Page 3 of Allie

“Don’t tell me you’ve dated him.”

Nat laughed. “No. Roan is a lone wolf. He’s not very social. He’s not rude, just stays to himself. Whenever he’s home, that is.”

A lone wolf. So that was what his animal was. Good to know. I stood and crossed the living to the kitchen. “He doesn’t like Doyle, that’s for sure.”

Nat frowned and curled her lip. “No one in the building likes Doyle. What happened?”

I told her about my run in with Doyle outside the gym and how he turned white as a sheet when Roan came up behind me. “Doyle couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“Oh man. I wish I was a fly on the wall to see that.”

“It was awesome.” I laughed while pulling the fixings for guacamole out if the fridge. “Roan said to let him know if Doyle bothers me again.”

Nat stared at me. “That’s nice of him.”

Glancing at her, I asked, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing. It’s just I’ve never seen him defend anyone before.” She put the ground beef in the pan to brown.

“He was just being nice.” He sure was nice to look at. I think I’m going to like it in Silver Springs.

2

ALLIE

Nat and I were mid-way through our breakfast when urgent voices and rapid footsteps sounded outside our door. Natalie and I shared a look that said, “What the fuck?”

“Are your neighbors usually this loud in the mornings?” I asked, setting my fork down on my plate and grabbing my napkin.

Nat frowned. “No.” On the heels of the one-word reply, she rose and crossed the living room to the front door. I followed her.

She opened the door, and we froze. The hallway was abuzz with tenants who were clustered together several feet down the hallway. Their hushed tones rippled with concern and morbid fascination.

“That’s Doyle’s apartment,” Nat said, moving closer to the crowd.

"Dead?" I heard someone whisper, sending shivers up my spine.

"Can't be," Natalie murmured next to me, her voice a mix of disbelief and fear.

"Found him this morning," another voice said—a statement that made my heart sink.

Before I could process the reality of Doyle being dead, Roan emerged from his apartment, his presence like a soothing balm against the anxiety threatening to rise inside me. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, brimming with questions that his lips hadn't yet formed. As he strode towards me, the crowd parted for him as naturally as the sea before a ship.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice low but clear.

"Doyle's dead," I whispered back, watching for his reaction. A flicker of something indecipherable passed over his face, and without thinking, I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Did you do it?"

His laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting through the tension like a knife through butter. "Allie, if I killed Doyle, trust me, no one could find the body," he joked, his smile reaching his eyes and softening the hard lines of his face. Or was he joking?

During our late-night girl talk, Nat had told me Roan was a bounty hunter. I’m sure he’d had to kill before, but I didn’t sense that he was a cold-blooded killer. No, my wolf went after the big bads of the paranormal world. Without mercy, no doubt.

"Too soon?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"Never," he replied, his grin telling me he appreciated the dark humor as much as I did.

In that instant, despite the grim reality that hovered around us, I felt an undeniable connection to Roan—a shared moment of levity amid the shadows. And though I knew better than to make light of death, especially when it struck so close to home, I couldn't deny the strange sense of camaraderie that bloomed between us. There was something about Roan, a depth that both intrigued and unnerved me.

Within minutes, the police showed and shooed everyone back to their apartments. Roan and I hovered in my doorway. Roan could probably hear what the police were saying. He met my gaze. “They suspect magic, but they’re not sure.”