Page 15 of Collar Me Crazy (Hollow Oak Mates #8)
SONYA
T he red wool dress had been an impulse purchase, warmer than her usual clothes and rich enough to stand out against November's muted palette.
Sonya hadn't expected to care what she wore to a small-town festival, but something about the way Moira had smiled when she'd tried it on suggested it was the right choice.
"You look stunning," Lucien said as they approached the main square, where the Founding Festival was in full swing. Magical lights strung between buildings cast everything in warm amber tones, and the scent of spiced cider and wood smoke filled the air.
"He's right," Moira added, linking arms with both of them. "That color is perfect on you."
The square buzzed with activity, locals moving between booths selling everything from Freya's herbal teas to the Tansley brothers' enchanted trinkets.
Children ran between the adults, their laughter mixing with the sound of traditional music from a small stage where several residents played fiddles and drums.
Sonya found herself scanning the crowd automatically, her eyes searching for auburn hair and broad shoulders. Yesterday's conversation at the sanctuary had left her with more questions than answers, but also with a deeper appreciation for the man behind the prophecy.
"Looking for someone?" Moira asked with poorly concealed amusement.
"Just taking it all in." Sonya accepted a mug of Twyla's famous wassail from a passing server, the liquid warming her from the inside. "This is incredible. The whole town feels like it's glowing."
"That's the magic responding to collective happiness," Lucien explained, gesturing toward the lights overhead that seemed to pulse gently with the rhythm of conversation and laughter. "The more joy people feel, the brighter everything becomes."
They made their way through the festivities, stopping to chat with various residents and sample the impressive array of food. Sonya was beginning to understand how deeply interconnected this community was, how each person's well-being affected the whole.
Which made Ryker's isolation all the more heartbreaking.
She spotted him near the edge of the square, standing slightly apart from a group that included Emmett and Callum. Even in profile, she could see tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like someone ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
Their eyes met across the crowd, and for a moment, the noise and bustle faded into background static. His gaze traveled from her face down to the red dress and back up, and she saw something flicker in his green eyes that made heat pool low in her belly.
Then someone called his name, breaking the spell, and he turned away.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Maddox's voice carried across the square from the central bonfire, "it's time for the traditional telling of Hollow Oak's founding legends."
The crowd began gathering in a large circle around the fire, settling onto blankets and hay bales that had been arranged for seating. Sonya found herself between Moira and Cora, with a perfect view of both the storyteller and Ryker, who'd positioned himself at the back of the group.
Maddox cut an impressive figure in the firelight, his scholarly features taking on an almost mystical quality as he began to speak.
"Our town was founded by refugees from the supernatural wars that ravaged the eastern territories.
Witches, shifters, fae, and gifted humans who sought sanctuary from persecution and fear. "
His voice wove through the traditional tales, stories of courage and sacrifice that had shaped Hollow Oak's identity. The crowd listened with rapt attention, even the children drawn into the ancient magic of oral tradition.
"But perhaps the most important legend," Maddox continued, "is that of the Bloodmoon Wolf, whose destiny would either unite the scattered supernatural clans or bring about their destruction."
Sonya's attention snapped to Ryker, watching as his entire body went rigid. The flickering firelight couldn't hide the way color drained from his face.
"The prophecy speaks of a wolf born under the crimson moon, marked by tragedy but capable of great power. Some say he would rise to lead all shapeshifters into a golden age. Others feared he would be their downfall, consumed by the very forces that made him special."
"What happened to him?" a young voice called from the crowd.
"Ah, that's where legend becomes mystery," Maddox replied with dramatic flair. "Some say the Bloodmoon Wolf never came to pass. Others believe he walks among us still, waiting for the moment when destiny calls him to choose between salvation and destruction."
Sonya watched Ryker push silently to his feet and slip away from the circle, disappearing into the shadows beyond the square. Her heart ached for the pain she'd seen in his face, the weight of carrying a legend that painted him as either savior or destroyer with no middle ground.
Yesterday's conversation at the sanctuary had revealed glimpses of the man beneath the prophecy—someone passionate about helping others, someone with dreams he was afraid to voice.
The way he'd talked about his expansion plans, the gentle care he showed the animals, the vulnerability when he'd admitted he didn't plan for happy endings.
He was complex, fascinating in ways that had little to do with visions or mate bonds. There was something about Ryker Dusk that pulled at her—his quiet strength, his self-imposed isolation, the way he fought his own nature at every turn.
He was his own worst enemy, and she was beginning to understand why.
"I'll be right back," she whispered to Moira, then slipped away from the warmth of the bonfire to follow him into the darkness.
The festival lights faded behind her as she took the path toward Moonmirror Lake, guided by instinct and the pull that always seemed to draw her toward him. She could see his silhouette against the moonlit water, sitting on the rocky shore where they'd first met.
Whatever demons Maddox's story had awakened, Ryker was facing them alone.
Just like he faced everything else.
Sonya pulled her coat tighter against the November cold and walked toward the water, toward the man who carried the weight of destiny like a curse, toward whatever conversation was waiting for them under the stars.