Chapter 3: The Hearth and the Hound

Before Kaelen put the massive truck into gear, he shifted his intense gaze away from me. "Wait here."

​Without grabbing a jacket or an umbrella, he opened his door and stepped back out into the freezing torrential rain. I watched through the fogged passenger window, my pulse doing a strange, uneven flutter against my throat.

​He walked back to my dead, smoking Honda Civic. He didn't struggle. He didn't even look annoyed by the storm. With one massive hand, he wrenched the trunk open. With terrifying, effortless ease, he grabbed both of my heavy, oversized suitcases—the ones that had taken two grown men to load back in the city—and hoisted them into the bed of his truck like they were filled with feathers. He slung Milo’s bulky diaper bag over his broad shoulder and slammed the trunk shut.

​When he climbed back into the driver’s seat, he didn't even look winded. Water dripped from his dark hair, trailing down his sharp jawline and disappearing into the collar of his soaked flannel, drawing my eyes to the thick corded muscles of his neck.

​He threw the truck into drive, and the tires gripped the muddy mountain road.

​"The town is just over the ridge," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble over the sound of the heater blasting.

​I pulled my damp sweater tighter around myself, my teeth chattering uncontrollably as the adrenaline began to wear off. I peered out the rain-streaked window.

​Thornwood Peaks wasn't a town; it was a fortress. As we descended into the valley, the thick, ancient pine trees parted to reveal a cluster of buildings that looked like they had been carved directly out of the mountain stone. There were no sleek glass storefronts or paved sidewalks. It was all heavy log cabins, dark slate roofs, and glowing amber porch lights fighting against the storm.

​We passed a quiet diner with a flickering neon sign, a rustic hardware store, and a towering, shadowy building that looked like a town hall. The streets were completely empty. It felt isolated. Closed-off. Like a place that kept its own secrets and buried its own dead.

​Kaelen navigated the heavy truck through the winding main street until we reached the very edge of town, where the dense forest began to swallow the road again.

​He pulled up to a two-story building made of weathered brick and dark wood. A faded, swinging wooden sign hung over the porch: The Briar.

​"We're here," he announced, killing the engine.

​I stared up at my new home. It was completely dark, looking incredibly lonely against the backdrop of the stormy woods. A sudden, heavy wave of doubt crashed over me. What have I done? I was a city chef. Now I was sitting in the middle of nowhere, freezing to death with an orphaned baby, sitting next to a man who made my entire body feel like it was on fire.

​"Hey."

​Kaelen’s rough voice snapped me out of my spiral. I looked over. His golden-brown eyes were locked onto my face, reading the panic I was desperately trying to hide.

​"Get the pup," he ordered softly, the strange nickname slipping out effortlessly. "I've got the bags."

​I unbuckled Milo, who had thankfully fallen back asleep in the overwhelming heat of the truck, and tucked him tightly against my chest inside my damp jacket. We made a mad dash through the freezing rain onto the covered porch of the bakery.

​My shaking hands fumbled with the heavy brass key the realtor had mailed me. It took three tries, but the deadbolt finally clicked. I pushed the heavy oak door open.

​The inside of The Briar was exactly as I had pictured it—and ten times colder.

​It was a massive, open space with scarred hardwood floors, a long, antique wooden serving counter, and a giant stone fireplace taking up the entire back wall. In the corner, stacked nearly to the ceiling, were the two dozen heavy cardboard boxes I had paid a transport company to deliver three days ago.

​But the air inside was like a meat freezer. The power was completely out.

​"It's freezing," I whispered, my breath pluming in the dark air. Milo shivered violently against my chest, letting out a pitiful, sleepy wail. My wet clothes were clinging to my skin like ice.

​Kaelen walked in behind me, dropping my two heavy suitcases on the floor with a loud thud. He didn't say a word. He walked straight past me, moving with that fluid, predatory grace, and headed directly for the massive stone hearth.

​There was a pile of old, dusty logs sitting in a rusted iron basket next to the fireplace. Kaelen didn't bother looking for an axe. He picked up a thick piece of pine, placed it over his knee, and with a sharp, violent snap, broke the solid wood cleanly in half.

​I blinked, my exhausted brain struggling to process the sheer, impossible strength I had just witnessed.

​Within ninety seconds, he had a roaring fire blazing in the hearth. The dark, dusty bakery was instantly bathed in a warm, dancing orange glow. The heat began to chase the bitter chill from the room, but it was nothing compared to the heat Kaelen was radiating.

