Chapter 13 - Cade
I’ve never been much of a morning person, and I don’t usually like to see other people first thing, but when I walk into the kitchen and see Mara already dressed and perched on the edge of a barstool, I feel something in me shift.
She’s pulling on boots, hair loose around her shoulders, and the light coming through the window catches the copper and cinnamon in it.
I try not to stare, but it’s not easy. The jeans she’s wearing are so tight I want to bite through the denim, and the blue sweater she’s borrowed from Willow is soft and delicate enough that it’s an act of mercy on the world she’s not out in public more often.
She doesn’t notice me at first, which is good, because I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to act around her now.
After everything. After the way I claimed her, after the way she let me.
I clear my throat and grab a glass of water. Her head pops up, eyes wide, but she doesn’t flinch or look away. If anything, she looks at me a second longer than necessary, like she’s working out a math problem and I’m the variable she can’t solve.
“You ready?” I ask because I have no idea what else to say.
She shrugs like she’s been waiting for me to get my shit together. “You said nine. It’s nine.”
I want to laugh, but it comes out as a cough. I want to tell her I haven’t slept all night, that I had dreams so wild I woke up with my fists clenched and her name in my mouth, but I don’t. Instead, I gesture toward the door and nod for her to follow.
The drive into town is silent, but it’s not the old kind of silence.
This one is full of all the things we’re not saying, and every time I look at her, I remember the feel of her skin under my hands, the sound she made when I buried my face between her thighs.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles gone white, and focus on the road.
The last thing I need is to wreck the truck because I can’t keep my mind off her for five consecutive seconds.
The town is a ghost at this hour, and I’m grateful for it.
Main Street is all fake Western storefronts and overgrown planters, but the bakery is open.
I know the woman who runs it, and although she’s as nosy as everyone else in the pack, I know she has a heart of gold, too.
Besides, everyone in the pack already knows about Mara, and it’s about time I faced the issue head-on.
I park in front and turn to Mara, who’s watching the street like she expects it to open up and swallow her whole.
“You want to go in, or wait here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
She looks at me, then the bakery, then back at me. “You think I’m going to make a run for it?”
I shake my head. “If you wanted to run, you’d have done it by now.” I don’t add that I’d chase her, and I’d find her, and I’d never let her go again. I think she knows that already.
She opens the door and gets out, pausing to breathe in the fresh mountain air.
Watching her makes me wince slightly as I realize how confined she must have felt the last few weeks.
I brush it off, though, because I don’t regret my actions, not really.
I knew she wasn’t being truthful with me before, either.
She always kept one eye on the door, but the other was always on me.
I follow her up the steps, keeping a respectful distance; for my benefit, really, to give myself a second to get my breathing under control.
There’s a weird sense of pride in seeing her walk into the bakery like she belongs here.
The bell over the door tinkles, and the smell of cinnamon and sugar nearly bowls me over.
Mara inhales, eyes going soft for a split second, and I know, right then, that this was a good idea.
The woman behind the counter, Mrs. Haddie, is already peering over her glasses at us, her expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity that’s as old as the mountains.
“Cade, I was starting to wonder if you’d ever bring your visitor in to see me.
” Her gaze darts to Mara, and there’s a quick flicker of recognition.
It’s not the first time I’ve brought someone in, but it’s the first time I actually care what people might think.
“Morning, Haddie,” I say, nodding. “Thought we’d pick up something to go. Cold out, but the river walk’s nice today.”
Mrs. Haddie’s attention latches onto Mara. “And you’re our visitor?” she asks, voice deliberately light but so obviously interested. I almost try to answer for her, but Mara beats me to it.
“I’m Mara,” she says, voice steady but not unfriendly. “I’m…just staying with Cade for a while.” The way she says it, I feel the heat crawl up the back of my neck, and I have to look away before I say something stupid.
Mrs. Haddie smiles, but it’s the kind that says she’ll be calling her sister the second we leave.
“Well, you’re as pretty as a painting. Let me get your drinks, and you can go enjoy that walk together.
” The way she says it makes it sound like going for a walk is the grandest date I’ve ever been on, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes as she makes a big deal of taking our orders and tries to keep Mara talking, obviously fishing.
Mara takes her coffee with a genuine smile this time. “Thank you,” she says, and I see the affection in Haddie’s eyes, just for a second.
We leave, and Mara doesn’t say anything until we’re halfway down the block. “You do this often? Bring home girls from the city and parade them in front of the locals?”
I laugh, partly out of surprise, partly because she’s not entirely wrong. “You’re the first outsider,” I admit. “And I wasn’t parading. I just…figured you might want to get out of the house.”
She gives me a sidelong look, half suspicion and half something else. “You still not worried I’ll take my chance to make a run for it?”
“I told you,” I say, “if you wanted to run, you would have. You’re not a prisoner. Not anymore.” I add.
She doesn’t respond, but I can see her thinking about it.
We walk along the river, shoes crunching in the frosty grass.
