Dawn’s fragile light seeped through frost‑etched windows. Inside Ryker’s hidden cabin, warmth curled around two bodies tangled in aftermath slow breaths, flushed skin, the fragile promise of a future unspoken.Trixie awoke first. Ryker’s arm draped over her waist, protective and still. Everything felt sacred until a hard rap shattered the morning hush.Ryker was upright in an instant, muscles coiled. Trixie mirrored him, heart pounding.Three authoritative knocks -signaling danger and dread.He motioned her down, then moved to the door, blade in hand. Silas, he thought. The Ridge Alpha. Trixie’s father. The memory crashed in banishment, betrayal, death.He opened the door: three figures framed in pale light two enforcers, and Silas, regal and cold.Silas’s voice was cutting: “Ryker. I expected courtesy from the usurper of my daughter’s bed.”Ryker stepped forward. “I’m not your pawn.”Silas’s eyes flicked past Ryker to Trixie’s doorway. “I know what went on last night and why.”He turn
The cabin sat deep in the woods, far from the den and deeper still than the patrol routes. It wasn’t large just a single room, a fireplace, a bed carved by hand. Ryker never mentioned it before. Trixie didn’t ask why.Maybe she didn’t need to.He led her there in silence, their hands clasped, the moon high and swollen with promise. Shadows tangled in the trees. The air was thick with the scent of pine and something older earth, memory, want.Trixie’s pulse quickened with every step. Not from fear. From the quiet certainty of what they were walking toward.When they reached the door, Ryker hesitated. Not from doubt but reverence. He opened it like a secret.Inside, everything smelled like him: cedar, soap, smoke. A blanket lay folded at the foot of the bed. A single candle burned on the nightstand, its flame low and flickering. The windows were dark, rimmed with frost.Trixie stepped in slowly, her breath catching as she turned in place, taking it all in."You built this?" she asked sof
It started with mornings.Not grand declarations or sudden confessions. Just the soft ritual of shared space: Ryker making coffee in the den’s kitchen while Trixie hovered nearby, half-awake, hair pulled into a messy knot. She never used to be a morning person. Now she had reasons to be.It had been three weeks since that first kiss by the fire.They hadn’t rushed anything since. They hadn’t needed to. There were no ticking clocks in Ryker’s presence, no expectations masquerading as affection. He didn’t reach for more than she offered, and she stopped bracing for the moment someone would.Instead, they learned each other in the in-betweens.Ryker discovered that Trixie liked honey in her tea, not sugar, and that she sometimes reread old books just to visit the parts that hurt in the right way. Trixie learned that Ryker hummed when he cooked—low, thoughtful tunes with no words—and that he took his eggs scrambled, not because he preferred them that way, but because his brother used to a
The forest was alive tonight.Silver light dripped through the trees, dappling the earth in pale ribbons as paws pounded soft dirt and breath steamed in the cool air. The pack ran as one—fluid, silent, sure.And this time, Trixie was among them.Not stumbling. Not trailing.Running.Her lungs burned, but in a good way. A strong way. Her body moved with rhythm now, not rebellion—her limbs no longer strangers to the pull of wolf instinct. The first run had left her pale and gasping, crumpled before the river bend, unconscious in Ryker’s arms before she’d even crossed the halfway mark.She’d woken later to the heat of his worry—his scent thick with fear, regret, and something softer that he hadn’t dared name yet.But tonight, she was upright.She was still running.And she was being watched.She felt him behind her long before she saw him—Ryker, pacing her like a shadow. Not pressing her. Not pushing. Just… there. A presence like a second heartbeat. Protective. Quietly proud.They reache
The clinic was quiet at this hour—late enough that even the most stubborn patients had gone home, early enough that the night shift hadn’t started drifting in with sleepy complaints and bloodshot eyes. Only one light was on, casting a warm glow through the frosted glass window.Will was still here, of course. He always was.Trixie lingered in the doorway, one hand gripping the edge of the frame like it might anchor her to something. She hadn’t knocked. She didn’t need to. Will had heard her coming the second her feet hit the porch.He didn’t look up immediately. Just kept wiping down his instruments, methodical and calm.“I wondered when you’d show up,” he said gently.Trixie’s throat tightened. “How?”Will finally looked at her, his pale eyes impossibly kind. “Because I know you.”That did her in.She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and the moment it latched, her shoulders dropped like she’d been holding herself together with wire and willpower.Will said nothing
The room had gone quiet again, save for the soft crackle of embers and the occasional groan of shifting wood. But something else was there now too.Trixie noticed it slowly—at first, she thought it was just the warmth of the fire pressing into her skin, relaxing muscles she hadn’t realized she’d kept tensed. But it was more than heat. It was scent.Not smoke. Not cedar. Not even tea.Something sweeter. Richer.It wrapped around her like honey left out in the sun—slow, golden, warm. And it clung not to the room, but to her.Her eyes fluttered open.She lay still, half-curled in the tangle of blankets, but her awareness sharpened. The scent was new. Intimate. Undeniably Ryker, but softened, deepened. She knew how he smelled in battle, how he smelled in rain and wind and cold. But this—this was different.This was marking.Not overt. Not intentional.But real.Her heart kicked once, hard.She lifted her head, eyes scanning until they found him. Ryker was still by the fire, back braced ag