Gray nodded to Ryker, who'd returned from his call. They shared a look that communicated volumes. Ryker moved with too much control as he poured, each motion careful and precise.
"I need to get something from upstairs," she said, feeling desperate to get away from whatever this was. Her voice managed to come out steady despite the churning in her stomach.
Gray caught her wrist as she passed, thumb stroking her pulse point. To the stranger, it probably looked casual. To her, it felt like a brand. "Don't go far."
She nodded and then fled upstairs, skin hot where he'd touched her. Behind her, she heard the stranger ask about seasonal patterns and wildlife management with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world and was prepared to take it to get his answers.
The hallway upstairs was quiet, but she could hear voices drifting up from below. She paused at the landing, not quite hiding but not visible either.
Through the walls and floorboards, Gray's voice came through, low and controlled.
"—same questions they asked before Ash died. Wildlife. Patterns. Pretty much anything out of the ordinary. And now they're noticing the botanical anomalies."
"Could be a coincidence," Ryker said.
"When has it ever been a coincidence?" Gray's voice carried a sharp edge. "They're hunting again. The question is whether this group knows for sure what they're looking for."
"The enhanced beer brought attention," another voice said—Shaw, maybe. "And if they're seeing unusual plant growth—"
"The beer's not the problem. Neither is the growth." Gray's certainty sent warmth through her chest. He was defending her.
"Damien and his brothers need to know," Ryker said. "This could affect the whole pack."
"Already done. They were alerted as soon as you made that call to security." Gray paused. "We keep to our normal protocols…for now. Boring island. Ordinary beer. Nothing interesting to see here."
"What about the new—" Shaw started.
"She stays." Gray's tone left no room for argument. "Anyone have a problem with that?"
Silence.
"She makes him less of an ass," Ryker said finally. "I vote she stays too."
"This isn’t a democracy," Gray snarled, but there was warmth threaded through it.
The pack members dispersed, their voices fading. But Gray remained below for a moment, then his footsteps sounded on the stairs. She retreated to her room just as he reached the top.
He knocked softly. "Lily?"
She opened it to find him filling the frame, his bright eyes darkened with concerns that had nothing to do with the strangers.
"They're gone for now," he said. "But they'll be back."
"Who are they?"
"Hunters, probably. Humans that know supernaturals exist and who think shifters should be extinct." His jaw clenched. "We lost people to their kind before. My brother—" He cut himself off, pain flickering across his face before he locked it down. “Doesn’t matter. The point is they’re dangerous.”
"I'm sorry," she said, meaning it even as she tried to process his honesty. Seeing the grief flash across his face made her chest ache.
"It was three years ago. We thought we were done with this.
" He ran a hand through his dark hair, making it stand in ways that made her fingers itch to smooth it down.
"But somehow they keep coming back and asking their asinine questions.
They notice anything out of the ordinary.
Like the wild plant growth around the distillery, that's new. That's you."
"You think I brought them here?"
"No." He stepped closer but stayed in the doorway. "I think they were always going to come back. But now I have more to protect."
The possessiveness in his voice pooled heat between her thighs despite the danger hanging over them.
"Gray, I—"
"We need to be careful. Both of us." His hand came up as if he might touch her face, then dropped. "The pack knows how to handle hunters. We'll make the island ordinary. But you'll need to hold back your magic for a while."
"I think I can do that." At least she hoped she could.
"And you'll need to stay close. Where I can—where we can protect you."
His phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression darkening.
"The Alphas want a meeting. All senior pack members." He looked torn between duty and what was happening between them. "I have to go. Now."
"Don’t worry about me. I'll be fine."
"Lock the door," he said, his voice rougher than before. "Don't go out alone. If you see either of those men—"
"I know how to hide." The words came out before she could stop them.
His eyes sharpened. "Do I want to know how many times you’ve been through something like this, little witch?"
"No." She didn't elaborate, and he didn’t push. Yet.
He leaned closer, breath warm against her ear. "We'll talk when I get back. About the hunters and how I will keep you safe. About..." He paused. "Everything."
Then he was gone, his footsteps quick on the stairs.
She locked the door as instructed and stood there for a moment, processing everything. Hunters. The pack. Gray's brother who was dead because of people like those men. And she was supposed to just sit here and wait?
