Chapter 4
Fire season officially started mid-April in Washington State, but in reality, it was more of a vibe you caught when everything got a little too crunchy.
They weren’t there yet this year; the forest looked lush and green, but Rex knew better.
One lightning strike, one idiot with a cigarette.
One spark in the wrong patch of deadfall, and the whole ridge would go up like it had been waiting for it.
Owen finally glanced at him. “What is up, Rex? And I’m not talking about the weather.”
Damn the boy. He had a connection with the entire pack, but with Owen, his Beta, that went deeper, closer to telepathy. Deep enough to be a pain in his ass right now. “What do you mean?”
Owen just stared.
Rex brought the Pulaski down on a dense patch of brambles with unnecessary violence.
Owen raised an eyebrow.
“The fuel load is wrong this year.”
“Nice try.”
He looked around, reached deep into himself where the call of the forest sang to him. Where it used to, at least. Because there was a... disturbance now, something that quieted it, and not knowing what that was drove him insane. “It feels different.”
“The forest?”
Amongst other things. “Yeah.”
Owen nodded. “There are parts that feel distant. Disconnected. We should talk with Aryon and Elara. If something is wrong with the forest, they might know.”
“I did. Nothing came up. They are exhausted, but it’s not unexpected this close to Letha.”
Owen sat on a fallen log and took a long drink from his water bottle. “So it’s just us?”
“Us, the animals, and one human.”
A human who had crowded his mind way too much.
“Zoe Greenwood?” Owen asked.
“The one and only.”
“Didn’t you go with her to pick plants or something last week?”
“I did.”
Pause. Then Owen lifted his head slightly and stretched his palms up, sporting a look that said, I’m waiting. “And?”
“And nothing. I took her, she got plants, and I assume she tested them. End of story.”
“You’re telling me you, you, didn’t follow up with the only other person who acknowledges something is happening. That’s sus as hell, bro.”
“It’s really not.”
Owen just looked at him.
“I... deprioritized talking to her. I’ve been busy.”
He’d rather take a punch than expand on that. Obviously, Owen picked up on it. “Oh, that’s what we’re calling it now?”
“Calling what? There’s nothing to call. Between—” his jaw tightened, “—Alpha duties, ranger work, Letha making so many shifters crazy, and the pack being chaotic, I have been busy.”
“So you’re avoiding her. Got it.” Owen’s tone was casual, but the edge was there. “Which lends itself to the next question: why?”
The growl was out before he could even think of containing it, low, vicious, and laced with Alpha compulsion, meant to bend the strongest will and scare the bravest heart. And it slid over his Beta’s indifference like the tiniest ripple of water.
“Really?” Owen looked at him, closed his water bottle, and got to his feet.
“Look, man, I don’t know what is happening with her, but whatever it is, you need to stick it way up your ass and leave it there.
I’ll go talk to her if it’s such a problem for you, but if she’s involved, if she’s fighting on our side, she’ll be around. ”
He knew. He fucking knew. He’d ghosted a necessary follow-up because he got rattled by something he didn’t understand, and now Owen was poking at the professional consequence. Ashamed, mad, and worried, he closed his eyes to center himself.
He was the Alpha. His pack depended on him. His forest depended on him. He couldn’t be stupid.
So he wouldn’t be.
He stood. “I’ll go talk to her tonight, before she closes her shop.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind going.”
“No. No. I’ll go.”
And the sudden lightning bolt of excitement terrified him like few things ever had.
THE BELL OVER THE DOOR jingled while she was rearranging samples on a side table. Her back was to the door, but her hand froze midair.
She knew.
She didn’t know how she knew, only that as soon as the door swung open, her senses snapped into high alert, every nerve started humming. For him. Rex.
Okay, Zoe. Deep breath. You decided this reaction was ridiculous, remember? Especially after he didn’t show up all week. So not only ridiculous, but also an avalanche of unreturned, unrequested feelings of horniness.
Yeah, well, all that very reasonable, smart internal debate she had had—several times—since the hike day evaporated the second she saw him.
He was in his uniform, worn from a day in the forest. Dirt streaked the knees; one sleeve was rolled once, the other twice.
