Chapter 11
ELEVEN
THEO
They arrived at the Siren’s Rest twenty minutes early, which was exactly twenty minutes too late.
Elder Sue Tidewell’s ancient Volvo was already parked in the gravel drive, along with a truck with Bartek’s Construction on the side, and what appeared to be a small caravan of support personnel. Or gossips. In Haven Shores, there wasn’t always a distinction.
The front porch was a chaos of activity.
He could see Dahlia setting up what looked like a pastry station—because of course she’d brought food, the woman couldn’t witness emotional events without providing snacks—while Junie appeared to be arguing with a seagull that had stolen her earring.
Cassia was conjuring a light breeze to keep the porch comfortable, and Narla stood apart, watching everything with those knowing dark eyes, candles already flickering on the railing beside her.
The friend group. Here for “moral support,” no doubt.
Beck practically bounced out of the truck, already delighted with the spectacle on the porch.
Theo didn’t answer because he’d spotted Avine through the parlor window and his brain had temporarily stopped working.
She was standing with her great-aunt, and even from here he could read the tension in her shoulders, the practiced evenness of her expression.
Sue had her hands on Avine’s arms—a gesture that looked like affection but was almost certainly assessment, magic reading magic—and Avine was enduring it with a patience that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else.
She’d dressed for battle. Dark jeans, a soft gray sweater that managed to look both comfortable and armored, her dark hair pulled back in a way that showed off the silver streaks she never bothered to hide. Professional. Contained. Ready for whatever the Elders threw at her.
She shouldn’t have to be ready. She should be able to restore her damn inn in peace.
But that wasn’t how Haven Shores worked, and they both knew it.
He climbed the porch steps, Beck trailing behind, and the gathered witches parted to let him through with expressions ranging from innocent (Dahlia) to amused (Junie) to openly calculating (Narla, whose candles flickered notably as he passed).
“Alpha.” Junie sketched an exaggerated bow, Glimmer the snake poking its iridescent head out from her red curls. “What a surprise. We definitely weren’t taking bets on how long until you showed up.”
Narla didn’t look up from her candles. “Emotional awareness is its own reward.”
Theo ignored them all and walked into the inn.
Sue Tidewell released Avine the moment he entered, turning to him with a smile that would have looked sweet on anyone who didn’t know her.
“Theodore! How lovely. I didn’t expect pack representation at our little welcome visit.”
“The pack has an interest in the inn’s stability.” He kept his voice neutral. “Given recent events.”
“Of course, of course. So responsible.” Sue’s smile widened fractionally, and Theo recognized the look of a puppet master filing away information for later. “My grandniece is lucky to have such attentive neighbors.”
Avine made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been suppressed murder.
“Great-aunt.” Her voice was carefully controlled. “You gave me two weeks’ notice about the inn sale. You couldn’t have mentioned the Elder Council would be visiting?”
“Oh, this was all very last-minute. The Council moves when the Council moves.” Sue patted Avine’s arm. “Besides, dear, you’ve been so busy. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”
The lie was so smooth it was almost art.
Avine’s gaze flicked to Theo—a flash of exasperation and gratitude—before she schooled her features back to neutral.
The front door opened behind them, and Eamon’s voice cut through the room like aged whiskey—smooth and sharp in equal measure.
“The innkeeper, I presume.”
Theo’s great-uncle moved like the predator he was—slowly, deliberately, with a presence that made rooms feel smaller.
He was well past eighty in human years, but age had only sharpened him.
White hair swept back from a face carved by time, pale eyes that missed nothing, and a stillness that made younger wolves instinctively lower their gaze.
Avine, to her credit, didn’t flinch.
“Elder Amell.” She offered a slight bow, formal but not subservient. “Welcome to the Siren’s Rest.”
Eamon studied her for a long moment, that assessing gaze taking her apart and putting her back together. Then he returned the bow, equally slight, and tension in Theo’s spine loosened.
Respect. Not acceptance, not yet, but acknowledgment that she was worth respecting.
“You activated wards that haven’t stirred in decades.” Eamon’s voice was flat. “The ley lines through town are still adjusting.”
“I signed a deed. The wards responded.”
“They did more than respond.” Eamon moved past her, examining the ward lines visible along the walls with an intensity that suggested he knew exactly what he was looking for. “Either you’re remarkably powerful, or remarkably dangerous.”
Theo stepped forward before he could stop himself. “Uncle—”
“Maybe both.” Avine’s chin lifted. “Is that a problem?”
The silence stretched. Then Eamon let out a low noise—half laugh, half concession.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He turned to Theo, lowering his voice to a pitch meant for pack ears only. “We’ll speak later.”
Before Theo could respond, the door opened again, and the chaos truly began.
Georgia Gentry slipped in like a shadow, all sleek panther grace and calculating assessment.
She circled the parlor once, taking in the restoration work, the ward lines, and—Theo noticed—the positioning of everyone present.
When she stopped in front of Avine, her pleasant smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“The last four owners were rejected by this place within a month. What makes you different?”
