Chapter Six
Wren
The front door swings open, no warning, no mercy. My heart jumps. Hot tea splashes over my skin, and for a split second, I’m ready to launch the mug straight at whoever just shattered my fragile peace.
A dark-haired woman steps in carrying a basket. She freezes when she sees me, then looks at Boone. “I knocked,” she says.
“No, you didn’t,” Boone replies.
“I thought about knocking.”
“That’s different.”
She grins.
She’s gorgeous, all sharp edges and restless energy, eyes too bright, smile too dangerous to trust. Trouble written in every line of her body.
Behind her, another woman slips in, softer around the edges, and a third follows, blonde hair twisted up like she couldn’t be bothered, arms full of what looks like a mountain of blankets.
The dark-haired one looks me up and down. “So you’re Wren.”
I hold the mug with both hands. “Depends who’s asking.”
“Talon,” she says. “Beta female. This is Raine, and that’s Iris.”
Raine wiggles her fingers, Iris gives me a smile that feels like sunlight. Their names echo in my head, legends whispered between packs—women who crawled through hell and clawed their way out, survivors of storms bigger than my own mess.
I straighten. “Hello.”
Talon’s gaze flicks to Boone. “We brought supplies.”
“I have supplies,” he says.
Raine looks around. “You have one throw blanket and the emotional warmth of a tax form.”
I choke on my tea while Boone glares at her. She beams, and I like her immediately.
Iris sets a basket on the table. “Food, toiletries, some clothes Peyton thought might fit, and extra blankets.”
Talon adds, “Also snacks.”
Raine leans toward me. “Important. Never trust a male who says he has supplies. They mean bandages, batteries, and one can of beans.”
Boone looks offended. “I have more than one can.”
“That’s worse somehow,” I say.
The women laugh. Boone mutters something about invasion of privacy but opens the basket to check out the bounty they brought.
Talon watches me closely, though not unkindly. “How are you holding up?”
I glance at Boone, who’s pretending not to listen.
The cabin feels crowded and hollow all at once. Their kindness scrapes against my nerves, too bright, too much. Kindness is always a test. It pries at the cracks, digs for the soft places, and I can feel everything inside me threatening to spill out.
“I’m great,” I say brightly. “I acquired sanctuary, breakfast, a fake mate, and a cabin with murder decor all before noon.”
Raine’s eyes sparkle. “Murder decor?”
I gesture toward the knives.
“I knew someone would appreciate the aesthetic,” she says.
Boone closes the basket harder than necessary. “They’re tools.”
“That’s what I said.” I sip my tea. “Murder tools.”
Iris laughs softly, then says, “Peyton asked us to help make the arrangement look believable before Ashstone starts sniffing around.”
My stomach sinks. “Already?”
Talon nods. “Their wolves are parked at the edge of territory. Caine has patrols watching them.”
The tea curdles in my gut. Dax is still here. Of course he is. I can see him now—polished boots, that smug, poisonous smile, already plotting how to tear me down in front of everyone who matters.
My mother is still in Ashstone. My brother, too. And I’m more worried about them than I would like to admit.
The room tilts, just a little. Boone shifts, closing the distance by a single step, and suddenly his scent is everywhere—pine, smoke, wolf, heat. My wolf strains toward him, hungry for something I can’t name. I clutch the mug like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Talon notices. Her expression gentles, but she doesn’t comment. “We need a few details.”
“What kind of details?” I ask.
Raine drops the blankets on the couch. “Fake courtship details. How you met. How long you’ve known. Why no one knew Boone had a secret almost-mate.”
Boone’s face goes blank. A delighted horror spreads through me.
“Oh,” I say. “This is going to be fun.”
“No,” Boone says.
“Yes,” Raine says.
“No,” Boone repeats.
Talon ignores him. “Your story has to be simple. Too many details create holes.”
I nod seriously. “Right. Simple. Boone saw me across a moonlit meadow and was overcome by passion.”
Boone makes a sound, and Iris bites her lip.
Raine points at me. “I love that.”
“No,” Boone says again.
