Chapter 4

Riley’s POV

I felt sweat cooling on my skin and disappointment tug at my ribs as I wandered deeper into Silver Hollow, a town that looked like someone bought every shabby-chic home off Etsy and dropped them in the woods. Giant pines, rolling hills, and a breeze tinkling a homemade wind chime—at least fifty bits of sea glass and shells strung on fishing line—greeted me at the curb of a sky-blue cottage.

I craned my neck. “Really?” I muttered. “Beach trinkets in wolf country?”

Next to me, Noah—the wolf—tilted his head, those green eyes soft as melting butter. He blinked at me like he’d just played me for a fool, and I hugged my arms around my ribs.

“You knew I wasn’t walking back to campus, didn’t you?” My voice hitched halfway between annoyance and exhaustion.

He batted his lashes—let me tell you, a wolf batting his lashes is 100 percent unnerving—and that’s when reality sunk in: I’d been duped by a furry Casanova. Abduction, evidently, was not averted.

I stared at the front door of the cottage. Water. Bandages. A ride. Every sane thought told me to knock, beg for sympathy, and hope they overlooked my bedraggled, pus-streaked shoes. (Seriously, if they were soaked, let it be sweat! Please not blood!) But if this town’s hospitality extended to allowing rogue wolves to traipse through its streets, maybe their idea of “nice” included dinner parties starring me as the main course.

Better idea: find the police station. Or an animal shelter. An animal shelter would definitely object to a wolf tailgating me, right? And maybe—just maybe—they’d have a courtesy ride back to campus. I zipped my hoodie up to my chin and pivoted, determined to start hoofing it down the main street.

My shoes squished with each step. “Note to self: invest in decent walking shoes for once in my life.”

My phone was mocking me, back at the coffee shop locker where I’d stashed it between shifts. That meant no time-check, but judging by the streetlights still humming overhead, it was very early morning. And yet Silver Hollow was alive. Cafés dripped freshly brewed coffee scents; teens on skateboards zoomed past; a handful of dog walkers smiled at me—none blinking twice at the giant wolf escorting me like my personal bodyguard-slash-kidnapper. Seriously, the lack of second glances was freaking me out more than the guy in trench coat who winked at me from behind oak barrels.

I finally flagged down a bright red sedan stopping at a gas pump. The driver, a mid-twenties woman with coffee-stain-free teeth and a baseball cap reading “I’d rather be hiking,” popped her pump into the tank and leaned out.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding at Noah as if he were some cute stray puppy and not an eight-foot-tall fur demon.

“Where’s the police station?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You mean the alpha’s house?” She tilted her head, dark hair swinging. “If you keep going straight, you’ll hit that log mansion at the end of Maple. That’s the alpha’s place. He’s Sheriff, Mayor, and Chief of Heart-Eye Emoji. Couldn’t miss it.”

Alpha. Sheriff. Mayor. May-as-well be bomb dispenser.

“Are you a…werewolf?” My voice tumbled out before I could repackage it in more polite terms.

She laughed like I’d just told the best joke of the decade. “Of course. Everyone here is. Welcome to Silver Hollow, honey.”

I blinked, then stumbled backward. Noah took the opportunity to swoop in and give my calf a wolfish nibble—a point of emphasis, perhaps. I nearly yelped.

“I’ve officially lost my freaking mind,” I muttered, turning tail and hustling down the street.

The gas lady called after me, but I could barely parse her words. All I knew was: if I kept walking, I might just outrun my sanity vortex by lunchtime.

Famous last words.

I reached the edge of town—in my mind—and tried to step onto the dirt road leading back to town center. That’s when Noah planted himself in front of me, all regal-prince-of-wolves, muscles rippling under that thick pelt. His lips curled in a low, “Nope.”

I sighed. “Get out of my way, lupine Romeo.”

His growl rumbled like distant thunder. I braced myself. “Fine! Move, or I’ll kick you to the next county.”

He didn’t budge. Game on.

Laughter tumbled in behind me, light and amused and entirely too… human. I spun to face my audience. A quintet of what I’d sworn were college football players leaned against a brick wall, arms folded, grinning like they’d scored a doozy. In the dawn light, it was easier to see they weren’t athletes at all but a mismatched crew of tall, lean guys—different skin tones, hairstyles, clothes—bound by one glaring truth: alpha males in casual Friday attire.

Seatbelt Guy wiped a hand across his mouth. “I wish I could order my wolf around like that.” He flashed a lopsided grin. His hair was in neat locs that fell just Rihanna-cool over his forehead, and holy moly, his eyes sparkled.

Another guy, whose fluffy hair bobbed like he’d just shaken out the fluffiest pillow ever, strolled forward. He introduced himself without saying a name. Instead, he offered a serenely condescending smile. “We all do.”

“So you’re cool with kidnapping people… then stiff-arming them?” I folded my arms, trying to look fierce and measure at least six feet tall. “Do I shake your hands now or…?”

Smiley Guy (that’d be the fluff-haired one) stuck a hand out too. I stalled.

“You guys kidnap me, leave me with a literal, out-of-control wolf, and expect me to trust you? Right.” I shook my head and looked him up and down. “Just get me home.”

“Sorry, can’t do that.” He disappeared behind my shoulder for a semi-gentle nudge. “But you have a better shot at surviving your… mating bite if you spend the next weeks with Noah. We’ll keep you fed and safe. Trust us, survival is more important than a 4.0 and a cushy dorm bed.”

“Mating bite? Absolutely not, blondie.” I burst out laughing—instant caffeine for my rattled nerves. “You’ve lost me at ‘mating.’ I just wanna leave.”

Noah let out a deep growl, decidedly wolfish. I glared at him. “And you’re totally not helping.”

One of the other guys—dark-skinned, crew-cut on the sides, a stray paint smear on his jeans—knelt down and sniffed my foot like I was a misplaced pizza crust. “Injured?” His tone was polite. Concerned. This man had definitely driven me around town at some point.

I shook my head. Heaven forbid I give them an excuse to carry me off sooner. “I’m fine.”

Noah growled again, louder. “Damn furball.” I looked over my shoulder. “If you were normal, I’d rename you ‘Spike’ and give you treats.”

The guys exchanged a glance—equal parts amusement and respect for my spunk. Seatbelt Guy rolled his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s move.”

Before I could squeak an objection, he hoisted me over his broad shoulder like a duffel bag. I flailed, and my feet thwacked whatever part of him I could reach. “Hey! Down with the rough handling!”

They strolled off, chatting casually. Noah trotted behind, tail high like he was leading the parade. I glared at his backside. “This isn’t loyalty, it’s sadism.”

Slowly, my yells faded to weak coughs. My legs went numb from dangling. And after a few blocks of jaunty banter—I couldn’t even parse most of it—my throat cramped shut. My heartbeat settled into a reluctant truce with adrenaline. I surrendered to every thump and jolt, feeling less like a prisoner and more like a very unwilling party guest.

They stopped outside a row of two-story townhomes: dove gray here, soft white there, each with just a whisper of forest-green trim. In any normal life, I’d have marveled over the paint job. Instead, I wobbled in Seatbelt Guy’s arms. One of them punched in a code on a garage keypad, the door humming open.

Noah bounded in first, excitement making him prance. The not-football team carried me inside, tossing me—gently this time—onto a dark-blue loveseat that looked so soft it might cure everything except being kidnapped. I blinked at the room: exposed beams, plush rugs, a fireplace with a stack of logs waiting like loyal soldiers.

Seatbelt Guy leaned against a doorframe, one eyebrow cocked. “Welcome home, Riley.”