Chapter 5 - ZEPHYR

"I need you to pull everything we have on Wolf Ridge's movements in the last seventy-two hours."

"Already on it." Calder's voice is clipped through the car speakers. "How many?"

"Two that she saw. Could be more."

"Confirmed pack members?"

"She recognised them from the tournament." I keep my eyes on the road. "The ones who got disqualified."

A pause. "This is connected to the Northgate withdrawal."

"Yes."

"He's escalating."

"He's testing," I say. "There's a difference. He wants to see how I respond before he decides how far to push." I take the turn onto Raylynn's street. "Which means I need to respond correctly."

"I'm five minutes out."

I glance sideways.

Raylynn is sitting with her bag in her lap, her hands folded on top of it. Her eyes are on the road ahead, and she is doing the thing she does when she is holding herself very carefully — the specific stillness of someone who does not want to take up space even in her own distress.

"Alright," I say.

The street is quiet. I pull into the small car park in front of her building and cut the engine.

She reaches for the door handle.

"Thank you," she says, not quite looking at me. "Again. I feel like I keep saying that."

"You keep giving me reasons to."

She goes still for a moment, before getting out of the car.

Then she does look at me, briefly, with an expression I can't fully read — something between gratitude and something more complicated than gratitude — and she opens the door.

I get out just as the building entrance bursts open, and Ivy flies out of them, crossing the car park in approximately seven steps and throws herself at Raylynn before Raylynn has fully shut the passenger door.

"Oh my God." She has her arms around her completely, her face pressed into Raylynn's shoulder. "Oh my God, Ray, are you okay? I've been standing at that window for twenty minutes—"

"I'm okay." Raylynn's arms come up around her automatically. "Ivy, I'm fine—"

"You said Wolf Ridge. You said they were following you—"

"And I'm fine." Raylynn pulls back, holds her at arm's length, looks her over. "Why are you outside? I told you to stay inside."

"I couldn't just—"

"I told you to stay inside, Ivy."

"I know what you told me—"

"Then why are you outside?"

"Because you were being chased by strange men and you told me to call my father and then hung up and didn't call back for thirty-five minutes!" Ivy's voice cracks on the last word. She pulls Raylynn back in, sniffling. "Don't do that. Don't just go quiet like that."

"Ivy," I say, causing both of them to look at me. "Go and get your bag."

She blinks the tears back, replacing them with the armour she puts on whenever she remembers I'm near her.

"What?"

"Your bag. Go and get it."

She stares at me. "What are you—"

"This isn't a discussion."

"I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what's actually happening—"

"What's happening," I say, "is that Raylynn was nearly taken today. In broad daylight, two blocks from my building." I hold her gaze. "We all know why."

Ivy's jaw tightens. "Then post warriors. Outside the building. Downstairs in the lobby—"

"No."

"Why not? You have enough of them—"

"You live on the outskirts of our pack. If this building is targeted while my men are standing outside it," I continue, "people get hurt. Humans. Your neighbours." A pause. "Warriors at my estate is a different conversation entirely."

She closes her mouth, then looks at Raylynn who looks back at her steadily.

"Ivy," she says. "Go with your dad."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I'll be fine—"

"Grab your things too," I say.

She blinks at me wide-eyed. "I don't need to—"

"Five minutes." I hold her gaze. "Both of you. Five minutes."

Calder pulls in nearly immediately, parking next to me. 

“You go up with the girls,” he says as he gets out. “I'll stay here and check the perimeter.”

I nod at him then face the girls. “Let's go.”

♣♣♣

Miriam is at the front door before the car is fully stopped.

She is a small woman, compact and efficient, with grey-streaked hair pinned back and the particular warmth of someone who runs a large household not because she has to but because she genuinely cannot help it. She has been with me since Ivy was born.

She takes one look at the girls getting out of the car and opens both arms.

Ivy walks into them without hesitation, which still surprises me sometimes — the way she softens for Miriam in a way she has never quite managed for me. Miriam holds her for a moment, murmurs something I don't catch, then releases her and turns to Raylynn.

"Come here, sweetheart," she says, with the same absence of ceremony.

Raylynn hugs her. It takes everything to stop my wolf from growling at Miriam's arms wrapped around her.

"Inside," Miriam says, releasing her, already moving. "Both of you. I've got tea and there are cookies and I don't want to hear anything about not being hungry because you've both had a day."

She steers them through the entrance hall and into the kitchen which smells like chamomile and butter biscuits.

The girls sit at the kitchen island. Miriam sets mugs in front of them, while I fix myself a cup.

"Right," she says, settling opposite them with her own mug and the matter-of-fact energy of a woman calling a meeting. "House rules, since you'll be here a while."

Ivy wraps both hands around her mug. "How long is a while?"

