Chapter 193

Ava

As evening settled in, Chris and I made our way downstairs, our stomachs grumbling in anticipation of dinner. However, as we descended the grand staircase, an acrid smell hit our noses.

“Is something burning?” I asked, wrinkling my nose against the sudden stench.

Chris nodded, his brow furrowed. “Sure smells like it. Let’s check the kitchen.”

We hurried toward the source of the smell, only to find that the kitchen was filled with smoke. Coughing, I rushed over to the oven and yanked it open. A blackened, smoking roast sat inside.

“Oh no,” I muttered, grabbing oven mitts and pulling the ruined dinner out. I quickly doused it with water in the sink, sending up a cloud of steam.

Chris, meanwhile, was trying to open a window to air out the room. As soon as he cracked it, though, the fog outside began to pour in like thick white fingers reaching into the room. He slammed it shut, looking alarmed.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Just then, a groan from the living room caught our attention. We rounded the corner to find Fabian passed out in an armchair, stirring awake at the commotion.

“What… What’s happening?” he mumbled, blinking sleepily.

“Whatever you were making for dinner got burnt to a crisp,” I explained gently. “Did you fall asleep while cooking?”

Fabian’s eyes widened in horror. He clutched at the sides of his salt-and-pepper hair, looking distraught—and embarrassed—as he rose from his chair. “Oh no, oh no. I’m so sorry. I—I haven’t been sleeping well at night, you see. I must have dozed off. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Fabian,” Chris reassured him. “These things happen. We can go out to eat if you’d like. Dinner’s on me.”

But Fabian shook his head, peering out the window at the sea of white outside. “No, we can’t; the fog gets too thick to see around this time of night. It’s not safe to drive in this.”

I glanced at Chris, knowing that Fabian was right; if last night was any indication, it would soon be too dark out to see more than a few feet in front of the car.

“Well…” I paused, an idea forming in my head. “Hey, why don’t we all cook something together? It could be fun.”

Fabian hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose that could work. I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook, though. That roast in the oven was about the only thing I know how to make.”

“Don’t worry,” I grinned. “I love to cook.”

For the next hour, the three of us bustled around the kitchen, chopping vegetables, seasoning chicken, and preparing salads. It felt good to see Fabian relaxing a bit, the worry lines on his face softening as we worked. He was clearly lonely, and the company seemed to bolster his spirits.

Speaking of spirits… As I was setting the table, Fabian’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I almost forgot. I have something that would go perfectly with our meal.”

He led us down to his cellar, where rows of dusty bottles lined the shelves in the walls. With a flourish, he pulled out an aged bottle of scotch.

“Moonshine’s finest,” he said proudly as he uncorked the bottle. “We’re known for our barley, you know. Makes some of the best scotch in the world. Here. Try some.” He poured it into three small glasses on top of a nearby barrel.

I couldn’t help but smirk at the misnomer; Moonshine was a type of liquor in the human world, but Moonshine pack was known for their scotch instead.

Still, I had had Moonshine scotch before and it was utterly delicious; their centuries of perfecting the brewing process was clear in the smooth taste, and the spiced flavor—enhanced by their local cinnamon tree farms—was particularly pronounced.

Grabbing our glasses, we clinked them together and took a shot. The sweet, spicy liquor warmed my throat and belly as it went down, eliciting a smile from me.

“Damn,” Chris muttered, slamming his glass back down on the barrel. “That’s good stuff, Fabian.”

Fabian grinned, the first real sign of levity on the frazzled Alpha’s face since we had arrived. “Isn’t it? I’ve been waiting to crack this one open for the right occasion. Well, I figure tonight is as good as any.”

“I hope you’re not wasting your finest bottle on us,” I purred as Fabian poured us another round.

Fabian shot me an amused glance. “You’re the first company I’ve had in almost two months now. It’s only fitting.”

Back upstairs, we settled in to enjoy our collaborative meal. The food was surprisingly good, and the scotch... Well, it lived up to its reputation. As the evening wore on and the bottle emptied, Fabian grew more talkative.

“It’s so quiet here now,” he said, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol. “With all the staff gone. I always saw myself as more of the introverted type, you know? I never realized how much I would actually miss the bustle of a full house.”

I nodded sympathetically. “It must be lonely up here on this hill.”

“It is,” Fabian agreed, leaning back in his chair and patting his full belly. “And now... Well, now even she’s leaving.”

“She?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fabian sighed deeply. “Betty. The woman I... Well, the woman I love. I’ve cared for her for years, but never had the courage to tell her how I feel. And now she’s moving away because of all this…” He gestured around. “...Ghostly nonsense.”

“When is she leaving?” I asked, feeling a pang of sympathy for the forlorn Alpha.

“Soon,” Fabian mumbled. “Too soon.”

Maybe it was the scotch, or maybe it was my romantic nature, but an idea struck me at that moment. “Why don’t you call her? Right now!”

“Now?” Fabian’s cheeks reddened.

“Yes, now.” I was already rising from my chair. “Tell her how you feel before she leaves! Maybe you don’t have to be all alone in this big house.”

Chris chuckled, shaking his head fondly at me. “Ava, since when did you become a matchmaker?”

Fabian looked uncertain. “Oh, I don’t know... It’s getting late…”

“Excuses,” I said, circling around to his chair and roughly pulling it out from the table, causing it to scrape loudly on the hardwood floor. “What have you got to lose?”

After a bit more coaxing, Fabian finally agreed. Chris and I tried—and failed—to be subtle as we eavesdropped from the hallway. Unfortunately, there was no answer.

“Ah, well. Perhaps tomorrow,” Fabian said, looking dejected as he hung up the phone. “We should get to our rooms anyway. It’s almost time for... Well, you know.”

Chris and I exchanged glances. Right. Ghosts.

Back in our room, I decided to take a quick shower before bed. The hot water soothed my tired muscles, the bathroom filling with steam that was not all that unlike the fog outside. As I stepped out, wrapped in a towel and drying my hair, I called out to Chris.

“Can you believe all this ghost stuff?” I laughed. “I mean, I know Fabian believes it, but come on.” When there was no answer, I frowned and poked my head out of the bathroom. “Chris?”

The bedroom was empty. Had he stepped out? Just as I was about to go look for him, I heard a thud from the closet. My heart rate picked up, despite my skepticism about ghosts.

“Chris?” I called again, my voice wavering slightly despite myself. “Is that you?”

Silence.

Swallowing hard, I grabbed a nearby heavy book. If it wasn’t Chris in there, I was ready to defend myself against whatever intruder might be hiding—maybe even Amelia had never left the house after all.

With a deep breath, I flung open the closet door, the book raised high to strike. But there was... nothing. Just our hanging clothes and a couple of empty suitcases. “Oh,” I muttered, lowering my impromptu weapon.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I screamed, whirling around to face a figure draped in a white sheet. Without thinking, I swung the book, connecting against the figure’s head with a solid thud. The figure stumbled, clutching its head.

“Ow! It’s me!” a familiar voice came from beneath the sheet and reached for me with both hands as he toppled forward.

Before I could realize what had happened, we both lost our balance and tumbled to the floor in a tangle of white sheets.