All Chapters of SILVER IN THE SHADOWS: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The moonlight spilling through the wide windows of Trisha's chamber was cool and pale, like champagne poured over ice. Silk sheets tangled around her bare legs, the scent of lust still thick in the room. The man beside her-Anton, tall, sharp-jawed, and too beautiful for his own good,propped himself up on one elbow, grinning like he’d just won a prizefight.“You always do that thing with your hips when you’re about to come,” he said, brushing sweat-damp hair from his brow.Trisha laughed, short and biting. “Then you should feel honored. Most don’t get that far.”Anton stretched, languid as a cat. “So, Princess, are you ever going to make me your mate?”She rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on folded arms. Her voice came slow, cool. “Don’t start dreaming above your station, Anton.”He chuckled. “You wound me.”Trisha didn’t smile. Instead, her gaze drifted to the rafters. Dark wood. Heavy beams. The ceiling her father had carved by hand when he built the alpha lodge. She’d spent

The clinic smelled faintly of sage, salve, and something metallic beneath it all—old blood, cleaned clean but not forgotten. Trixie sat on the edge of a worn exam table, fingers drumming against her knee, eyes following the sunlight slanting through the shuttered window.Will moved with quiet efficiency, wrapping gauze around a gash she’d earned sparring with one of the younger wolves. He was gentle, but not delicate—he knew better than to treat her like something breakable.“You’re healing fast,” he murmured, securing the bandage. “Faster than last time.”“I’m angrier than last time,” she said, trying to smirk.Will chuckled. “Anger doesn’t speed tissue growth. But maybe spite does.”Trixie smiled for real this time. “If it does, I’ll be immortal.”He cleaned up in silence, the kind that came from knowing someone long enough to not fill every space. Will had been her first friend in the North. The first to look her in the eye without flinching or sneering.“You’ve been quiet lately,”

Ryker’s quarters smelled like cedar and ash.Not in the harsh, burned-out way—more like old firewood and something warm. Safe. The walls were lined with books and maps, a few well-worn weapons, and a half-empty mug on the desk that looked like it had gone cold hours ago. There were no trophies. No signs of rank. Just the steady hum of lived-in solitude.Trixie hovered near the doorway, still wrapped in his outer cloak. She felt like she was wearing a moment she hadn’t earned.“I can make tea,” Ryker offered, already moving toward a kettle balanced on a cast-iron stove in the corner.“You actually drink it?” she asked, surprised.He glanced back, amused. “Only when someone makes me.”She smiled—small but real—and stepped inside. The door clicked softly closed behind her, sealing the cold out and the quiet in.He busied himself with the kettle. She wandered to the window. The snow had slowed. Moonlight lit the grounds in silver and silence. Inside, the only sound was the soft hiss of fla

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

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