Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
The women emerged from the fog, and Ryker's hands tightened on his coffee mug before he could stop them.
He stood at the distillery window, drink going cold while watching the group cross the cobblestone street. Faith's blonde hair caught the morning light first. Then Lily's auburn braid, Mara's practical stride, Sage bringing up the rear with a stack of pastry boxes balanced against her chest.
And then there was Willow. He always noticed her, no matter how hard he tried to look anywhere else.
Despite months of arguing she could not be trusted, his body still hadn't gotten the message.
She walked in the center of the group, shoulders straight despite the cold, her hair escaping its clip the way it always did. His pulse kicked up before he could stop it.
His body tightened at her presence. Irritating. Distracting. He didn't know why she got under his skin the way she did, but if anyone noticed, every argument he'd made against her would look like something else entirely.
His heart rate elevated. His attention had narrowed to a point, sharpened on her. And underneath the assessment sat the urge to move toward her, to put himself in her path, to breathe in the scent he knew would be waiting—flour and lavender and sweet warm honey.
His wolf offered nothing to explain this constant insanity. No pull. No recognition. Just the hollow silence that had lived in his chest for three years, where instinct used to guide him.
"Dude. You're staring." Gray's voice came from behind him, but Ryker didn't bother to turn around.
"I'm surveying the perimeter."
"Uh-huh. Through the window. At the bakery group. Specifically at—"
"Don't." The word came out harder than he intended, so he made himself step back from the glass, scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm providing security oversight. It's called being thorough."
Gray snorted. "It's called being obvious."
"Shut up."
Gray's eyes tracked him with the attention of someone who'd watched this contradiction play out for months.
The arguments at meetings. The staring across rooms. Gray had never called him on it even once.
He just stood there with his arms crossed and his expression unreadable, letting the silence do the work.
The distillery hummed around them. Pack members had been filtering in for the past twenty minutes, filling the tasting room with low conversation and the shuffle of chairs.
Mara had set up the space the night before with her usual efficiency.
There were rows of seating facing the front where the alpha brothers would hold court, and side tables were set and waiting to be filled with coffee and the pastries that Ryker knew Willow had been baking since before dawn.
He'd been here since five, sleep a lost cause after his cabin walls started pressing in around three. At least the distillery gave the restless energy somewhere to go. Gray had found him reorganizing the security files once again and hadn't commented.
Now the meeting was only minutes away, and Willow was about to walk through that door, and Ryker's body was already betraying him.
"The vendor contracts are on the side table," Gray said, shifting the subject with the ease of long practice. "Faith's been compiling them for weeks. She's going to ask for help today."
"I know."
"She's exhausted. The pregnancy's hitting her harder than she expected."
"I know."
"Damien's worried about her, which means the whole leadership structure is on edge, which means—"
"Gray." Ryker ran a hand through his hair, felt it fall right back across his forehead. "I know. I've been in every planning meeting for the past month. I'm aware of the situation."
The door swung open.
Cold air rushed in, carrying fog and voices and the charged energy of the women who'd walked over together.
Ryker's whole body went tight. He forced himself not to look.
Instead, he stared at the far wall, at the framed photographs of the distillery's early days, at anything that wasn't the cluster of women filing into the room.
It didn't matter. He could smell her anyway. Flour. Lavender. The honey glaze she'd been working with that morning. And underneath—something else. Something his body responded to before his brain could shut it down.
He shifted his weight and clenched his jaw.
Wolves noticed things others didn’t. In this case it was tension with a tinge of fear coming from Willow.
That didn’t mean it had anything to do with him.
She was in a room full of pack predators, and she was still an outsider.
A situation anyone’s body might react to. It had nothing to do with him.
Forcing himself to look away, the far wall suddenly became very interesting.
He heard her voice, pitched low, saying something to Faith about the pastry arrangement.
Heard the careful professionalism she wielded like armor, the same tone she used whenever he was nearby.
She never snapped at him, never fought back, never gave him anything but calm competence no matter what he said about her at meetings.
