There I was—still mentally reeling from the whole hidden werewolf town surrounded by magical boundaries thing—when I spot someone even more reality-breaking than the idea of tree-wards and perception spells.
Walking casually through this magical fog-and-fur town.
I blink rapidly. Surely it’s a hallucination. Maybe Lenora’s potion was laced with something stronger than tea and bark powder.
She turns. And smiles at me like it’s any other Monday morning at the office.
"Oh, boss! Hi!" she chirps, waving.
I walk toward her, dazed. "Simone?"
She flips her sunglasses up onto her head and blinks at me.
"What are you doing here?" she asks like I just interrupted her grocery run.
"What am I—what are you doing here?" I shoot back, baffled.
"Oh, I’ve been living in town for some time now," she says cheerfully, as if that explains anything. "Isn’t it gorgeous? Fresh air. Trees. Actual bakeries that use wood ovens. And look at the local eye candy."
She nods subtly toward Ronan, who raises a brow like he’s used to being objectified.
Before I can even process that comment, she looks behind me.
"Oh my goddess," she gasps, and I know what’s coming.
"You must be Lenora. The one from the dreams. His mate." She shoves me—literally shoves me—out of the way like I’m some sort of minor plot device and rushes forward with arms open.
Lenora blinks but takes it in stride, offering her hand gracefully. "Hello, Simone."
"Oh, you poor, poor thing," Simone says dramatically, clutching both Lenora’s hands. "Of all men the goddess could’ve blessed you with. You deserve so much better. And if you ever need anything—or anyone to talk to—call me. I’ve got wine. And excellent taste in revenge dresses."
Lenora smiles with a raised brow. "I’ll keep that in mind."
"Okay," I cut in, waving a hand between them. "That’s... enough. What exactly is happening here?"
Simone finally turns back to me like she just remembered I exist. "Oh! I’m with Nana now. Getting lessons. Apparently, I’m a witch or something?"
"You’re a what now?" I ask, honestly worried I might faint.
"When did this happen?" I ask again, already bracing for the answer.
"Weeks ago," she says, waving her bejeweled hand. Her bracelets jingle with every motion like she’s the main act in a whimsical forest cabaret.
"Weeks—and you didn’t think to mention that to me?" I stare.
"Must’ve not crossed my mind." She shrugs. Must’ve not crossed my mind, she says, as if discovering latent magical powers is a Tuesday minor inconvenience.
Before I can dig deeper, Ronan—blessed, dependable Ronan—clears his throat loudly.
"Well, this reunion’s great and all, but my nana’s waiting."
Simone gasps. "Oh right! Catch up later, boss!" She flutters off, Ronan in tow, the sound of her charms echoing down the road like she’s part of a mystical parade.
"Did you know about this?" I ask Lenora, narrowing my eyes.
She lifts a shoulder casually. "I thought you were aware."
I exhale. "Of course you did." I mutter, and we continue walking deeper into town.
That’s when it happens.
"Lenora. It’s so hard to catch your face these days," a male voice says behind us, his tone syrupy with unearned familiarity.
Lenora tenses just enough that I notice. She subtly shifts closer to me.
"Dave. Hello." Her voice is polite, but flat.
I turn slightly, enough to see him. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond-ish and tan in that annoying I know I’m hot way. He looks like he lives in the gym and refers to protein shakes as "a lifestyle." I hate him instantly.
"Last time I saw you was at the memorial," he continues, is casual small talk.
"Sad, what happened after," he adds with faux sympathy, before smiling—smirking, really. "You know, if you’d mated with me, that wouldn’t have happened."
Lenora doesn’t react, not outwardly, but I feel the spike of her discomfort.
She steps fully to my side now. "Dave. This is my mate. Cameron."
His eyes finally slide to me, like I’m a fly that just landed on his breakfast.
"Ah, the one that can’t shift," he says with a chuckle, like that’s hilarious. My eye twitches.
He’s obviously looking down on me. Like I’m some charity case that got gifted a goddess-blessed mate.
Yeah. Eamon warned me this would happen—hostility, condescension, jealousy. Apparently stealing someone’s dream mate comes with a side order of passive-aggressive posturing and insult-laced greetings.
"Yes. The mate who can’t shift is me," I say with a calm that surprises even me. I hold out my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Dave."
His jaw tightens just slightly. "David," he corrects. "Dave is for close friends."
And then, like he hasn’t already pissed on every line of decency, he turns to Lenora.
"Anyway, Lenora, in case there’s other things your mate can’t get up..." he says, trailing off, eyes sliding to me and then back to her. "You know where to find me."
He actually winks at mymate.
I can’t remember the last time someone disrespected me to my face like that. Not since I became CameronAnderson. Not since I was the guy boardrooms stood for. The man billion-dollar contracts were named after. And yet here I am—some smug wolf with gym-bro energy just questioned my stamina and winked at my woman.
I inhale slowly, tasting iron on my tongue from how hard I’m biting down my reaction.
Lenora immediately turns to me. "I’m sorry."
"It’s fine. It’s not your fault," I say.
And it’s not. It’s nothing on her.
"We should head back," she says.
I slam my fist into the tree again. The bark cracks. A dent forms, deeper this time.
"I heard what happened from Lenora," a voice says behind me.
I don’t answer. I punch again. Harder.
"Back in the human world, you earned your position, did you not?" Eamon says.
I keep punching. My knuckles burn.
"That anger... that disrespect—keep it. Use it," he says.
"Among wolves, only one thing matters. It’s strength. Remember this. Next time it happens, you don’t stay quiet. You don’t walk away. You show them the price of disrespect."
His voice is calm. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact, like he’s reminding me how gravity works.
I hammer a final punch into the tree and feel a snap in my fingers. Not a full break, but enough to throb. I exhale, shaking out the pain, letting it root through me like electricity.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"Extremely." And I mean it. The storm behind my ribs is quieter now.
"I don’t know," I mutter, flexing my hand, "It feels illogical to be this angry. But the second he winked at her, I wanted to rip out his throat. Which is also illogical—because what he did doesn’t even warrant that kind of violent response."
Eamon steps closer. Then he does something unexpected.
And my heart stutters.
Not from fear—but from... something else. Something old and hollow and unspoken. No one’s ever done that to me before.
Eamon doesn’t know it, but in that moment he’s more than just Lenora’s dad. He feels like a father figure I never had—though I’d die before saying that out loud.
"That’s being a wolf," he says. "You’ve never gone through it before. So, of course, you don’t know how to react. Next time... just do it."
He gives a small shrug. "Yeah. Tear off a limb. Show them your fangs. Make them think twice before opening their mouth around your mate."
My mouth parts. "That’s not... something you should say."
"It’s not illegal on pack grounds," he says with an easy smile.
"That sounds terrifying," I mutter.
"But doesn’t that mean they can do that to me?" I ask, suddenly uncomfortable.
"It does," he says bluntly. "So don’t go fighting randomly. We’re not sure your body can handle healing a decapitated hand."
I visibly shudder at the image. Great. Just what I needed—decapitation disclaimers in my already weird wolf crash course.
"But if you must fight," Eamon says, patting my back, "make sure you win."
He starts to walk away, then pauses.
"Don’t ever let anyone shame you for not shifting yet. You’re here. That means something. That means everything."
And with that, he leaves me alone with the dented tree, aching hands, and a pulse just a little steadier than before.