Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – The Smell of Secrets

Riley’s fingers trembled slightly as she tore open the envelope that had been slipped under her apartment door. It wasn’t the first anonymous note she’d received in the past week, but this one felt heavier—like the paper itself was soaked in foreboding. It read, “He’s watching you. Just like he did before.”

She didn’t need a name to know who “he” was.

The scent of danger clung to the paper like old cologne. Not from Jaxon this time—something darker, older, familiar in a way that made her stomach churn. The letters were written in black ink, smudged in places as though written in haste… or with trembling hands.

She shoved it into the drawer with the others and slammed it shut.

The last time she’d let herself feel truly vulnerable was years ago, and she’d promised never again. But somehow, ever since Jaxon stormed into her life with his maddening confidence and frustrating smirks, the walls she’d spent years fortifying were cracking—bit by bit.

She hated it.

And what she hated more? That he seemed to notice everything.

He noticed the way she paused when someone said her name too sharply. The way her hand instinctively touched the old scar on her shoulder when she was nervous. The way her eyes scanned exits when she entered a room.

And he hadn’t asked questions. Not yet. But he was watching. And it scared her more than the notes.

---

Jaxon stood on the rooftop of his building, the wind ruffling his hair as he stared at the city below. It was late, almost midnight, and most of the world had gone to sleep. But his mind refused to rest.

Something was wrong.

Not just with the rogue wolves moving through the outer boroughs. Not just with the Council breathing down his neck. No, something was off with Riley. And it wasn’t just her stubborn defiance or razor tongue.

She smelled like secrets.

He’d caught a scent on her jacket earlier—burnt sage, nightshade, and blood. Faint, but undeniably real. A mix of things that didn’t belong in the city. Not unless someone was deliberately trying to hide what they were.

Someone like Riley.

His wolf paced inside him, unsettled.

He remembered what his father used to say: “Wolves can smell lies, but it’s the ones who lie to themselves that are most dangerous.”

And Riley was lying to herself about something big.

Still, despite every warning sign, he couldn’t stay away. There was a pull between them—volatile, electric, maddening. She was infuriating, reckless, guarded to the point of being rude. And yet, when she laughed (the rare few times she let herself), it lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years.

She didn’t see it, but he did.

And he’d protect her, even if she didn’t want him to.

Even if it killed him.

---

Riley took the long way to her part-time job at the bookstore the next day. She avoided the subway, avoided packed sidewalks, and avoided anyone who looked like they knew her. The note had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. Not just because it confirmed her fears, but because it meant someone still remembered.

She didn’t have many memories of her childhood—just flashes. A woman screaming. The sound of breaking glass. The feeling of fur on her skin that wasn’t supposed to be there.

And a voice. A deep, cold voice whispering, “You’re one of us now.”

She was five.

She had spent the next fifteen years burying that voice under every ounce of defiance and sarcasm she could muster.

But it was coming back.

And worse, Jaxon was digging too close. If he knew what she really was—what had happened to her—he wouldn’t look at her with that strange mix of curiosity and desire. He’d look at her like everyone else did when they found out: with pity. Or fear.

Or worse—like she was broken.

No. She wouldn’t let him in. She couldn’t.

But fate didn’t care what she wanted.

As she pushed open the bookstore door, she collided with someone. Hard. Books scattered across the floor, and Riley stumbled back, about to curse—but froze when she looked up.

A man with pale eyes and a cruel smile stood there, holding a worn leather book in his hand.

“Riley Hart,” he said, his voice like gravel dipped in honey. “Been a long time.”

Her blood turned to ice.

She didn’t know his name.

But she knew his scent.

He was from the facility. From before. From the night she barely survived.

Jaxon had been right.

She wasn’t safe.

And secrets didn’t stay buried forever.