Chapter 132
ELENA
Was I crazy?
I might’ve been.
I kept asking myself that the entire walk down the Moonstone hill, the hem of my coat swishing around my knees and the crisp night air curling against my neck. I had said yes. I had agreed to go on a date—with Derek. Of all people.
And now I was doing something even more dangerous.
I was looking forward to it.
I spotted him before he spotted me. He was waiting at the base of the path, right where the road curved into a grove of old trees strung with fairy lights. He stood beside a sleek black car, his coat collar turned up, hands in his pockets. The air around him shimmered with the glow of soft lanterns swaying in the breeze.
He looked… calm. Not the tense Alpha in front of a summit. Not the protective father snarling at the world. Just Derek. Patient, watchful, quietly striking in that maddening way that made my breath catch even when I didn’t want it to.
He turned when he heard my steps, and when our eyes met, his face broke into the smallest smile.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
“I half expected you to change your mind.”
“I almost did.”
He grinned at that—no smugness, just amusement. “Should I be nervous?”
“Only if you do something stupid.”
He opened the passenger door with a little flourish. “Then I’ll try my best to behave.”
He took me to a small restaurant tucked into the side of a hill overlooking a river. Not the kind of place that made headlines or showed up in the gloss of a pack magazine—but intimate. A place with only eight tables, handmade pottery for dishes, and windows that opened fully to the night air.
We sat by the open window. The sound of crickets drifted in with the breeze. Somewhere farther down the hill, I could hear frogs croaking.
The food came slowly, course by course. Warm bread with salted butter. Soup with roasted shallots and cream. Pasta with wild mushrooms, foraged nearby. It wasn’t extravagant—it was thoughtful. Beautiful. Every dish told a quiet story.
“You remembered I like mushrooms,” I said softly.
He looked up. “Of course I did.”
We didn’t talk much about the past. Just enough to acknowledge it, like glancing at a scar instead of poking it.
He asked about the festival. About Aiden’s new obsessions—space, puzzles, dragons.
I asked about the stables. About the wild horse that still wouldn’t let anyone touch him.
We talked. We laughed.
I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed the sound of my own laughter until I heard it echoing across the table.
At one point, the server brought out a dessert plate: one spoon, two forks. I arched an eyebrow at Derek.
“Not my idea,” he said. “But I’m not complaining.”
He handed me a fork. The dessert was rich and tart—dark chocolate and something citrus, maybe blood orange. When our forks clinked in the center, his fingers brushed mine.
Just a second.
But it sparked like it always did.
That was the thing with him. That stupid, impossible pull. It never faded. Never dulled.
Even after everything.
We walked together along the riverbank after dinner. The lights from the restaurant glowed behind us, casting a soft halo of gold over the water. I didn’t say much. Neither did he.
He didn’t try to touch me.
Didn’t try to hold my hand.
And that was the part that got me most.
Because I wanted him to.
I stopped walking near the edge of the water and looked up at the stars. The moon was half-full, high above the trees, silver light stretching across the leaves.
He stepped up beside me, quiet.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” I said.
He didn’t look at me. “I know.”
“I still don’t know what that means for us.”
“I’m not asking you to decide tonight.”
“I don’t know when I’ll know.”
“I’ll wait.”
I finally turned to face him. His eyes were gentle. Open. For once, not guarded or veiled.
I didn’t think.
I just leaned in and kissed him.
Softly.
On the cheek.
His eyes closed for a heartbeat, just one. When he opened them again, he looked like he was holding his breath.
So was I.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered.
“That makes two of us.”
He didn’t ask for more. Just stood there beside me, hands still in his pockets, looking out at the river like it held answers we were both afraid to reach for.
CASSANDRA
The tailor’s bell chimed softly overhead as I stepped inside, the scent of pressed wool and lemon polish washing over me like memory.
Logan stood on a small raised platform near the far mirror, arms slightly extended, the dark gray tuxedo jacket draped over his shoulders, unbuttoned. The tailor—a thin, balding man with spectacles perched on the end of his nose—was fussing with the hem of the jacket sleeve, muttering to himself about quarter inches and shoulder slope.
I let the door swing shut behind me and crossed the quiet showroom with slow, deliberate steps. My heels clicked against the wood floor, echoing once—twice—before I came to a stop just beside the row of plush chairs across from the mirror. I didn’t announce myself.
I didn’t need to.
Logan saw me in the glass and didn’t flinch.
He simply raised an eyebrow.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said smoothly, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation.
“You are,” he replied, voice flat. “But not in a way that can’t be undone.”
The tailor glanced between us, mildly confused.
I crossed one leg over the other and gestured to Logan’s reflection with a small smile. “Sharp suit. But let’s not pretend it’s for your own wedding.”
He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “No, let’s not.”
“You’re a hard man to find,” I continued, ignoring the subtle edge in his voice. “I don’t suppose that was intentional?”
“Call it instinct.”
I smiled faintly. “Smart instinct.”
The tailor cleared his throat awkwardly, holding up a measuring tape. “Do you want me to finish the cuff now or—”
Logan’s gaze didn’t leave mine. “Give us the room. Ten minutes.”
The man hesitated, clearly unsure whether it was appropriate to leave his client mid-fitting.
“I promise I won’t destroy the integrity of your tailoring,” I said, flashing him a sugary smile.
That did it. The tailor sighed and stepped down from the platform, disappearing through the curtain behind the counter.
Logan rolled his shoulders and stepped down, the tuxedo jacket moving like liquid over his frame. He walked to the mirror and began buttoning it slowly, precisely.
I watched him in the reflection. “You and I have something in common.”
“That so?”
“We’re both from smaller packs. Ones who’ve had to kneel at the knee of stronger ones to get what we needed.”
Logan didn’t respond.
I smoothed the hem of my skirt. “Silverclaw. Moonstone. They get the credit. The attention. The legacy. We get what they’re willing to share, if they’re in the mood to share it.”
His gaze lifted in the mirror. “Is that why you’re here? To recite a political grievance?”
I gave a quiet laugh. “I’m here because I think you’re tired of being underestimated. And so am I.”
He turned then, fully facing me, arms at his sides.
“Spit it out,” he said.
I tapped my fingers gently against the armrest. “There was a short article in Wolf Whistle this morning. Very small. Easy to miss.”
Logan didn’t blink.
“Something about how your engagement to Elena has officially ended.”
Silence.
A muscle in his jaw shifted, just barely. “What of it?”
I stood slowly, crossing to him, my heels clicking across the floor. I didn’t get too close. Just enough to meet his eyes without the buffer of reflection.
“We might never have them for ourselves,” I said, voice dropping. “Not really. Not fully. But don’t think I’m not petty enough to still hate the idea of seeing them together.”
His expression didn’t change.
But I saw the flicker.
I leaned in slightly. “Do you?”
He stared at me, then shook his head once. “No.”
I smiled then. A slow, deliberate thing. “What if,” I said, tilting my head, “we team up?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Team up to what?”
I let the smile curl wickedly at the edges. “To keep them apart.”
He didn’t say anything.
But he didn’t walk away either.
And that was all the answer I needed.