The sun had kissed his face, softening the darkness of his eyes and making them seem lighter.
His attention locked on her, zeroed in on her, and her stomach did a somersault she couldn’t stop.
She couldn’t even pretend not to notice the space he claimed, not just physically in the room, but the way his presence made the air bend around him.
The easy confidence of his stance, the authority of someone used to being listened to, the faint scent of outside and dirt clinging to him—it all wrapped around her and twisted her tight and warm and completely out of control.
“Hey,” he said easily, a little growled.
The sound brushed on her skin and called a shiver.
“Oh, hello.” She turned back to the table, pretending to finish whatever she was doing, her hands suddenly clumsy and nervous.
He walked closer. It didn’t matter that she didn’t turn immediately; she knew where he was.
She felt him. She tried to focus on anything else: the lavender bundles, the jars of pressed leaves, the tiny golden flecks of pollen in the sunbeams. It didn’t work.
Her body leaned toward him before she even realized it, every part of her pulled to him and impossible to ignore.
She resisted the urge to just drop everything and go to him. “I’ll be with you in just one second,” she said, hoping it sounded light and professional.
By some miracle, she didn’t knock anything over. Every jar stayed upright, every sample intact. But now... she had to turn and face him. Adult. Professional. Right?
Right.
She did. Plastered a smile on her face, clasped her hands at her waist. “What can I do for you?”
So many things flashed in his eyes. She could have sworn some of them were hot, wet, and a little unhinged, but then he shifted, just slightly, and she thought she might have been imagining it all over again.
“Did you have a chance to test the plants?” he asked, and though she heard the professionalism in his tone, it barely masked some other weight beneath.
“Of course. I found the results interesting, if not exactly clarifying.”
“Have dinner with me.”
She stopped. She’d not seen that one coming, and neither had he, judging by the look of complete astonishment on his face.
“To talk about the data,” he said quickly, swallowing, as though he hadn’t meant to say that exactly.
“I assume there’s quite a lot to talk about, and—” He swallowed again.
“—it’s almost closing time, and you might have clients and.
... So. We can have something to eat and go through those. ”
She nodded. That was it. All she could manage.
“Alright, then.” He nodded back. “We can, um, meet up at the pub? Seven? Seven-thirty,” he corrected, “I have some straightening up to do—dumb pack issue.”
“Okay.”
He nodded again.
She nodded back, matching his, like some ridiculous silent choreography.
He opened his mouth to say something else, paused, closed it, and left.
She watched his big frame stride to his truck, swing in, and drive off, feeling suddenly very small in the space he had just occupied. The tension and relief twisted into something else entirely.
Well, then.
She was about to have dinner with Rex. A very professional dinner. To talk about something important to both of them.
Not a date.
She chuckled at herself. Why would she even think it could be a date? Nothing in him screamed date-energy.
Liar.
“Shut up,” she muttered to herself.
But for the rest of the afternoon, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d wear.
SHE WORE JEANS. THEY were going to the town’s pub—informal.
And if she picked the pair with the flattery rhinestones running on the side of her legs and a white top that showed off her boobs and a tan line, so what?
It was Wednesday night, people totally dressed up a little on a Wednesday night.
She let her hair down, mostly because she didn’t have it in her to fight with it, and put on just a little makeup.
A little blush here, some mascara there.
Nothing dramatic. Just enough to look like she hadn’t just rolled out of the shop covered in dried leaves and root dust. Boots, but she always needed a few inches anyway.
‘Cause not a date, but a very serious work meeting.
Very serious.
Extremely serious.
She was at the pub at exactly 7:29.
Not many cars were in the parking lot. Good.
Quiet made for easier talking, and that’s what they were going to do.
Talk. Plan. Be rational adults who were absolutely not aware of the other’s chest hair, mouth, or hands.
She waited by the entrance, arms folded, then unfolded, then folded again because she didn’t know what to do with them.
And sighed when she saw his monstrous truck pull in and park. Ten minutes late.
She checked her phone even though she had already checked it twice. Yep, ten minutes. That was irksome. While not straight out bad, it was disrespectful-adjacent. She could be annoyed about that.