Chapter 18 Theo
EIGHTEEN
THEO
The Wolf Moon Brewery’s back room smelled like hops and conflict.
Theo leaned against the massive oak table that dominated the space, arms crossed, watching the three men gathered around the scattered reports and maps.
Through the thick walls, the muffled sounds of the taproom filtered in—pool balls cracking, a too-loud laugh, the steady thump of music from the jukebox. Normal sounds. Pack sounds.
Nothing about this meeting was normal.
“The magical signatures don’t match anything in our records.” Wyatt Gentry’s voice was flat, clinical. The sheriff stood at parade rest near the door, his dark face unreadable in the dim light. “Whatever the source is, it’s been seeping into the foundations for weeks.”
He paused, his gaze moving to the map spread across the table.
“One more thing. A foundation compromised this long is visible on the ley lines to anyone sensitive enough to read it. I’ve had two reports in the past week of unfamiliar magical signatures on the outer ward perimeter.
Not the same as the interference in the foundations — different grammar entirely.
Could be nothing. Could be someone who noticed the inn’s defenses were down and decided to see what that was worth. ”
“Which narrows it down to approximately everyone with magical training.” Beck was sprawled across two chairs, boots kicked up on the table. He earned a look from Theo that he cheerfully ignored. “Very helpful, Sheriff. Truly.”
Wyatt’s whiskey-colored gaze didn’t flicker. “The alternative was ‘I don’t know.’ I assumed you’d prefer data.”
“Gentlemen.” Hux Holt raised a hand, the gesture casual and authoritative at once.
The mayor had loosened his tie, shed his jacket, but he still looked like he belonged on a campaign poster.
Even rumpled, the lion shifter radiated competence.
“Can we focus on solutions rather than sniping? Some of us have constituents to reassure in the morning.”
Theo pushed off from the table. “What’s the mood out there?”
Hux’s politician’s smile dimmed. “Complicated. The coven’s rattled—the inn’s been in crisis since she arrived, and they want answers. The pack…” He hesitated.
“Say it.”
“The pack is talking. About you. About the innkeeper.” Hux’s tone remained diplomatic, but his meaning was clear. “There are those who think the Alpha has been… distracted.”
Theo’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Distracted.”
“Soft.” Beck dropped his boots to the floor. His usual humor had evaporated. “That’s the word making the rounds. That you’ve gone soft over a witch.”
Something feral stirred beneath Theo’s ribs. He pushed it down.
“The coven-pack alliance—” Hux began.
“Is exactly what I’ve been working to strengthen for three years.” Theo’s voice dropped to a growl. “Protecting a witch whose inn has been destabilized isn’t going soft. It’s doing my job.”
“No one in this room disagrees.” Wyatt’s calm cut through the rising tension. “But perception matters. The Elder Council is watching. So is everyone else.”
Beck shifted in his chair. “Speaking of everyone else. Garrett’s out there.”
The name landed in the room with gravity.
“In the taproom?” Theo kept his voice neutral, but his instincts had gone still, alert.
“Corner booth. Been there an hour. Got four of his usual crew with him.” Beck’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “They’re not drinking. They’re watching the back door. Waiting.”
Wyatt’s posture hadn’t changed, but his hand had drifted closer to his hip. “He’s been building this for weeks. The questions, the whispers, the rumors about you and the witch. Tonight feels different.”
“Different how?”
The sheriff’s gaze was steady. “He’s not gathering information anymore. He’s got all the ammunition he needs. Now he’s waiting for his moment.”
Theo processed that. His cousin had always been ambitious, always felt passed over when Theo returned to claim the Alpha position Garrett believed should have been his. Three years of simmering resentment. Three years of watching. Waiting.
“What’s his play?” Hux leaned forward, political instincts engaged. “Challenge? Or subtler tactics?”
“Garrett’s never been subtle.” Beck’s voice held an edge. “He wants the pack to see him take you down. Public. Brutal. The old way.”
“He’d have to be stupid to challenge directly.” Hux frowned. “You’d destroy him.”
“Garrett’s not stupid.” Theo moved toward the window that looked out over the brewery floor, though the blinds were drawn.
He could feel his cousin out there, the particular weight of hostile attention.
“He’s been careful. Patient. Building a case that I’ve abandoned the pack for a witch.
If he challenges now, it won’t look like ambition. It’ll look like duty.”
No one spoke. The weight of what was coming pressed down on all of them.
“You could leave through the loading dock.” Beck offered, though his tone made clear he knew the suggestion was pointless. “Avoid the confrontation.”
“And prove him right?” Theo shook his head. “An alpha who runs from his own pack isn’t an alpha at all.”
“Then what?”
Before Theo could answer, his phone buzzed. A text from one of the pack members working the bar: Garrett’s coming your way.
Theo pocketed the phone. “Looks like the decision’s been made for me.”
He thought about Avine. About what she’d said the night before, about coming to Haven Shores for quiet and finding chaos instead. About the way she’d looked at him during those long hours of ward work, like she was seeing past every wall he’d built.
Is she worth it?
The question rose unbidden, and the answer came faster.
Yes.
Not because the pack needed to see him fight. Not because running would make him weak. Because Garrett had called her “his witch” with contempt, and the predator in Theo refused to let that stand.
“Whatever happens out there,” he said quietly, “the pack needs to see strength. Not mine alone. All of ours.”
Beck rose from his chair, all traces of humor gone. Wyatt shifted his weight, ready. Even Hux straightened, though his role would be political cleanup, not physical confrontation.
“My father thinks witches weaken lions.” Hux’s voice was quiet but clear. “He’s wrong. The town’s stronger when pack and coven work in tandem. If you and the innkeeper are an example of that…” He let the implication hang.
Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Deliberate. More than one set.
The back room door crashed open.