“Fine,” I say. “He saw me across a reasonably lit parking lot and was mildly inconvenienced by attraction.”
Talon snorts while Boone looks at the ceiling like he’s praying for strength. I enjoy that gesture more than I should.
Iris pulls a small notebook from the basket. “Let’s try believable.”
We gather around the kitchen table, the women staking out their seats like generals plotting a siege.
Boone stands behind me, arms crossed, refusing to sit, like dropping his guard for even a second would cost him everything.
I try to look casual, but my nerves are screaming, and I know I’m not fooling anyone.
Talon cracks her knuckles and lifts her notebook. “All right, Wren. When did you and Boone meet?”
“Two months ago,” I say, deadpan.
Boone grunts. “Too long. Someone would’ve noticed.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Two weeks.”
Iris shakes her head. “Too short. No one believes Boone gets attached that fast unless he’s hiding a secret soft spot, and honestly, I’d pay to see that.”
Raine smirks. “Split the difference—one month.”
Talon scribbles something. “One month it is. Where?”
I grin. “Border patrol. He was out there looking for trespassers and found me, half-lost, probably about to get mauled by a cougar or eaten by a bush.”
Boone mutters, “Border patrol isn’t fucking romantic.”
Raine waves a hand. “Anything’s romantic if you add enough pining.”
“The only thing moonlit out there is the dump,” he replies.
I lean forward, all teeth. “Maybe I was lost. Or running. Or being chased by wolves ... oh, shit, right, I was. Your wolves.”
Everyone cracks up. Talon pounds the table. “Perfect. Boone, did you save her?”
Boone grumbles. “Told you to get off Katu land or I’d haul you back myself. You didn’t listen. You never fucking listen.”
I salute him with my mug. “That’s because your threats sound like bedtime stories.”
Iris jumps in, scribbling. “So, you met, you argued, you bonded over your mutual hatred of authority and bad coffee.”
Raine claps. “He couldn’t stop thinking about you after.”
Something in Boone’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say a word.
Iris’s voice goes soft. “That’s ... actually believable.”
Talon elbows her. “Not helping.”
A new voice cuts through the laughter—Peyton, from the doorway. “It’s believable because it’s fucking true.”
We all turn. Peyton leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking way too satisfied with herself.
I mutter, “Did you knock?”
She grins. “Thought about it.”
I shake my head. “Is that a Katu thing? Not knocking, just barging in?”
Raine shrugs. “We’re wolves. Privacy is a myth.”
Peyton’s expression sharpens. “Ashstone is demanding a formal meeting tomorrow. Dax is pitching a fit. He says this whole claim is a shitshow to get you out of the contract.”
I laugh, bitter. “He can’t prove it.”
“He doesn’t have to. He just needs enough doubt to get the council on his side.”
“So what’s the play, Luna?” Talon asks.
Peyton’s eyes find mine. “You and Boone need to sell this. Convince everyone before tomorrow. No fuckups.”
My voice is tight. “How public are we talking?”
“Pack gathering. Tonight. All eyes on you. If Boone’s mystery mate is just a story, Ashstone gets their pound of flesh.”
My hand clenches tight. I set the mug down before I drop it, fingers trembling. Boone moves in, close enough that his shoulder presses against mine, solid and warm, the only steady thing in the room.
“You all right?” he asks, low.
I don’t answer. I look at him, and for a second, he’s the only thing holding me together.
“If we don’t pull this off?” My voice comes out smaller than I’d like.
Peyton’s silence is answer enough. If we fail, Ashstone takes me, Dax wins, and I become property.
Boone’s looking at me, and I see something raw in his eyes—anger, fear, maybe a little hope.
“Then we sell it,” I say.
He nods. “Together.”
It isn’t trust. It isn’t hope. It’s just the raw, desperate promise that we’ll fight like hell, even if it kills us.
Raine grins, teeth flashing. “Oh, this is going to be a fucking circus.”
Boone and I, in perfect, miserable harmony. “No.”
Peyton just smiles, and I already hate that smile. It’s one that means she’s already three moves ahead and we’re all just catching up.