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Prologue

Caelon

June 15th Sunday Morning Pack Breakfast

The crisp smell of bacon with the sugary smell of maple syrup fill the air around me as I walk into the massive kitchen in the Pack House. Nova, our pack Luna, has started a tradition where every Sunday morning we are supposed to come to the Pack House for breakfast. Something most of us begrudgingly attend. Pack members are huddled together in small clusters throughout the space as laughter and chatter ring out.

Slipping into the alcove of the bay window, I watch as people mingle. It’s a habit of mine to sit back and observe. Years of feeling like an outsider has been ingrained into me, starting as early as a young pup when my wolf didn’t quite look like everyone else’s to when I was in grade school excelling in Math.It doesn’t help when your brother is the big guy on the football field and everyone expects the same from you.

The warmth of the morning sun warms my back as I stand with my arms crossed over my chest. My ears perk when I hearherlaugh. Through all the people talking and laughing, I can still pinpoint her in the crowd.

Selene.

My eyes whip to where she is standing, finding her surrounded by a group of pups her age all staring at her with varying ranges of emotions. Some are outright gawking at her while others are trying to hide their lust for her beauty. Her long brown hair is piled on top of her head in some sort of nest. It’s one of my least favorite of her hair styles, preferring when she braids it down her back. Her bright yellow sundress is clinging to her curves as it flows to the ground. The pastel pink on her toenails peek out from beneath the ruffle. Shaking my head, a secret smile sneaks across my face. Of course she isn’t wearing shoes.

Her eyes are alight as she animatedly shows the group of young men her photos. They’re only showing interest because of her beauty, not because of her talent. A low, rumbling growl starts at the base of my throat as one of the guys leans closer to her. I have no right to react to them being near her, as if she’s mine. She glances down to her camera to switch the photo showing in the tiny LED screen, missing the boys egging each other on.

When she glances back up with a bright smile in place, you can almost see the slight tremor in the curve of her full bottom lip. Maybe my little Leni isn’t as naive as I thought she was.Why does she keep subjecting herself to these guys and their lack of concern for her?

The boys walk off without a backwards glance, leaving her standing there with her smile falling. She doesn’t know that I seeher. I see how much she wants to be accepted, wanted, and loved by boys like them.

My chest aches with longing to grab her hand and run away with her. Take her somewhere where she doesn’t have to pretend, because I love her exactly how she is. I can’t though. She wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who doesn’t feel emotions like others.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

I don’t have to look over to know who it is. Only one voice has that ethereal, all-knowing lilt to it.

Gail. The pack grandmother.The pack's most notorious meddler.Also, my greatest weakness.

Unlike the rest of the pack—probably the town, although I have never ventured outside of Jasper to know—Gail has always made me feel seen. No matter where I seem to hide, she always finds me. It’s creepy and endearing at the same time.

I’ll play along like she doesn’t know everything. “Who?”

She humphs before cutting her eyes to me. “You knowexactlywho I speak of, Caelon,” she says as her head slowly turns in the direction ofmy obsession.

“Y-yes,” I stutter out.

“Good. I’m glad you agree. A little birdie told me that she wants to open a photography business. I can imagine someone like you would be a great help with that, wouldn’t you agree?” She taps my shoulder, giving me a knowing look.

“I don’t…Gail.” My anxiety is rising, from what she's asking of me. “I don’t know anything about running a photography business.” My hand swipes through my hair, pulling it slightly to give my brain something to focus on. “It's not like she would want the help of someone like me, regardless. Look at her.” My hand shakes as I point my finger towards her.I fucking hate my social anxiety.“She’s…she’s beautiful.”

The words stutter out of me.Fuck.Why can’t I be normal like my brother? Attempting to hide my shaking hands, I slide them behind my back and pop the rubber band around my wrist. A coping technique I learned after a late night rabbit hole search on social anxiety.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes are cloudy, almost as though she is going blind.What is happening?“You are exactly the someone she needs. Shall I intervene to push her in your path?”

I shake my head subtly. I know everyone says that Gail is always right, but I know my Leni, she doesn’t need someone like me. No matter how much I want her, she won’t ever look at someone like me. Regardless, she is underage. I might only be twenty-two, but we shouldn’t even be having this conversation.

“Now instead of hiding over here in the alcove, why don’t you, I don’t know, talk to the girl?” The old meddling bat just winks at me before heading to the buffet table to grab food.

The last thing I want is Gail sticking her nose into my business. She doesn’t know it, but I watched her meddle in Silas and Warrick’s lives. Popping in and out, dropping hints, and always seeming to be in the right place at the right time. Oftentimes, I would just shake my head, because how could they not see what she was up to? It’s so easy to see, but now that it’s my turn—I’m not sure I like it.

Drifting toward me like the pull of the tide, Selene’s scent calls to me. Sea salt, sharp and clean, like an ocean after a storm. Hints of jasmine and ylang ylang, lush and heady, wrap around me like a sensual caress. As she comes closer, inching toward me as I continue to bathe in her scent, the warm notes of sandalwood and musk fill my nostrils. There is always this note of something, a piece I can’t quite put my finger on, something wholly her. Soft and wild. Comfort and danger. Almost like moonlight with teeth.

My wolf stirs under his skin, calling for me to move closer to her. To pull her into our arms. This is wrong, so very wrong. We can’t do this.She is only seventeen.

Gritting my teeth, I take a few steps back, stepping out of the cloud of her scent. Hoping that the space will give me some kind of reprieve from the longing I have for her.

I watch as her soft smile plays across her face, her camera dangling around her neck, as she fills her plate with food. How easily she smiles, as if there isn’t a care in the world for her. My lips quirk when I see her pick up the honeydew melon, like she does every week. Followed by the only drink she ever grabs, apple juice. I’m glad she isn’t one of the coffee girls with some overly complicated coffee order for me to remember—I would though, just for her.