Hunter Wolf (Return To Fate Mountain #7)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

The timer went off, and Brie Rayner pulled the last sheet of pumpkin dinner rolls from the deck oven.

Steam rose from the golden-brown buns, carrying scents of cinnamon and nutmeg through the kitchen of Sweet Summit Bakery.

Her shifter senses picked up every note.

The bite of Ceylon cinnamon, the floral sweetness of fresh nutmeg, and the earthy richness of roasted pumpkin.

She set the pan on the cooling rack next to three dozen apple cider donuts, their maple glaze glistening under the fluorescent lights.

Cranberry walnut scones waited in neat rows alongside maple pecan pastries already boxed for delivery.

The Fate Mountain Lodge’s Harvest Moon Weekend order was coming together perfectly.

At 4:30 in the morning, she was ahead of schedule. Two months of running the bakery alone had sharpened her focus. Every batch had to meet the standards her mother had built over years of consistent quality and dependable service.

Brie’s mother, Maisie Green-Rayner, had apprenticed under some of France’s most demanding pastry chefs.

The sophisticated techniques her mother brought back to Fate Mountain, combined with her natural artistic flair and insistence on using only the finest local ingredients, had turned what started as a small mountain bakery into something that rivaled some of the best patisseries in the world.

Maisie built her award-winning reputation one perfectly executed croissant and flawless tart at a time.

She’d passed every hard-won skill to Brie, teaching her to feel when she had kneaded dough just enough, to recognize the exact moment custard reached the perfect consistency, to understand that precision and passion together created something extraordinary.

Brie felt the weight of that legacy in every measurement, every temperature check, every decision she made in the pre-dawn quiet of the kitchen.

Her phone dinged from the stainless-steel counter where she’d left it between stacks of bakery boxes. She pulled off her work gloves and swiped the screen where she found a notification for a social media post from her parents.

The photo showed Zach and Maisie on a white sandy beach, palm trees swaying behind them, both tanned and grinning with an easy happiness that made Brie’s chest tight.

Her father’s ice-blue eyes sparkled with the eternal optimism she’d inherited, while her mother radiated the sophisticated elegance born from her years of training in Paris.

They looked like teenagers in love, not a couple who’d been married for over thirty years.

“Day 63 of our world tour adventure!” the caption read. “Argentina’s coastline is absolutely magical. Zach convinced me to try surfing today, and I may have spent more time underwater than on the board! Missing our sweet polar bear cub every day. #worldtour #loveatsixty #livingthedream”

The comments below overflowed with heart emojis and envious responses. Brie added her own heart and “You two are goals! Love you both!” before scrolling to the next post.

More couple photos. A friend’s engagement announcement. Someone’s anniversary dinner. She kept scrolling, each image of paired-off happiness making the warm bakery feel a little emptier.

Without really thinking about it, she opened her app.

Still no perfect match. Her profile showed the same disappointing statistics as yesterday. 87% compatibility with a guy who lived three states away, 82% with someone whose profile picture was just a sunset, and a handful of lower percentages that were pointless to think about.

No 100% compatibility. No fated mate.

At thirty, Brie wondered if she was one of those shifters who didn’t have a destined mate waiting out there.

Growing up watching her parents’ incredible relationship had set a pretty high bar for romance.

They were living proof that true love existed, that the mystical connection promised by fated mates was real.

Which made Brie’s empty dating profile feel even more disappointing.

She was about to close the app when her phone rang.

“Sophie?” Her bakery manager wouldn’t call before her shift unless something was wrong.

“Brie, I’m so sorry.” Sophie’s voice was rough with sleep and congestion. “I woke up feeling awful. I think I’m coming down with something, and I can’t make the lodge delivery this morning. I can barely get out of bed.” A fit of coughing interrupted her explanation.

“Oh honey, you sound terrible.” With her shifter hearing, Brie could detect a wheeze that suggested a developing chest cold. “Don’t even think about coming in. Stay in bed and get better.”

“But the seven AM delivery…”

“I’ve got it handled.” Brie looked at the neat rows of packaged autumn specialties waiting to be loaded. “I’ll take it myself when the morning crew gets here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sophie, go back to sleep. Drink tea with honey, take vitamin C, and don’t worry about work. I’ll text you later to check on you.”