“I didn’t ask for its permission.”
Georgia’s lip twitched—approval or amusement, impossible to tell—before she drifted to join Sue near the fireplace, already murmuring words Theo couldn’t catch.
Bartek Arbor came through the door like a mountain deciding to visit, ducking to clear the frame. The tiger Elder was enormous even in human form, all broad shoulders and scarred hands and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite by a sculptor who’d given up on details.
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. His gaze went straight to the ceiling, tracking lines only he could see, and his scowl deepened.
“Your support beams need work.” He pointed at a spot near the kitchen doorway. “That one’s taking too much weight. And the foundation work from the flood—passable, but not to code.” He finally looked at Avine. “I’ll send my crew.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I—” Avine started.
“Tuesday.” Bartek was already moving toward the basement door. “I’ll need access to the lower levels.”
Theo caught Avine’s expression—gratitude and affront warring on her face—and felt a flicker of dark humor. Welcome to Elder management.
Isandro Holt arrived with all the warmth of a formal treaty negotiation. The lion Elder was impeccably dressed, silver-haired, and emanating the kind of old-blood skepticism that had kept coven-pack relations strained for a century.
“My son, the Mayor, sends his regards.” He addressed Avine with measured neutrality. “He’ll be monitoring the situation.”
The situation. A muscle jumped in Theo’s jaw.
“I look forward to meeting him.” Avine’s tone was perfectly polite. “When the inn is ready for guests, he’s welcome to inspect it personally.”
Isandro’s expression flickered—surprise that she’d offered rather than waited to be demanded. He nodded once, stiffly, and moved to stand with Georgia and Sue.
Then Bran Ursa arrived, and everything got loud.
“LITTLE WITCH!” The bear Elder’s voice boomed through the inn, rattling the chandelier.
He was massive, bearded, and beaming, and before anyone could react, he’d swept Avine into a hug that lifted her feet off the floor.
“Welcome to our shores! You smell like anxiety! Completely understandable given the circumstances!”
Avine produced a noise somewhere between a greeting and the sound of her spine compressing.
Theo moved without thinking. His hand found Avine’s back as he physically extracted her from Bran’s embrace, stepping between them with a possessiveness he’d examine later and probably regret.
“Bran.” He kept his voice level. “Perhaps let her breathe.”
The bear Elder looked between them, knowing warmth in his gentle eyes.
“Of course, of course. Apologies, little witch. I forget my strength.” His gaze dropped to where Theo’s hand still rested on Avine’s lower back, and his smile widened.
“The pack’s protective instincts are strong these days, I see. ”
Theo removed his hand.
Too slowly, judging by the way Junie cackled from the porch doorway.
“Fascinating.”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, and Orryn Vale materialized near the window with the casual disregard for physics that made fae so deeply unsettling. He was impossible to age—face unlined but ancient, pale eyes that held too much knowledge, a smile that promised nothing good.
“The tides are turning, innkeeper.” He circled Avine slowly, not quite touching but close enough to be invasive. “Best learn to swim.”
Avine refused to retreat. “Is that a threat or advice?”
Orryn’s smile widened. “Yes.”
He turned to Theo then, and his expression made Theo’s wolf go still and watchful.
“Interesting.” The fae’s voice dropped low enough that only Theo could hear. “I didn’t expect the surge to catch you.”
“It hasn’t.”
Orryn laughed—a sound like wind chimes in a storm, beautiful and wrong. “Keep telling yourself that.” He drifted away before Theo could respond, leaving behind the scent of autumn leaves and the uncomfortable certainty that he knew exactly what was happening between Theo and Avine.
The door banged open again, and chaos arrived in the form of Piprick Geare.
The gnome Elder was barely four feet tall and carried at least three different devices that were sparking, whirring, or emitting small puffs of colored smoke.
His white hair stood up in wild tufts, his spectacles were held with copper wire and optimism, and he was talking before he’d fully entered the room.
“—remarkable resonance pattern, truly remarkable, the ley line amplification alone suggests a power coefficient of at least—” He stopped, spotted Avine, and beamed with such genuine delight that it was almost disarming.
“The new wardkeeper! Your energy signature is magnificent! May I take readings? I’ve been developing a device that measures magical throughput, and your activation of the dormant lines created exactly the kind of data spike I needed to calibrate the—”
One of his devices exploded gently, showering them both with what appeared to be glitter.
“Ah. That one wasn’t ready.” He didn’t seem concerned. “Anyway, as I was saying—”
Avine’s expression had glazed over. Theo stepped closer to her, bending to murmur near her ear.
“He’s harmless. Brilliant, but harmless. Nod occasionally and he’ll run out of breath eventually.”
She turned her head, and their faces were inches apart. Her breath caught. His pulse stuttered. Piprick continued explaining resonance frequencies entirely unnoticed.
“I have no idea what he said.” Her voice was barely audible. “Coefficients?”
“Nobody does. Nod.”
“Right.” Challenge flickered in her expression. “Pack.”