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Thirty-Seven: A Fellow Hunter
publish date:
2026-03-17 20:41:45
Latest chapter
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Eight: A Different Story
JarethThe drop point was a hollow in the base of a split oak half a mile north of the cottage, on the edge of Broken Arrow territory where the tree line thinned and the ground rose toward the mountains. I had used it twice before—once to send a report out, once to receive a supply package that Malachi had retrieved before Sarah was awake. This time I went myself.The package was there. Small, wrapped in oilcloth, wedged into the hollow with the particular neatness that was Brennan’s signature. I checked the seal before I opened it. The seal was intact.I tucked it inside my jacket and walked back.The cottage felt different when I came through the door. It took me a moment to identify why. Sarah was at the tavern, Kevin was with her, and Malachi was watching them both. The cottage was simply empty. I had lived alone my whole life and had never once noticed the quality of an empty room. I noticed it now. The kitchen still smelled of the breakfast she had made—eggs and fried potato and
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Seven: The Letter
SarahJareth had been up before me, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that he was already deep in quiet conversation with Malachi at the kitchen table when I came out, a map spread between them that they folded away with practiced casualness the moment I appeared.I made coffee for everyone without being asked, because it was something to do with my hands while I absorbed the fact that Malachi seemed to be a new fixture in our house.Kevin appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, hair disordered from sleep, and climbed into his chair with the focused purposefulness of a child who had learned that breakfast didn’t make itself. I scrambled eggs and fried the leftover potato from last night and cut bread and set it all on the table and the four of us ate together in the particular comfortable quiet that had become the shape of mornings in the cottage.After breakfast Jareth and Malachi took their coffee outside. I washed the dishes and swept the kitchen floor and went to che
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Six: Under the Door
PoppyI found it on my way to bed.Most nights I was the last one up — had been for forty years, ever since Frank’s heart gave out and left me with a tavern to run and no particular reason to hurry to an empty bed. I did my rounds after closing. Checked the locks, banked the fire, wiped down the bar one last time because there was comfort in the ritual of it even when there was no practical need. Frank used to say I cleaned when I was thinking. He wasn’t wrong. He was right about most things, which had been equal parts wonderful and aggravating for thirty-seven years.The letter was on the floor just inside the back door. A plain envelope, no name on the outside, tucked against the threshold as though it had been slid carefully underneath rather than dropped. I almost missed it in the dim — my eyes weren’t what they were, another thing Frank wasn’t around to be right about — but I caught the pale rectangle of it against the dark floorboards and bent to pick it up.I stood for a moment
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Five: Worth Burning the World For
Jasper I hadn’t shifted in eleven days. Not for lack of trying. Every morning I went to the tree line at the eastern edge of the pack house grounds, stripped off my shirt in the early heat, and stood in the shadow of the pines waiting for my wolf to come. Every morning he refused. Not with the clean resistance of a wolf choosing stillness — with the jagged, painful half-refusal of something broken, a mechanism that wanted to function and couldn’t find the way. On the third day I had managed a partial shift that left me on my knees in the dirt for twenty minutes afterward, my hands wrong, my spine screaming, my wolf retreating back behind whatever wall he’d built and refusing to come out again. On the seventh day I hadn’t tried. I’d just stood there in the trees and listened to him howl. Not out loud. The howling was internal, which was somehow worse — a sound that filled my skull and had nowhere to go, that Scarlet could apparently sense in the small hours, lying beside me, becau
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Four: A Name
Sarah I woke at three in the morning with the absolute certainty that someone had just been in the room with me. I lay still, every sense reaching into the darkness. The cottage was quiet. Through the wall I could hear Kevin’s breathing — slow and even, the particular rhythm of a child deeply asleep. Outside, the insects had settled into their late-night register, low and constant and unalarmed. Nothing had moved. Nothing was wrong. And yet. The feeling wasn’t fear. I knew fear — it had been my first language for years, the electric spike that preceded bad things. This was something else. Something that felt less like an intrusion and more like a presence. Like someone had sat beside my bed for a while and then quietly, gently left. I pressed my fingertips to my sternum. The place where my power lived felt warm. Not the hot surge of lightning — just warm. The warmth of a recently inhabited space. There had been a smell. I was certain of it, pulling the memory up through the layer
Hiding The Alpha's Son Chapter Forty-Three: A Blood Line
Felicia The door swung shut behind him and didn’t latch. It never latched. He had never fixed it and I had long ago stopped believing it was an oversight. I waited until the sound of his footsteps on the path had faded completely — past the blackthorn hedge, down the bank, across the creek. I knew the rhythm of his leaving the way I knew the rhythm of everything in this cottage. The particular creak of the third porch step. The way the blackthorn rustled when a shoulder brushed it. The silence that settled back into the pines when he was finally, completely gone. Only then did I look at the hairbrush. It sat in the center of my worktable where I had placed it — away from his herbs, away from the materials I had been preparing for the spell he wanted. Away from everything that was his. It looked ordinary in the thin window light. A woman’s hairbrush, plain handle, a few dark strands still caught in the bristles. I reached out and picked it up. The moment my fingers closed around
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