​He stood up, brushing the sawdust from his massive hands, and turned to face me. "Sit," he commanded, pointing to a dusty armchair sitting near my moving boxes.

​I was too tired to argue. I sank into the chair, holding Milo close to the flames.

​Kaelen walked back out the front door into the storm. A minute later, he returned carrying Milo’s diaper bag and a large, heavy steel thermos from his truck. He set the bag at my feet and practically shoved the thermos into my free hand. His rough, warm fingers brushed against mine, and another jolt of that intoxicating electricity shot straight up my arm.

​"Drink," he ordered, his eyes tracking the shiver that wracked my body.

​"What is it?" I asked, my voice breathless.

​"Black coffee. Strong. I brewed it before my patrol." His eyes dropped to my trembling shoulders, and that muscle in his jaw ticked aggressively. "You are freezing. You need to raise your core temperature. Drink the coffee, feed the child, and put on dry clothes."

​I unscrewed the cap. The smell of rich, dark roasted coffee hit my senses, and I practically moaned. I took a sip. It was scalding hot, bitter, and absolutely perfect. I could feel the heat tracking all the way down my throat, settling into my shivering chest.

​"Thank you," I whispered, looking up at him through my damp eyelashes.

​Kaelen stood by the fire, his massive frame casting a terrifying, towering shadow across the bakery walls. The orange firelight danced across his rugged face, catching the silver strands in his beard and the intense, brooding depth of his eyes. He looked like a warrior king who had just stepped out of a violent myth.

​"I didn't do it for a thank you," he muttered, his voice dropping into that dark, chest-vibrating register that made my thighs clench. "I did it because you're a stubborn city girl who doesn't know how to survive in the woods."

​He stepped away from the fire, moving toward the front door. "There's a storm coming that will knock the rest of the lines down. The transport guys dropped your boxes, but this place isn't secure yet."

​He stopped with his hand on the brass doorknob, turning his head to look back at me. The air in the room suddenly shifted, growing impossibly heavy and thick.

​He didn't just stand there. He walked slowly back across the room, stopping so close to my chair that his thighs brushed my knees. I had to tilt my head entirely back to look at him.

​"Lock the deadbolt," Kaelen instructed, his tone shifting from domestic annoyance to a dark, lethal seriousness. "Throw the chain. Do not open these doors until the sun comes up. Not for a knock. Not if you hear someone calling for help. Do you understand me aria ?"

​Hearing my name in his deep, gravelly voice sent a hot shiver straight to my core. "Why? What's out there?"

​Kaelen's golden-brown eyes locked onto mine, holding my gaze with a terrifying, consuming intensity. He leaned down, his face mere inches from mine, his warm, mint-and-coffee scented breath fanning across my lips.

​"Things that hunt in the dark, little bird," he whispered softly. "Lock the door."

​Without another word, he stepped back, walked out into the raging storm, and pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him.

​I didn't hesitate. I set the thermos down, shifted Milo to my hip, and practically ran to the door. I threw the deadbolt and slid the heavy metal chain into place with a loud, metallic clack.

​My heart was pounding frantically against my ribs. I dug into the diaper bag, finding a pre-mixed bottle of formula for Milo. I fed him by the fire, the warmth slowly seeping back into my bones. Once his eyes fluttered shut, I laid him gently in his padded carrier and quickly dug through my own suitcase, changing out of my freezing, wet clothes and into a pair of dry sweatpants and my thickest oversized sweater.

​The fire crackled loudly, throwing sparks against the stone. I was warm. I was inside. We had survived the night.

​But Kaelen's dark warning echoed in my ears. Do not open these doors until the sun comes up.

​I walked slowly toward the front window of the bakery. Wiping the condensation from the glass with the sleeve of my sweater, I peered out into the pitch-black night, expecting to see Kaelen’s truck pulling away.

​The truck was completely gone.

​But I wasn't alone.

​A sudden, jagged flash of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the front yard of the bakery for a fraction of a second.

​My breath caught in my throat. I stumbled a blind step backward, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a scream.

​Sitting directly on the other side of my wrought-iron front gate, completely unfazed by the torrential, freezing rain, was a wolf.

​But it wasn't a normal animal. It was massive—the size of a small horse—with fur as black as a starless night. Its muscles were thick and corded, its massive paws digging into the mud.

​The beast wasn't looking at the woods. It wasn't looking for prey.

​Its enormous head was tilted up, and its luminous, terrifyingly intelligent golden eyes were staring directly through the rain, right into my window.

​Right at me.