At six, she heard the familiar sounds of her morning crew arriving. The front door chimed as Jake and Maggie entered, bringing a rush of November air that made Brie pull her cardigan tighter.

“Morning, boss!” Jake called out, unwinding his scarf. “Feels like winter’s really coming now.”

“Tell me about it,” Maggie replied, rubbing her hands together. “Had to scrape ice off my windshield.”

Brie walked out into the front of house and straightened a small black lantern that had been knocked askew on the service counter, its battery-operated candle casting a warm glow over the mini white pumpkins clustered around its base.

She’d arranged more of them on the windowsills, mixing in a few golden gourds from the farmers’ market.

Copper-colored mums in galvanized buckets flanked the entrance, while a garland of artificial maple leaves in deep reds and oranges was draped along the top of the display case.

“How’s the lodge order looking?” Jake asked as he tied on his apron and headed for the espresso machine.

“Perfect,” Brie replied, gesturing toward the loaded sheet carts in the kitchen. “But Sophie’s sick, so I’ll be making the delivery myself.”

After Brie and her team had loaded everything into the delivery van, she was ready to head out. The delivery van started reluctantly in the chilly morning air, its engine turning over twice before catching.

Brie started the familiar route to Fate Mountain Lodge, down Main Street then onto Highway 97.

The mountain road curved through dense stands of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir, their massive trunks disappearing into shadows between patches of early morning sunlight.

November frost clung to the ferns and Oregon grape that carpeted the forest floor, turning the understory into a glittering maze of ice crystals.

She was twenty minutes into the drive when the first orange construction sign appeared. “Road Work Ahead - Right Lane Closed.” And then. “Highway 97 North Closed - Use Alternate Route.”

Brie stopped where a flagman in a bright vest was directing traffic. She rolled down her window as she stopped, catching the scents of diesel fuel and hot asphalt in the morning air.

“How long is the closure?” she called out.

“All morning, ma’am. Paving crew’s got the whole northbound side torn up. You’ll want to take the detour through the industrial district.” He pointed toward a yellow sign with an arrow. “Follow the signs for Alternate Route B. It’ll get you back to 97 about ten miles up the mountain.”

Brie thanked him and pulled back onto the road, following the detour signs that led away from the familiar highway and into a part of the county she rarely visited.

The industrial district was all warehouses and manufacturing facilities, built in a valley where land was cheaper and the views didn’t matter.

Her GPS began recalculating, the arrival time for the lodge jumping from seven AM to seven-twenty. Still manageable, but it would be close.

The detour route was clearly marked at first. There were bright yellow signs directing traffic through a series of turns that took her past a lumber mill, a food processing plant, and several nondescript warehouses.

As she continued north, Brie realized she’d lost the official detour somewhere. She pulled over and studied her phone’s map, trying to figure out the best way to rejoin Highway 97 higher up the mountain. The GPS suggested a series of smaller roads.

“Recalculating route,” the pleasant voice announced. “In 200 feet, turn right on Industrial Parkway.”

Brie followed the directions, turning onto a road where the warehouses sprawled further apart, separated by empty lots choked with brown weeds and patches of scrubland that November had stripped bare.

Skeletal cottonwood trees lined the cracked asphalt, their branches reaching like crooked fingers into the gray sky.

The morning shadows stretched between the industrial buildings, creating dark corridors where frost still clung to chain-link fences and abandoned loading docks. After a few minutes, she realized she hadn’t seen another vehicle since she’d started down this route.

“In half a mile, turn left on Riverside Drive,” the GPS instructed.

When she reached the intersection, there was no street sign.

Just a narrow road leading toward what looked like a cluster of older warehouses near a bend in the river.

Her bear stirred uneasily. The buildings here looked even older, more weathered, with boarded windows and rust stains bleeding down their sides.

Brie hesitated. The GPS insisted this was the correct route, and she was now running behind schedule. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she followed the directions, driving carefully over the rougher road surface to avoid jarring her precious cargo.

“In 300 feet, your destination will be on the right.”

That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t anywhere near Fate Mountain Lodge.

Brie pulled over on the gravel shoulder and picked up her phone. The screen showed a spinning wheel where the GPS directions should be, then flashed an error message: “No network connection available.”

She tried refreshing the app, then switching to a different navigation program. Nothing worked. She was alone in an unfamiliar area with no GPS and a van full of perishable goods that needed to arrive at the lodge in ten minutes.