Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
The distillery seemed off as she pushed through the door.
It was difficult to pinpoint other than the shudder that worked down her spine.
Her skin prickled with warning even before she registered the crowd.
There were twice the usual bodies packed into the tasting room, islanders clustered in tight groups, their conversations dying as she crossed the threshold.
She was alone today. Faith was home with swollen ankles and zero patience for pack politics, and Lily had texted some excuse about errands that Willow had barely registered between batches of scones and Plunge prep chaos.
Usually the solitude at these meetings felt like proof she belonged, evidence she'd earned her seat at the table among wolves who still flinched at the word witch.
Today, something in the air made her wish she'd dragged someone along anyway.
Gray stood near the glass-walled office with his arms crossed, staring at the floor like the concrete might offer absolution.
He didn't look up when she entered, which was wrong.
Gray always acknowledged her with a nod or a half-smile, something to remind her she wasn't invisible in a room full of predators.
Cal sat at a corner table, shredding a coaster into confetti. Their eyes met and he looked away so fast she felt whiplash.
Fuck.
She scanned the room again, cataloguing faces.
Sawyer, the pack's head of security, planted by the copper still nearest the exit.
Creed near the tasting bar with two other wolves from his patrol team.
Shaw by the window. The entire security team had shown up for a festival logistics meeting, and that realization sent her pulse kicking hard against her throat.
This wasn't about the ice carving demo or crowd control.
Security didn't mobilize in force to discuss liability waivers.
She could leave. Turn around, walk out, cross the street to her bakery where the worst disaster waiting was a fallen soufflé. But running would look like guilt, and she had nothing to be guilty about.
Willow tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and forced herself toward her usual seat near the window. The metal chair scraped against concrete, and Cal's coaster was nothing but shredded paper now, his fingers still working, still tearing.
Whatever this was, they knew. Both of them. And neither had warned her.
The door opened again and the alphas filed in. Damien first, jaw set in a way that screamed reluctance, Dante behind him with that predator's grace he never quite managed to hide. And Diego last, pulling the door closed with a soft click that sounded like a lock turning.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice." Damien's voice carried through the sudden quiet. "We have a security matter to address."
Willow looked at Gray. He was examining his hands and still not looking over at her.
"Ryker." Damien nodded toward the brewing floor entrance. "Go ahead."
She sensed him before she saw him. That pull in her chest, the one she'd never been able to fully explain, tightened around her heart. Her spine went rigid and heat flooded her cheeks, and she hated herself for it.
He stepped through the doorway with a folder tucked under his arm and his face carved from granite. He too didn't look her way.
Ryker spread papers across the bar like evidence at trial, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and clinical, a stranger's voice reciting someone else's report.
"As most of your know, we've had a pattern of incidents on the north shore and marina.
Two fishing boats reported engine failures the same hour with no mechanical explanation.
Fog has been rolling in so thick and fast that captains can't see ten feet in front of them, even when the weather report shows clear skies.
" He flipped to another page. "Guests at the inn have complained about nightmares and hearing sounds outside their windows.
A supply boat captain forgot why he was coming here and had to make the trip twice. "
Willow dug her nails into her palms beneath the table. She knew this litany, had heard the fishermen in her bakery, pale and shaken, talking about fog that came from nowhere and motors that died for no reason.
"We investigated," Sawyer cut in. "Sent teams to the north side several times. Found nothing. No tracks, no scent trails, no sign of intrusion."
Ryker pulled out another page. "This week alone, three vendors reported sudden vertigo and nausea when they tried to set up near the north cove.
We had to relocate their stations entirely.
Patrol teams have been dealing with radio static so bad near the waterline that they can't communicate with each other.
And a vendor's equipment trailer went dead overnight at the plunge site with the battery completely drained. "
He picked up a map marked with red dots, all of them clustered along the north shore like a rash.
"The incidents are concentrated in one area and they've escalated since the festival began.