The wind off the river is cold, but the sun is warm enough to make the walk pleasant, and the mountains look their best. Mara walks next to me, one hand holding her coffee and the other in her jacket pocket, head tilted to the sun.
I’m watching the delicate line of her jaw, the way her hair whips across her cheek, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s Rowan. Figures he’d pick right now to call; he’s got an eerie sixth sense for catching people off-guard.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but Mara glances back, curiosity flickering in her eyes. I answer and put it on speaker, a petty flex that I know will annoy Rowan, but also so Mara can hear every word.
Rowan doesn’t bother with hello. “You alone?” His voice is sharper than usual; either he’s been up all night or he’s already halfway through his first mug of strong coffee. I wonder what’s keeping him up more, the Order or new fatherhood.
“With Mara,” I say, and watch her mouth twitch at the sound of his voice.
“Good. I wanted her to hear this, too.” There’s a crackle as Rowan shuffles something, probably paper.
“Had a call with my European contact last night and filled him in on developments. He’s heard chatter about a biotech lab, supposedly contracted by the Order, sequencing DNA from various sources.
Not just shifters. They’re looking for something specific, but nobody knows what. ”
Mara stops walking. “They’ve always taken these blood tests. But they told everyone it was just for medical screening, checking for disease, free healthcare, that kind of thing.”
Rowan lets out a humorless laugh. “Sure. Because they care about people’s health.
My contact says they’re producing medication in small batches, but it’s not clear who it’s for.
The original theory was maybe it’s to make hunters stronger, but now I’m thinking…
” he trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
I look at Mara. Her face has gone still, something calculating behind her eyes. “You think it’s for people like me,” she says. “Or like…not like me, exactly, but the ones who don’t fit.”
Rowan hums his approval. “Could be. Could be they’re trying to suppress something, or activate it, or just see what happens when they tinker with the right line.
Either way, we need to get a sample of whatever it is.
If they’re shipping it over here, it’s going to show up soon, and I want to intercept it before it gets into the wrong hands. ”
I can feel the hair on my arms standing up. “Do you have any leads on that?” I ask him.
I’m about to answer when Mara steps closer, her shoulder brushing mine.
She holds the coffee in both hands, staring down at the river like she’s trying to see through the water to something buried at the bottom.
“When I was up north,” she says, pausing as she seems to collect her thoughts, “they used a big transport company, always the same one. Sometimes boxes came in from Europe, and sometimes they went out, but they were never marked medical. Always industrial, or sometimes random food shipments. But the drivers were different every time, and the manifests never made sense. My parents owned a trucking company before they died. I know the business. Nobody ships that way unless they’re hiding something. ”
Rowan is silent for a second, and when he speaks again, his tone is different—more focused, more respectful. “You think the shipments are still coming through that company?”
She shrugs, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Wouldn’t be surprised. The Order likes patterns, and they like using locals to do their dirty work. Only, I never saw anyone from the hunters actually load or unload. It was always, like…contracted out.”
I nod, realizing where she’s going. “Could be they’re using a shell company. Or someone with a reason not to ask questions.”
I look at Mara, and she’s already ahead of me. “I’d bet money it’s the same route, same playbook,” she says. “If we can get a manifest or a client list from the trucking company….”
She trails off, and for a second, I see her as she must have been before all this: a girl with a plan, not just a survivor.
Rowan is all business now. “Send me the name if you remember it. I’ll have someone run the records and see if anything matches.
In the meantime, Cade, keep her close. It occurs to me that they might try to get her back; otherwise, how will they know if their efforts have any effect?
We’ll know more after Willow and the lab run those tablets. ”
I say, “She’s not going anywhere,” and I mean it, but the second I do, I feel her tense at my side. I want to reach for her, but I know better than to try to cage someone who’s spent her life running.
Rowan hangs up with the usual abruptness, and it’s just me, Mara, and the sound of the river again. She doesn’t move away, just sips her coffee and looks at me like she’s waiting for the next move.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the trucking thing?” I ask, not accusing, just curious.
She shrugs, biting at her lip. “Didn’t seem important until now.
Or maybe I was too focused on the wrong things.
” She lets out a breath that sounds like pure frustration.
“I used to help my parents with the books when I was little. After they died, I stopped caring about the business, but I never forgot how it worked. If the Order is using local transport, I can probably work out the routes.”
I want to tell her she’s incredible, that she’s smarter than everyone in the alliance put together, but I keep it to myself. Instead, I say, “Let’s look into companies ourselves when we get back, see what we can find to send to Rowan, and start looking at those routes?”
She turns to me and beams, her eyes filled with determination.
This is what she needs, I realize; it’s her purpose.
We may not have come at it the same way, but we have a common enemy, and that seems to have shifted something between us.
Realizing I underestimated her feels almost refreshing; it’s rare that anyone can surprise me.
But as we walk back toward the truck and she talks through some of her research, I begin to realize that underestimating her is exactly what I did, and I imagine that anyone who does lives to regret it.