Chapter 2 #2
He got out and marched toward her, still in the same jeans and worn hiking boots from earlier.
Same shirt that might’ve been white once upon a time, but had evolved into a color that was somewhere between grey and blue.
The shirt itself wasn’t special, but the muscles under it were.
Wolves were all built, more or less. Rex was definitely more.
Her list of adjectives for late people dissolved into a list of adjectives that would have scandalized her grandmother. Maybe even her mother. Hell, it was half-scandalizing her....
“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Something came up with the pack. Had to fix it.”
“It’s okay,” she said smoothly. “I just got here myself.”
Liar. Slutty, horny liar.
He looked at her—really looked. His nostrils flared a little, and the shadow of a smile flickered and disappeared. Could wolves read minds? Oh, that would be so bad...
And to make things worse, the pull to him grew even stronger now that he was near.
He towered over her, and she had to tilt her face up to meet his. His inhale was sharp. This time, his jaw flexed.
Me too, bro, she thought. Me too.
She didn’t say it. Obviously. But it was nice to know—guess—wish—that she wasn’t the only one going crazy. She merely tightened the straps on her backpack and squared her shoulders. “Shall we? It’s a decent hike.”
He nodded, took a step, then stopped and gestured for her to start toward the trail.
And just like that, they plunged into the forest, possibly both pretending they weren’t feeling the exact same gravitational nonsense.
They didn’t talk much once they hit the trail. Not that she expected it. This big, hot wolf did not strike her as a chatterbox. And despite what most people believed, neither was she. She could talk, absolutely, but she could enjoy a good quiet just as much.
So in silence they marched.
Worth noting, the silence was nice. Not awkward, heavy, or crammed with the need to be filled.
It left room for the wind moving through fir needles, the distant rush of water of Nowhere Creek, and the steady rhythm of their boots on packed earth.
The forest was chatting enough; both of them were content to listen.
And it was amazing, anyway. June in these woods felt lush in the unapologetic way only early summer could manage.
Towering firs stretching upward like they had nowhere better to be.
The air was cool in the shade, warm where sunlight filtered through in shifting gold.
Zoe adjusted the straps of her pack and inhaled deeply.
Pine sap. Damp soil. A faint mineral tang from the water as they drew closer to it.
Rex walked beside her, boots steady, stride unforced. He moved like he belonged here, like the forest was not scenery but an extension. Which, she guessed, in his case, it probably was. Pack territory must be stitched into his bones.
She was just a human. There was nothing magical about loving the forest besides, well, loving it. And that, she suspected, was exactly why the silence worked.
They were both at home here, and when you were home, you didn’t need to perform.
“You good?” he asked at a fork in the trail when they paused for water.
“Mm-hm. First cluster should be another half mile.”
He nodded once. No commentary, Alpha posture, or subtle correction. He accepted that she knew where she was going and did not require assistance navigating a trail she’d probably walked as many times as he’d patrolled it.
It was... refreshing.
She’d been on date-hikes before. Men insisted on explaining elevation changes and confidently misidentified plants she’d harvested for years. One time, a dude had, memorably, described moss to her as “basically nature’s carpet,” as though she hadn’t spent a decade working with it.
Not Officer Growly here.
And really, wasn’t that a perfect name for him?
Officer Growly. She absolutely could not call him Officer Hotty.
Could she? Possibly not, but she also wasn’t sure how to address him.
“Hey, what do I call you?” she asked as they stepped over an overgrown root that served as a natural stair.
“Officer? Alpha? I’m not sure about that one because technically, you’re not my Alpha since I’m not a werewolf.
Or are you everyone’s Alpha?” She sighed lightly.
“Despite the time I’ve spent in this town, I don’t know much about wolves’ etiquette. Werewolves, that is.”
He huffed something close to a laugh. “Technically, it’s Alpha if you’re part of the pack and have submitted to me, which you haven’t. And I’m a field ranger, not an officer.” He shrugged. “Rex will do.”
“Yes, yes,” she said with a nod.
Because he had said submitted to me, and her brain had short-circuited.
Submitted.
Holy cow.
The word bounced around in her skull and started applying for residency.
Kinda hot. Scorching. Though she had never submitted to anyone in her life and wasn’t sure what that even entailed.
Surely not just... naked hierarchy. Of course not.
He had been dead serious. It must have been a structural thing, a pack thing. An entirely non-bedroom thing.
Disappointing, but alright.
She cleared her throat. “Rex it is.”
The forest dipped slightly, and a sun-dappled basin revealed itself just off the path. They both veered that way instinctively, careful with their steps, minimizing damage to underbrush and wild growth.
And there it was, a yarrow patch.
Zoe crouched immediately, work-mode activated.
The flowers spread in soft white constellations, delicate umbels lifted toward the light.
No yellowing at the base. No curling in the leaves.
She brushed her fingers along a stem, assessing structure.
“Growth is even,” she murmured. “No necrotic spotting.”
Rex stepped closer but didn’t hover.
“Hold this, please.” She handed him an open specimen bag without looking up.
He took it automatically.
She pinched a leaf between careful fingers and flipped it over. Underside clean. No mites clustered along the veins. No mildew ghosting the surface. She glanced at him. “See any distortion?”
He knelt, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. “No. Stem looks strong.”
She nodded once. “Right.”
She clipped a single stem and slid it into a labeled bag.
Heroically, she ignored the way his gaze followed her movements with an intensity she absolutely refused to analyze.
She would not look at him looking at her.
That looked suspiciously like a spiral she was not ready for.
“Root stability looks normal,” she added, pressing gently into the soil.
“Moisture’s balanced. No unusual compaction. ”
“So this one’s fine.”
“This one’s fine, as far as I can tell.”
The relief that crossed his face was subtle but unmistakable. Almost personal. She understood that.
The second site sat farther upslope, where sunlight hit harder, and the soil ran rockier. Lupine this time, tall purple spires swaying lightly.
She walked the perimeter before kneeling. Leaf angle. Color saturation. Pollinator activity–a bee drifted lazily between blooms. That was good. She sighed her apology when the bee moved off, possibly because of them.
The soil here was drier, as expected, but not depleted.
“Can you brush the vine back from the base?” she asked, pointing to where creeping growth tangled around the stem.
Rex crouched and gently shifted aside low vine and loose bark fragments. His hands were large, capable, and unexpectedly careful. She watched. She watched so hard. “Don’t pull the root,” she said before she could stop.
“I know,” he replied, equally mild.
She smiled despite herself and returned to the task. She dug carefully, exposing part of the root structure without damaging it. Thick. Healthy. No blackening or rot. She sat back on her heels. “This one’s good too.”
“Then what are we missing?” he asked, scanning the rocky ground as if the answer might be lying there waiting for them.
“I don’t know.” She sealed another sample and labeled it neatly. “Yet. But I’ll be damned if I let something happen to the forest.”
She felt his eyes on her before he spoke. “I’m sure you can source from somewhere else, if it comes to that.”
She stopped writing, looked up straight into his dark eyes. “This isn’t about my business, Rex. It’s about the forest. If something’s wrong with it, if something’s hurting it, then it’s my duty as a human being to try to help. And that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
He went still.
Very still.
Dark eyes on her, the pull between them tightening. Then he nodded. Grave. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”
As if she had just sworn something.
As if he had, too.
She stood, brushing dirt from her knees. He rose with her, instinctively closer than before.
“We keep looking?” he asked.
“Yes. There are a few more spots I want to check.”
He nodded again.
And together, they moved deeper into the trees.