Chapter Six
Henrietta
Downtown Cedar Run is already packed by the time we arrive Saturday morning.
The town square sits at the end of Main Street like something out of an old movie—brick storefronts with striped awnings, flower baskets spilling over with bright pink petunias, old-fashioned streetlamps, and a white gazebo where local musicians are playing country music.
The farmer’s market takes over most of the square every Saturday, and people from all three packs crowd the streets.
Moonstone farmers are selling peaches, tomatoes, corn, jars of honey, fresh eggs, and homemade jams.
Shadowpine vendors sell healing herbs, salves, soaps, and medicinal teas.
Frostbane’s booths feature a lot of hand-forged tools, knives, leather goods, and jewelry made from local crystals.
Children race through the market, weaving between booths. A little girl in a flower crown chases her older brother with a wooden sword while he dramatically pretends he’s been mortally wounded.
The five of us walk down Main Street in a loose group — Silas and Dorcas in front, my distant cousins Coral and Danny just behind them, and me bringing up the rear, because I’m the one keeping an eye out. Old habit. Growing up packless will do that to you.
Coral is six months along and waddling cheerfully, one hand tucked into Danny’s elbow.
Danny is twenty-two and is adorably protective, placing himself in between her and passers-by.
They’re adorable. I want a future for them – one where they fit in, where they’re safe.
That’s why, as we walk, I pretend I don’t notice people staring at us and whispering.
We’ve almost reached the bakery when I feel an itchy, burning sensation, an awareness of danger. I look around until I spot the source – Roderick.
He’s standing in front of Hannigan’s Bar with another male I don’t recognize — big, pale-eyed, feet planted wide. Roderick says something and tilts his head, and the other wolf follows the gesture.
They’re pointing at Coral. I watch Roderick’s mouth move. The other wolf gives Coral a lascivious look, and nods eagerly.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Coral is very pretty, with petite elfin features and a waterfall of black curls tumbling halfway down her back.
She’s also visibly, obviously pregnant, and she has a mate standing right next to her, arm slung around her shoulders – and Roderick and his buddy don’t care.
Unfortunately, the Frostbane pack has always specialized in dominance the way the Shadowpine pack specializes in magic and the Moonstone pack specializes in farming.
I really hoped that Roderick would forget about me and move on – or that at least he wouldn’t think about making a move on me when I was with my pack-mates.
But now it looks like he’s encouraging a pack take-over, and a claiming of all of our females.
What can we do? We have no Alpha. We have Silas, a sixty-three-year-old plant whisperer. We’re guests on Shadowpine land, and whether or not we’re actually under Kieran Holt’s protection is a question I’ve been increasingly afraid to ask.
I need to fix this. I just have no idea how.
A hand taps my shoulder and I spin around and make a noise like someone stepped on a squeaky toy.
Silas withdraws his hand and raises his eyebrows at me. “Why are you so jumpy lately?”
“Too much caffeine,” I say, and follow them into the bakery.
* * *
Magnolia’s Bakery smells like brown butter and vanilla and cinnamon. The cases are full — loaves of bread, fruit tarts, little pots of jam, rows of cookies and swirly pastries.
Dorcas and Coral have gone straight for the bread. Danny is studying the menu board with his brow furrowed. Silas is talking to the man at the register.
I drift toward the pastry case at the back and nearly walk into a woman coming around the corner with a tray.
“Henrietta Frost,” she says, and puts the tray down and hugs me before I’ve fully processed who she is.
Elmira. She ran the baking cooperative on Moonstone land when I was small, and apparently she’s here now, flour on her apron and everything. She’s shorter than I remember, which probably just means I grew.
“Elmira.” I hug her back. “I didn’t know you worked here!”
“Three years now.” She beams at me. “Look at you. So good to see you again!”
“Do you still have my favorite pastry?” I ask. I look past her at the case, and there they are. Third shelf, little paper cups, glossy chocolate tops.
“There are those mini chocolate cream pies you were always making too many of,” I say delightedly.
Elmira gives me a funny look.
Just a small one. A fraction of a second.
“What?” I ask.
“We weren’t making too many of them,” she says. “Andrew paid for them. Told us to say that.” A pause. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She pats my arm and disappears back toward the kitchen.
I stand in front of the pastry case and don’t move for a moment.
Mini chocolate cream pies.
I was nine years old, and I’d been wandering through the weekend farmer’s market when she popped out of her booth and told me they’d made too many chocolate cream pies and would I please take some off her hands.
I’d eaten four of them standing right there.
And then there was the time the woman at the farmer’s market gave me half a roasted chicken because her family couldn’t finish it.
And the time the man came out of the diner, waved me over, pressed a paper bag into my hands and said it was an order somebody hadn’t picked up, and what a waste it would be to throw it out.
And the time a girl I barely knew from the Moonstone pack showed up at the edge of our property with a casserole dish and a vague story about her mother cooking too much.
Over and over again, for years.
People just happened to have extra food. People just happened to find me specifically to give it to.
How could I not have noticed? It was Andrew all along.
Andrew, who was twelve years old and apparently running a covert operation to make sure the scrawny little Shadowpine girl didn’t go hungry.
Andrew, who I just snarled at in a particularly nasty fashion at the mere suggestion that maybe the idea of being mated to me isn’t the most horrifying idea ever.