Chapter 32 Elara
ELARA
Elara woke to firelight and the warmth of Alaric's body curled around hers.
His arm was heavy across her waist, his breath steady against her neck.
She lay there for a moment, cataloging the ache in her thighs, the pleasant soreness between her legs, the way her skin still felt sensitized everywhere he'd touched.
She'd slept with a shifter. Her mate, if she chose to accept that bond.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it settled like something inevitable.
Alaric stirred behind her. "You're awake."
"So are you."
"Been awake for an hour. Didn't want to move."
She faced him. His hair was messy, the scar on his jaw more visible in the morning light. "Why not?"
"Didn't want to wake you. Didn't want this to end."
She kissed him. Quick and soft. "It doesn't have to."
His eyes searched hers. "You mean that?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
He pulled her closer, kissing her properly this time. It would have turned into more if her stomach hadn't growled loudly.
He laughed against her mouth. "I should feed you."
"Probably."
They dressed slowly, stealing touches. By the time they made it to the kitchen, the sun had climbed higher, streaming through the windows.
"The feast is tonight," Alaric said, pulling out bread and cheese. "You should go. See what this place really is when we celebrate."
"Will you be there?"
"I'm on security. But I'll find you." He handed her a mug of coffee. "Fair warning. People will stare. Word spreads fast here."
"About us?"
"About you helping Twyla yesterday. About you staying after everything that happened. About you being at my cabin all night." He took a sip of his own coffee. "Small town."
"Right." She wrapped her hands around the mug. "Should I be worried?"
"No. Curious, maybe. But not worried." He moved closer. "You proved yourself. Staying when you could have run. Helping prepare for the feast. That matters here."
After breakfast, Alaric drove her back to the inn. Diana was in the kitchen when Elara came through the door.
"Morning," Diana said, not looking up from the dough she was kneading. "Have a good night?"
"You already know I did."
Diana smiled. "Rowan mentioned seeing lights at Alaric's cabin burning late. Just wanted to confirm you were safe."
"I was." Elara poured herself more coffee. "Is the whole town going to know?"
"By noon, yes." Diana shaped the dough into a ball. "Don't worry. It's a good thing. Means you're not just the journalist anymore. You're Alaric's."
The possessive should have bothered her. It didn't.
She spent the afternoon helping Diana bake bread for the feast. By the time the sun started setting, the square had transformed completely.
Lanterns hung from every surface, glowing warm against the gathering dusk.
Tables lined the perimeter, already laden with food.
A bonfire crackled in the center, sending sparks into the darkening sky.
People moved through the space, bundled in coats and scarves. Children ran between adults, shrieking with laughter. The air smelled like spiced ale and roasted meat and pine.
Elara took it all in.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Twyla appeared beside her, holding two mugs. "Here. You'll need this."
The spiced ale was warm and sweet, cinnamon coating her tongue.
"Thank you for helping yesterday," Twyla said. "Meant a lot to people. Seeing you here, working alongside us."
"I just folded napkins."
"You chose to stay. That's what matters." Twyla nodded toward the crowd. "Go on. Mingle. You're part of this now."
Elara moved into the square, greeting people she recognized from the café. Freya waved from a table where she was arranging herbs. Maeve poured ale with practiced efficiency, her sharp eyes tracking Elara's movement.
But there were other eyes too. Watching. Assessing.
She tried to ignore the prickle between her shoulder blades. Tried to focus on the warmth and light and community.
Then the wind picked up.
It came suddenly, whipping through the square hard enough to send napkins flying. People grabbed at decorations, laughing at first. But the wind didn't stop. It grew stronger, colder, carrying snow that hadn't been there moments before.
"Storm's coming in," someone called. "Secure the tables!"
People moved quickly, grabbing lanterns, tying down tablecloths. The snow thickened, going from flurries to a wall of white within minutes.
Elara helped catch a banner before it blew away. The wind tore at her coat, snow stinging her face.
"Inside!" Maeve shouted. "Everyone to the tavern or the café!"
The crowd started moving, families herding children toward shelter. Elara turned to follow, then stopped.
Someone stood at the far edge of the square. Just standing there, unmoving while everyone else rushed past.
The snow made it hard to see clearly. But something about the figure's posture set off alarms in her head.
"Elara!" Diana called from the café entrance. "Come on!"
Elara took a step toward the figure. The snow swirled thicker, turning the world into a whiteout. When it cleared for a breath, the figure was closer.\
Not one figure. Three.
Her blood went cold.
"Elara!" Diana's voice again, urgent now.
She backed toward the café, not taking her eyes off the shapes moving through the snow. They walked with purpose. With intent.
Hunters.
The word crystallized in her mind just as one of them raised something. Not a rifle. A camera.
They weren't here to kill. They were here to document.
"No," she whispered.
A howl cut through the storm. Long and warning and furious.
The figures stopped. Turned toward the sound.
Then everything happened at once.
Something large and gray burst from between buildings. Another howl answered the first, then another. The square erupted into chaos, people shouting, the hunters backing up, cameras flashing.
Strong hands grabbed Elara's arm. "Inside. Now." Alaric's voice, rough and commanding.
But she'd already seen it. Already seen the wolves running toward the hunters. Already seen the cameras capturing everything.
"They're recording," she said. "Alaric, they're recording everything."
His grip tightened. "I know."
He pulled her toward the café just as the first gunshot cracked through the storm.