Through the window, she watched Gray stride toward the trees where the Alphas apparently waited. The stranger from the distillery sat at the coffee shop across the street now, typing steadily on his laptop. But his eyes kept tracking Gray's movement. Cataloguing. Assessing. Hunting.
She needed information. A plan. Some way to protect herself that didn’t rely entirely on wolves she’d known for such a short time.
She wandered into the hallway, restless energy making her pace. Something about the layout of this place had been bothering her. The geography that didn't quite make sense. The way Gray's scent seemed strongest near that door marked "Private."
She'd figured it was storage. Brewing supplies, maybe, or old equipment. The shared bathroom had a second door on the opposite wall, and she'd assumed the men accessed their quarters from somewhere else in the building.
Maybe there was a back exit she didn't know about. Another way out if those hunters came back.
Her hand was on the doorknob before she could second-guess herself.
Gray's scent hit her like a wave when she opened the door, concentrated and intimate in a way the brewery floor never was. This wasn't storage like she’d thought. This was a… living room.
There was leather furniture worn soft with use.
Brewery documents scattered on a coffee table.
A flannel shirt tossed over a chair back, Gray’s flannel, the one he’d worn yesterday.
And giant windows overlooking the harbor and the bridge, giving the men a bird’s eye view of everyone coming and going from the island.
She moved further inside. Through the kitchen archway, she could see a single mug drying beside the sink. No stack of dirty dishes in the sink. No food containers or trash left on the counter. Just the one cup, placed neatly on a towel to dry.
Huh.
She kept walking. Bathroom on the left, her bathroom, seen from the other side. A single towel hung on this side of the door.
What was with all the lone—
She reached the end of the hall and came to a stop in the doorway of the bedroom.
What the hell?
There was only one bed in this room. A big one. The sheets were rumpled on one side only, the pillow still dented from his head.
There were boots sitting by the closet, Gray’s boots in fact, and inside the open closet she spied a rack of clothes that looked like more of his things.
This wasn’t—
She stood frozen as the pieces rearranged themselves in her head. The single mug. The single towel. The single bed.
No one else lived here. This wasn’t employee housing. Never had been.
She was living in his private space.
He'd lied to her.
Her stomach dropped through the floor.
"No." The word came out sharp and hurt more than she expected.
"That son of a bitch."
All those nights she'd touched herself thinking about him, he'd been close enough to hear. All those mornings she'd traced protection wards, she'd been warding his personal home without realizing it. The embarrassment alone made her want to crawl into a hole.
He'd watched her settle in that first night, knowing she thought it was employee quarters. He’d let her believe she had independence, privacy, autonomy. When really, she'd been nesting in his territory.
Her hands shook, anger and humiliation mixing until she couldn’t tell which was worse.
What else had he lied about? The job? His reasons for hiring her? Had he been laughing at her this whole time? Or did the pack have plans for her…
She backed out of his room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. In her room, his guest room, damn, she'd been so stupid. She paced like a trapped animal.
Employee quarters. He'd called it that with a straight face. She’d actually thanked him for giving her a place to stay, and the whole time...
Through the window, she could see the mainland in the distance. She could pack right now. Be off this island before he got back from his meeting.
But the stranger still sat at the coffee shop. Watching. Waiting. And beyond him, somewhere out there, thirteen witches were still coming for her.
She was trapped. Between hunters looking for wolves, a coven searching for her, and a mangy wolf who'd lied. Right to her face.
Her fingers traced the doorframe where she'd carved the protective sigils into the wood. She'd warded his home. Made it safer for him and left herself completely vulnerable to him while he deceived her.
The anger built with each passing minute. How dare he? How dare he make her feel safe, make her feel wanted, make her feel like she belonged here, when it was all based on a lie? And the worst part? Part of her had liked living here. Now even that was ruined.
By the time his footsteps sounded on the stairs hours later, she'd worked herself into a fury that made her magic crackle beneath her skin.
She stepped into the hallway, arms crossed, ready for answers.
Gray Moore had some explaining to do.
And then she was getting the hell off this island, hunters or no hunters. Because she'd rather face what was out there than stay with someone who'd played her for a fool.
The key turned in his lock.
Time to make him talk.