Chapter 14
CALEB
The sheriff stare.
Right.
You know you’d find that hilarious if you weren’t so freaked out right now.
I clear my throat and straighten, falling back on the protocols that have kept this town safe for longer than she knows.
"Standard patrol routes include this section of forest, especially during hunting season.
" My voice finds its professional cadence, the one that's ended a thousand conversations before they could begin.
"We've had reports of unusual animal behavior in recent weeks.
Increased aggression, territorial disputes.
When I saw your vehicle parked at the trailhead after dark, protocol required a welfare check. "
She doesn't buy it. I can see the skepticism written across her face in the pale glow of her flashlight.
"The timing was fortunate," I continue, keeping my tone measured. "These woods have a history of incidents. Missing hikers, unexplained accidents. As the local sheriff, I have a responsibility to ensure civilian safety."
"Civilian safety." She repeats the words like they taste bitter. "How very thorough of you."
The bond chooses that moment to flare, a sudden rush of awareness that makes my skin feel too tight. She's close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo beneath the pine and damp earth—something clean and uncomplicated that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my ribs.
"Your patrol route just happened to bring you to this exact spot at this exact time." Her eyes narrow. "What are the odds?"
"Better than you'd think. I know this forest." The lie comes easier than it should. "I know when something doesn't belong."
"Something like me?"
The question hits harder than it should, carrying an undercurrent of hurt that makes my chest tighten. She thinks I'm talking about her. That she's the thing that doesn't belong.
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" She takes a step closer, and the bond responds like a live wire.
My hands twitch with the urge to reach for her, to close the distance she's creating.
"You've made it pretty clear since I arrived that I'm not welcome here.
Too many questions, too much interest in things that should stay buried. "
The accuracy of her assessment stings because it's true and completely wrong at the same time. She doesn't belong here—not because she's unwelcome, but because being here puts her in danger I can't explain without revealing everything.
"The forest is unpredictable at night," I manage, fighting to keep my voice level as she moves closer still. "Wild animals, unstable terrain, easy to get lost."
"Stop." The word cuts through my carefully constructed explanation. "Just stop with the tourism board warnings and the procedural bullshit. You didn't follow me here because of animal behavior reports."
Her flashlight wavers between us, casting shifting shadows that make it harder to maintain the neutral expression I've perfected.
The mate bond surges again, stronger this time, demanding I acknowledge what's happening between us even as every instinct I've honed as Alpha screams at me to maintain distance.
"You appeared the moment something was about to happen to me," she continues. "Not five minutes later, not after I screamed for help. The exact moment. That's not coincidence, Sheriff Hart. That's surveillance."
The mate bond claws at my chest, demanding I tell her everything—about the pack, about what hunts these woods, about the way her scent calls to every protective instinct I've spent decades learning to control. Instead, I lock my jaw and keep my voice level.
"You're right. You're not a tourist." I pause, choosing each word like I'm defusing a bomb. "But that doesn't make the woods any less dangerous."
She shifts her weight, and I catch the subtle tell—the way her shoulders square when she's preparing to dig in. I've watched her enough these past days to recognize the signs.
"Look," I continue, keeping my tone measured, professional. "I've been sheriff here for fifteen years. I know these woods, and I know what can happen when people go poking around places they shouldn't."
"Places they shouldn't?" Her eyebrows arch. "According to who?"
The question hangs there, loaded with implications I can't address without unraveling everything. My hands flex involuntarily, and I force them still.
"According to common sense." The words come out sharper than I intend. I dial it back, soften my voice. "Look, I'm not trying to... this isn't about your capabilities as a journalist."
But even as I say it, I know how it sounds. Know how she'll interpret the careful distance I'm maintaining, the way I won't quite meet her eyes when the bond pulls strongest.
"The disappearances you're investigating—they happened decades ago. Cold cases. Old wounds that maybe should stay buried." I pause, watching her face tighten. "Sometimes the kindest thing is to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Sleeping dogs." She repeats the phrase like it tastes bitter. "Is that what you call missing people?"
"That's not—" I stop, regroup. "What I'm saying is that some investigations lead down paths that don't have good endings. For anyone involved."
The words feel like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. Better she think I'm dismissive than discover what really lurks in these trees. Better she stays safe and hates me than gets herself killed proving a point.
"I'm suggesting you might want to consider... redirecting your focus. There are other stories in Moonhaven. Safer stories."
“Because nothing says safety like unanswered questions.”
That almost came out as a growl. Congratulations on pissing your mate all the way off, Sheriff.
I know I've miscalculated. Her expression shifts from frustrated to something colder, more distant.
"Safer stories." Her voice drops to that dangerously quiet register I'm learning to recognize. "You mean stories that don't make you uncomfortable. And stories that don’t mean you’ll have to deal with the inconvenience of hauling the body of a dead fat girl out of your woods."
I clock my involuntary gasp at the same time something shifts in her expression—a subtle hardening around her eyes that I recognize from my own mirror. The look of someone who's been underestimated once too often and decided to stop caring about the consequences.
"You know what? Forget it." She steps back, but not in retreat. More like she's giving herself room to maneuver. "I've been polite. I've asked nicely. I've even pretended your obvious deflections were actual answers."
Her flashlight beam drops to illuminate the ground between us, casting our shadows long and distorted against the trees. The practical journalist is gone, replaced by something sharper.
Something I’ve hurt.
"But here's the thing about being the woman I am in my line of work—I've learned to read the subtext. The careful pauses. The way men think they can manage me with just the right combination of authority, condescension, and dismissal. Because there’s nothing easier to dismiss than a woman like me, am I right? "
Each word hits like a precision strike, and I feel my wolf stirring restlessly beneath the surface. Not in anger—in desperation to wipe these thoughts from her mind. But she's not backing down.
"Ellie…"
"No." The single syllable cuts through whatever placating response I was fumbling toward.
"You don't get to 'Ellie' me. Not when you've spent the last week keeping me at arm’s length with ‘Ms. Carter.’ Like I'm some hysterical, big-boned city girl who'll pack up and leave if you just ignore me hard enough. "
She adjusts her jacket with sharp, efficient movements, every gesture radiating purpose. The fear from moments ago has crystallized into something far more dangerous: determination.
"I came here following a story about missing people. What I found was a town full of polite smiles and selective amnesia. A sheriff who knows more than he's saying and conveniently shows up whenever I get too close to something interesting."
My hands clench involuntarily. The mate bond thrums with her proximity, with the fire in her voice, with the way she refuses to be diminished even when something inhuman was stalking her through the dark.
"You want to know what that tells me?" She takes another step back, and every instinct screams at me to follow. "It tells me I'm exactly where I need to be. Because the only thing that makes people this nervous about questions is answers they can't afford to give."
The beam of her flashlight sweeps across my face, and I know she's cataloguing every micro-expression, every tell I'm trying to suppress.
"So thank you, Sheriff Hart. For confirming that whatever happened to those missing people, it wasn't an accident, and it wasn't random, and it sure as hell wasn't a bear."
I catch my reflection in the station door and barely recognize the man staring back.
Ellie thinks I was dismissing her. That I was managing her. Worse — that I found her lacking in some way.
The truth is simpler and far more dangerous.
I know exactly how much ground she’s covering, how close she’s getting, and how badly I’ve misjudged how little distance can protect someone like her.
Whatever happens next, I’ve already failed once.
And I don’t get to fail again.