He'd earned worse than coldness. That she gave him civility at all was more than he deserved. And yet, that restraint infuriated him.
"Ryker." Gray's hand landed on his shoulder. "Breathe."
"I’m breathing fine."
"You're white-knuckling that coffee mug like it owes you money."
Ryker looked down. His fingers had gone bloodless around the ceramic. He forced himself to relax, set the mug on the nearest surface, and shoved his hands in his pockets where they found his worn poker chip waiting.
The solid weight pressed against his palm, smooth and familiar. Heads. Tails. Heads again. The rhythm steadied him the way it always did, gave his restless energy somewhere to go that wasn't toward her.
"Meeting's starting," Gray said. "Find your spot."
Ryker moved to his usual position along the side wall, where he could see both doors and most of the room.
Gray settled beside him, arms crossed, expression settling into its default stoic intensity.
The pack arranged itself in the familiar hierarchy—alphas at the front, senior members in the first rows, newer additions toward the back.
Willow took a seat at the end of her row, positioning herself at the edge of the bakery group like she wasn't quite sure she belonged in the center. Lily leaned over and murmured something to her. Willow's mouth curved in response, a private smile that Ryker caught from the corner of his eye.
He looked away. Made himself focus on Damien, who had risen to address the room.
"Let's get started." The lead alpha's voice carried without effort, power rolling off him in waves. "Frost Fest is three weeks out, and we're behind on coordination. Faith's been carrying too much of the load, and that changes today."
Faith stood, one hand pressed to her lower back. Pregnancy had softened some of her edges and sharpened others—she looked tired in a way that went deeper than missed sleep, but her voice was steady when she spoke.
"I'm not stepping away from the festival," she said.
"But I do need help. Real help, not just check-ins.
The vendor coordination alone is a full-time job, and with the Plunge logistics and the security concerns Diego flagged—" She pressed her fingers to her temple.
"I need a partner. Someone who can handle the day-to-day while I focus on the bigger picture. "
The room’s energy shifted before anyone spoke. He followed the way attention moved, and the women in the front row exchanged glances he was supposed to be too far away to catch.
"I could help." Willow's voice cut through the murmur of reaction, clear and steady.
Ryker's fingers went still on the poker chip.
"The bakery's central to the festival anyway," she continued. "I'm already coordinating with half the food vendors for our supply orders. Expanding that wouldn't be difficult."
Heads turned. Some expressions were welcoming. Others held the guardedness that had followed Willow since she'd arrived on Devils Point. Iris's daughter, the witch who'd chosen right in the end but still carried her mother's shadow.
"That's a generous offer." Damien's tone gave nothing away. "Festival coordination requires access to pack operations. Security meetings. Budget discussions. Schedule changes that affect multiple teams."
"I understand." Willow met his gaze without flinching. "I'm not asking for anything I haven't earned. But I know the vendor network, I know the food logistics, and I want to contribute."
The silence stretched. Ryker watched Damien consider, observed Diego lean close to murmur something, and finally saw Allison give a small nod from the alpha mates' cluster.
"The coordination role works best as a partnership.
" Allison's voice carried the weight that made rooms pay attention.
"One person on vendors and food service, another on logistics and security interface.
" Her gaze found Ryker along the wall, and something knowing glinted in their depths.
"Ryker's already managing festival security.
It makes sense for him to work directly with whoever takes the vendor role. "
The floor dropped out from under him.
"That's not—" he started.
"Actually, that makes a lot of sense." Gray's voice cut over his objection, bland and reasonable in a way that made Ryker want to strangle him.
"Ryker knows every vendor who's worked our events.
He's handled security vetting for years.
Having him partner with someone on food coordination would streamline everything. "
Ryker shot him a look that promised retribution. Gray's expression didn't flicker.
"I'm happy to work with whoever the pack thinks best." Willow's voice was careful and professional, giving nothing away. "If that arrangement makes sense for the festival."
"It does." Allison smiled, warm and knowing. "Damien?"