They're targeting infrastructure critical to the Plunge.
" His jaw flexed. "If something goes wrong—boats losing their way in fog, swimmers getting disoriented in the water—we're looking at people getting hurt. "
This was bad, but it wasn't about her yet. He was building to something, and she could feel it the way she felt storms coming, the pressure gathering at her temples.
"Sawyer's team searched and found nothing," Diego restated. "Then Ryker went out again last night."
"And I found something." His voice dropped, and the room leaned in.
"Near the north cove, right at the waterline, my wolf started going crazy.
Hackles up, every instinct screaming at me to turn around and get the hell out of there.
I've been running patrol on this island for six years and I've never felt anything like it. "
He pulled out another sheet, though Willow doubted whatever was written there could capture what he was describing.
"The smell hit me first. Brine and something burnt underneath, almost burned metal, but worse.
And it was sharp enough to make my wolf bare his teeth.
It was concentrated in a patch maybe twenty feet wide, right where the rocks meet the water.
The closer I got, the stronger it was, and my wolf wanted no part of it.
It took everything I had to keep walking toward it instead of bolting.
" Ryker's jaw tightened. "Whatever left that behind, it's not natural.
It's not anything I've ever encountered on this island or anywhere else. "
Her breath snagged in her chest. She'd sensed that same acrid stench only it had reminded her of burnt almonds and made her magic prickle against her skin as if recoiling from something poisonous and cold. She'd told him then that something was protecting that territory.
"What kind of magic?" Diego asked.
"I don't know. But it lingered for hours after whatever made it was gone. I don’t believe that kind of residue comes from small workings." Ryker paused. "It comes from something powerful."
She agreed, and that was what she'd tried to tell them. The magic in that cove was ancient and strange, nothing like the simple kitchen work she and the others with her preferred. And nothing like any witch signature she'd ever touched.
"I thought the sanctuary witches assisted with the investigation." Damien's gaze found her. "Willow, you examined the area as well. What did you find?"
Every head turned, and her mouth went dry.
"I sensed the same thing Ryker described." She kept her voice level through sheer will. "But it's not any witch magic I’ve encountered. It didn’t feel like coven work. Whatever's in that cove is something else entirely."
"And yet the disturbances continued after your examination." Ryker made finger quotes at the word examination, but he still wouldn't look at her. "It escalated, in fact."
Bastard.
"Because we haven't solved the problem," she shot back, "not because my witches are causing it."
"The fact remains." He turned to face her then, and his eyes were dead.
Flat and cold and empty, nothing like the eyes that had burned into hers while his mouth traced her throat, while he'd whispered her name against her skin like it was holy.
"The only magic-users on this island are the sanctuary witches.
The disturbances started after your coven arrived.
The magical signature was detected exactly where you've been walking alone, claiming to scout for threats. "
"That's a coincidence."
"It's a pattern, and patterns matter when we're putting tourists in the water." He looked away from her, and back to the alphas.
Damien exchanged glances with his brothers before asking the question she'd been dreading. "What are you recommending?"
She knew what was coming. Could feel it like a blade aimed at her throat.
Ryker squared his shoulders. "Immediate relocation of the entire coven off-island. Until after the festival. Until we can investigate without variables complicating the search."
Variables. He'd reduced her to a fucking variable.
Relocation. Exile. This man, whose hands had trembled when he touched her, who'd held her like she was precious, who'd looked at her like she mattered, was standing in front of pack leadership and asking them to throw her out.
The room dissolved into chaos, voices overlapping as wolves debated, and Willow sat frozen with her hands numb against the table.
"That's a significant action." Diego cut through the chaos. "The sanctuary agreement—"
"Can be suspended for security concerns." Sawyer didn't blink. "It's in the original terms."
"We're not talking about terms." Gray spoke for the first time, his voice rough and strained. "We're talking about throwing out five women based on a magical signature none of us can even identify."