Howl between us

Chapter One — The Girl Who Burned Bridges

The city never slept, not even when the moon was high and full, casting silvery light over the glittering glass towers of Crescent City. Neon signs buzzed. Taxi horns echoed. Humans hurried down sidewalks with coffee in one hand and stress in the other. Somewhere, music thumped from a club basement. And inside a tiny, too-warm coffee shop tucked between a bookstore and a vape lounge, Riley Hart was pretending not to exist.

She’d gotten good at that. Blending in. Staying just enough under the radar to avoid triggering supernatural senses, but not so off-grid that it raised red flags. She poured lattes, snarked at hipsters, and listened to old punk rock through one AirPod while she cleaned the espresso machine with the kind of focus usually reserved for brain surgery.

Her shift ended in six minutes. Not that she was counting.

“Excuse me, miss? This isn’t almond milk.”

Riley didn’t even turn around. “It’s not?”

“No. I can taste the difference. This is oat.”

“You poor, brave soul,” she said flatly, looking up. “How will you survive?”

The customer—a man with a man bun and a vintage camera around his neck—looked offended. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“You don’t have to be dramatic. But here we are.”

He left in a huff. Riley smirked and returned to wiping the counter. There were worse jobs than being a barista. At least here, she wasn’t surrounded by pack wolves judging her for breathing too loud or failing to bow every time an Alpha strutted by.

Here, she was just another face in the crowd. Another nobody in the human world.

Exactly how she liked it.

Until the screaming started.

It was sharp and sudden—childish and panicked. Riley’s ears perked up before her brain could register what was happening. Then she saw it: a little boy sprinting toward the street, chasing a bright red ball. A car was speeding down the road, its headlights bouncing off wet asphalt.

Everything slowed.

Her wolf surged beneath her skin.

No.

Not here. Not now. Not in front of people.

But instinct screamed louder than reason.

She was out the door and across the sidewalk in a blink, not thinking, not hesitating. The little boy froze in the middle of the road, too scared to move. Riley lunged, grabbed him by the waist, and twisted midair. The car clipped her shoulder. Pain exploded in her side. She rolled, shielding the boy with her body.

People screamed again—this time at her.

She looked up, heart pounding, chest heaving. Her hand—

Claws.

Her eyes—

Wolf gold.

A man across the street had his phone out. Recording.

The world tilted.

“Shit,” Riley breathed.

Someone was shouting at her, asking if she was okay. The boy was crying. The car had skidded to a stop. But all she could hear was the crackling inside her skull, the voice she hadn’t heard in years.

You blew it. Again.

She ran.

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Riley didn’t stop running until she hit the edge of the river, the one that split the city in half like a knife wound. Her shoulder throbbed, but she kept moving. She ditched her apron in a dumpster. Ripped off her name tag and threw it into the water. Her hands were shaking.

Someone had seen.

No, everyone had seen.

Humans couldn’t tell the difference between a shifter and some random mutant. But the video—if it spread online, if the supernatural networks caught wind—she’d be flagged. And worse?

The local pack would come knocking.

She hadn’t survived this long by being careless. She’d lived off the grid for five years. No pack. No connections. No loyalty. Just survival.

Now she’d broken the most sacred law of all.

Don’t shift in front of humans.

She sat on a bench near the docks and pressed her fists to her forehead. The city skyline glittered in the dark like broken stars. Somewhere behind her, a dog barked. Somewhere above her, a predator was watching.

She felt him before she saw him.

The air went still.

Then a voice—deep, amused, and just a little smug—cut through the night.

“You know, for a rogue, you really suck at staying hidden.”

Riley stood slowly. Turned.

And came face-to-face with the one person she’d hoped never to meet.

Jaxon Vale.

The future Alpha of Crescent City’s most powerful werewolf pack. The son of that Vale. The kind of wolf who had power running in his blood and arrogance in his bones. He leaned against a lamppost like he owned the city and looked her over with the infuriating calm of someone who’d already decided she wasn’t a threat.

He was tall, dark-haired, with just a hint of five-o’clock shadow and a smug smile that made her itch to punch him.

“Get lost, Vale,” she growled.

He asked. “That’s no way to greet your new babysitter.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, but you do need protection. And an alibi. And probably a better disguise. The video’s already circulating on pack channels. Congrats—you’re famous.”

Riley’s stomach twisted.

He stepped closer. Not threatening, exactly. But his presence filled the space like heat. “You shifted in public. That makes you pack business now.”

“I’m not part of your damn pack.”

“You are now.”

She scoffed. “Not a chance.”

“Afraid you don’t get a say. Pack law trumps your lone-wolf pride.” He shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer to be handed over to the Supernatural Council for trial. I hear their dungeons are lovely this time of year.”

Riley stared at him. Then laughed bitterly. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admitted. “But mostly, I’m wondering what a marked rogue is doing back in my city.”

Her blood ran cold.

He knew.

Or at least suspected.

Riley’s fingers curled into fists. “Stay away from me.”

Jaxon’s smirk faded, just slightly. “Too late for that.”

He pulled a silver emblem from his jacket — the official seal of the Crescent City Alpha. “You’re coming with me, Hart. Whether you like it or not.”

She stared at the symbol, then at the man holding it.

Jaxon Vale. Her worst nightmare wrapped in a tailored jacket and Alpha swagger.

And just like that, everything she’d been running from came crashing back.