Page 18 of Alpha Unchained (Wolves of Wild Hollow #2)
The drive into town is a strange balm. We pass the old general store, the overgrown field where I fell learning to ride a bike, the stone bridge with initials carved in its side.
Every curve in the road is thick with memory—some sweet, some bitter, all of them mine.
I watch again for a sign of anything following to appear in my rearview, but the only thing chasing me this morning is my own anxiety.
Kate hums along to the radio, oblivious or pretending to be.
She keeps the conversation light, talking about plans for the fall festival, gossip about Mrs. Wallace and her standing order for all the 'filthiest books'—she’s the only customer who asks me to set aside every new Delta James or Sage Matthews' book before anyone else can grab them.
I laugh, grateful, and let the words wash over me.
As we pull up behind the Moss the world narrowing to the paper in my hand, the sound of my own breath, the sudden urge to run.
I scan the street—there's no one in sight, but a memory of the dark sedan flashes through my mind.
Was it them? Was it one of the McKinleys? Or someone else altogether?
I stare at the paper in my hand, hardly able to breathe.
Minutes stretch like hours as I remain rummaging around the store, the old clock’s steady tick filling the quiet space between each breath.
Outside, the faint hum of distant traffic drifts through the windows, a soft reminder that the world keeps moving even when I don’t.
The store feels hollow now—the morning rush of regulars, the casual conversations, even Mrs. Wallace’s familiar footsteps with her latest order—all have long since faded into silence and shadow.
Sunlight slants in through the front windows, turning the dust motes gold, making the rows of books glow.
It’s later than I thought. I realize how empty the store feels with the shadows stretching long across the floor.
I move to the front, pull the sign to CLOSED , and begin the slow process of shutting down for the evening: checking the register, wiping down the counter, switching off the overhead lights.
Every sound is too loud, every movement deliberate, my mind circling the words from the note like a predator.
When I finally reach the door, I pause, looking out at Main Street—a last glance for anyone watching.
My hands shake as I lock the door for the night. I stuff the note in my bag, grab my phone, and all but jog the few doors down to the mercantile. Kate looks up from the register, her smile vanishing the moment she sees my face.
“Elena?” she asks, voice sharp.
I push the note across the counter. “This came through the mail slot earlier today.”
Kate scans it, her face going pale. She curses under her breath and dials Hudson. “We need to talk. Elena received a threat.”
Her hand finds mine across the counter, squeezing tight. The world outside is still bright and calm, but I know better now. Everything’s about to change.
The bell over the door chimes. Hudson strides in, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “Let me see.”
Kate hands him the note. Hudson reads it once, his face darkening.
Tonight, the moon will rise, and everything will be decided—by blood, by legacy, by the kind of violence I’d only read about in books.
I press my hand to my belly, whispering a promise to the life inside me. ‘I will fight for you. I will survive this, whatever it takes.’
But as the sky grows darker and the shadows lengthen on Main Street, and I can’t help but wonder—if I’ll ever see Luke again, or if by the time the moon rises over those standing stones, everything I’ve clung to will be gone.