"That's above my authority," Miriam says pleasantly. "What I can tell you is how things work here. Pack omegas come in at eight and finish at four, Monday through Friday. They don't live on the estate, so evenings are quiet. I'm in the annex building on the east side of the grounds — separate entrance, always available. You need something at two in the morning, you call me. I mean that."

Raylynn looks up from her mug. "We don't want to be any trouble—"

"You're not trouble," Miriam says, with the tone of someone closing a door on that line of conversation. "You're not strangers." She looks between them. "The east wing on the ground floor is Raylynn's. Ivy, your room is upstairs. Breakfast is whenever you want it. I keep the kitchen stocked. Anything you don't eat, tell me and I won't buy it again."

"I'm not allergic to anything," Raylynn says.

"Wonderful," Miriam beams at her. "Any questions?"

Ivy opens her mouth, into which Raylynn puts a cookie as she jumps to her feet, “Be right back.”

She comes back with a large canvas bag.

"We brought food from the apartment," she says, slightly apologetic, setting it on the counter. "I didn't want it to go to waste. There's pasta sauce, a lasagne, some soup — it's all either frozen or close to it. You can just—"

She stops because Miriam has taken the bag from her hands and is already looking inside it with an expression of genuine pleasure.

"This looks wonderful," Miriam says.

"It's just home cooking, nothing special—"

"Don't say it's just anything." She is already opening the freezer. "Lasagne." She holds up a container, reading Raylynn's handwritten label. "Ivy, did you know your friend could cook?"

"She learned it all herself," Ivy says, stealing a cookie. "Watched about ten thousand videos and just started making things. Now she stress-cooks when she has deadlines."

"I don't stress-cook."

"You made three dishes the night before your structural analysis exam.”

“You said you wanted to eat something new.”

"She makes me eat properly," Ivy says to Miriam. "It's her whole thing."

"Good thing someone does.” Miriam stacks the containers with efficient care. "Thank you, sweetheart. I mean that."

Raylynn colours slightly pink. I wonder what other parts of her would blush as well.

After another few minutes, Ivy slides off her stool and stretches.

"I'm going up," she says. "My ribs hurt and I want a bath." She points at Raylynn. "Don't stay down here being polite all night."

"I'm not—"

"You absolutely are." Ivy points at Miriam. "She does this. She stays up being helpful until everyone else is in bed."

"That's not—"

"Goodnight," Ivy says, and disappears into the hallway, leaving Raylynn and Miriam staring at each other.

"She's not wrong," Miriam says.

Raylynn laughs — a short, real sound, slightly surprised out of her — and stands up. "I'll help you with the dishes."

"You absolutely won't," Miriam says, untying her apron. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

“I'll be in my study,” I nod at them before standing up.

“Okay,” Miriam nods, leading Raylynn out of the kitchen, past the library, past the room we use for pack meetings —

She stops in front of the door next to my study.

I stop walking.

Miriam produces a key from her pocket and opens the door and light spills into the corridor — warm, lamp-lit, the room already turned down and fresh-smelling. 

"En suite through there," Miriam is saying. "Extra blankets in the wardrobe. The radiator runs a little warm so there's a dial on the left side if you need to turn it down." She hands Raylynn the key. "Anything else you need tonight, you call me."

"This is beautiful," Raylynn says quietly.

"Good." Miriam pats her arm once. "Sleep well."

She turns and comes back up the corridor, “You should turn in early too. It must've been a long day.” Then she disappears into the kitchen and out the backdoor.

Raylynn turns then and finds me staring at her.

"Oh." Her hand tightens on the door frame. "I didn't know you were—"

"My study," I say, nodding at the door beside hers.

She looks at it then back at me. "Right.”

We stand in the corridor for a moment.

"Felicity has been removed from the hiring panel," I find myself saying. "Effective today."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I did. What she said was unacceptable. All of it."

"She wasn't wrong, Alpha," she looks at her feet. I prefer her eyes on me. "About the interview… Ivy did arrange it."

"Ivy reminded them your application existed, which is disappointing as it had been sitting there for over three months," I step a bit closer to my study. "There's a difference. Your portfolio is the reason you were called in. It's also the reason you would have been offered the position, if the interview had gone the way it was supposed to."

She look at me, hope in her eyes. "Would have been?”

"HR will contact you to reschedule with a different panel." I hold her gaze. "If you still want to."

She thinks about it for less than three seconds. "I do.”

“Good. Goodnight, Raylynn," I say.

She looks at me for one moment that is slightly longer than a goodnight requires.

"Goodnight, Alpha," she smiles, before going into her room, shutting the door behind her.

My wolf strains within me to follow her into her room, successfully willing my feet to move closer to her door.

We listen as she moves about the room, filling the air with the zipping of bags and the rustle of clothes. She moves a bit more, and the soft click of the bathroom door from the other side of the wall. Then the faint sound of water running.

My wolf goes very still. Then, with the specific unhelpfulness that has defined his entire contribution to this evening:

‘You think we could join her?’