Page 8 of Craved by the Werewolf (Mystic Ridge Monster Mates #2)

VALA

I was halfway to the exit when Thorne's voice stopped me cold.

"You don't have to rush off."

I turned to find him a few steps behind me in the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in the afternoon light streaming through the compound's windows.

The rest of the meeting attendees had scattered.

Mika probably racing back to terrorize some poor intern.

Lana off to wrangle teenagers, and Malrik vanishing in whatever mysterious way demons vanished.

"Don't you have pack things to do?" I asked, shifting my bag to my other shoulder. "You know, mysteriously issuing life-or-death commands, practicing that whole 'I could eat you for breakfast' stare?"

His mouth curved into what was not quite a smile. "Is that what you think I do all day?"

"Among other terrifying Alpha activities, I'm sure." I adjusted my bag strap, annoyed that my hands wanted to fidget. "Look, I really don't want to keep you from whatever world-saving is on your afternoon agenda."

"Actually," he said, stepping closer, and suddenly the hallway felt smaller, "I was thinking I could show you around. Get to know each other. You know, for all that intensive collaboration we'll be doing."

The way he said 'intensive' made my pulse stutter. There was something in his voice that had nothing to do with House Party logistics and everything to do with the way he was looking at me—like I was a puzzle he was finally getting the pieces to.

The smart thing would be to make excuses and head for my car. The smart thing would be to remember that LA was waiting and getting tangled up with the local Alpha was about as wise as poking a sleeping dragon.

But when had I ever been accused of being smart?

"You know what, Thorne?" I heard myself say, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. "Show me what you've got."

The compound was larger than I'd expected, a maze of modern functionality mixed with touches that spoke to its fierce inhabitants.

Training rooms with reinforced walls, a kitchen designed to feed a pack, common areas that managed to feel both communal and comfortable.

Thorne moved through it all with easy familiarity, pointing out features and explaining logistics with genuine pride.

"Most of the pack doesn't live here," he said as we walked past what looked like a small apartment complex. "But we maintain quarters for anyone who needs them. Newly turned wolves, pack members going through difficult transitions, emergency housing."

"That's... actually really thoughtful," I said, surprised by the care evident in the setup.

"We look after our own." He paused at a window overlooking a garden courtyard where I could see a few people sitting in the afternoon sun. "It's not all commands and intimidation."

There was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, like my opinion mattered more than it should.

"I never thought it was," I said softly. "Not really."

He looked at me then, really looked, and I felt that familiar electric tension snap between us. The same awareness that had been crackling through the meeting, the same pull that had made my pulse spike during our radio interview.

"There's one more place," he said, his voice rougher than before. "If you're not in a hurry."

I should have been in a hurry. Should have remembered all the reasons why getting closer to Thorne Kaine was a terrible idea. Instead, I heard myself say, "Lead the way."

We walked through the compound and then outside, following a trail that led into the pine forest behind the buildings. The path was well-maintained but clearly not meant for casual hikers—it climbed steadily upward through Douglas fir and cedar, winding between moss-covered rocks and fallen logs.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked after about ten minutes of hiking. Grateful I'd worn decent shoes.

"You'll see," Thorne said, and there was something almost boyish in his anticipation that made my chest tight.

The trail curved sharply upward for the last stretch, and then suddenly we emerged onto a rocky outcropping that took my breath away.

"This is the Lookout," Thorne said quietly.

I could see why he'd named it that. The ridge sat high above the valley, offering an unobstructed view of all of Mystic Ridge spread out below us.

The town looked different from this angle—smaller, maybe, but also more magical.

Lights were beginning to twinkle on as dusk approached, creating a soft, misty glow that made everything look like it belonged in a fairy tale.

The river caught the last of the sunset light like a silver ribbon, the forest canopy rolled out in waves of green, and the distant mountains stood sentinel against a sky that was just beginning to blush with twilight colors.

"This is incredible," I breathed, moving to the railing. "You can see everything from up here."

"I come here when I need to think. When the responsibilities get too heavy." He gestured toward the town below. "Reminds me what I'm protecting."

I could understand that. From this height, Mystic Ridge looked like something out of a fairy tale—a place worth protecting, worth fighting for. Worth staying for.

"Look," he said softly, pointing toward a cluster of trees near the river. "Do you see them?"

I followed his gaze and gasped. Tiny points of light were dancing between the branches, moving in slow, graceful patterns like fireflies made of starlight. But these weren't insects—they were too purposeful, too beautiful.

"Forest spirits," Thorne explained. "They come out at dusk. Most humans can't see them. They're attracted to a certain energy."

As if responding to his words, the lights began to drift upward, a handful breaking away from the trees to spiral lazily toward us. I held perfectly still as one floated close enough to touch, its glow warm and somehow curious.

"They like you," Thorne said, wonder in his voice. "They don't usually approach strangers."

The tiny spirit—or whatever it was—bobbed in front of my face for a moment before rejoining its companions. I watched them dance back toward the trees, feeling like I'd just been granted admission to some secret club.

"That was amazing," I said, turning back to Thorne. "I've lived here my whole life and I've never seen anything like that."

"Maybe you weren't looking from the right angle before."

There was something in his voice that made me glance up at him. He was watching me with an intensity that sent heat pooling in my stomach, his eyes reflecting the last of the sunset light.

"Vala," he said quietly.

I should have stepped back. Should have made some joke to defuse the tension. Should have remembered all the reasons this was complicated and dangerous and probably a mistake.

Instead, I found myself moving closer.

"This is probably a bad idea," I whispered.

"Probably," he agreed, his hand coming up to cup my cheek.

And then he kissed me.

His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as his mouth found mine. No hesitation, no testing the waters—just heat and want and something that made my brain short-circuit.

I made a sound—half gasp, half surrender—and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss as he backed me against the rocky outcropping.

The stone was cool against my spine, but everywhere he touched burned.

His body pressed against mine, solid and warm and real, and I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

My hands found the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric to pull him closer. Not close enough. Would never be close enough. When his tongue swept across my lower lip, I opened for him without thought, and the low growl that rumbled in his chest sent liquid fire straight through me.

He kissed like he did everything else—with complete focus and devastating competence.

Like he'd been thinking about this exact moment, planning it, wanting it.

His teeth caught my bottom lip, just a gentle scrape that made me arch against him, and then he was soothing the sting with his tongue while his hands slid into my hair.

When we finally broke apart, I couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't think. Could only stare up at him with what was probably the most dazed expression in recorded history.

His eyes caught mine, pupils blown wide, and when he spoke his voice was pure gravel. "I've been wanting to do that since I walked into that studio."

"I, ah." The words didn't come out.

"Since the first time I heard your voice on the radio." His thumb traced my swollen lower lip, and I had to fight not to lean into the touch. "Listening to you talk to strangers in the dark, wishing I could see your face."

The raw honesty in his voice undid me completely. I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair, and pulled him back down to me.

The spell should have held. We should have kissed again, or talked about what this meant, or figured out how to navigate whatever was happening between us.

Instead, reality crashed back in like a bucket of ice water.

"I'm going to LA," I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in my rush to get them out. "Monday. After House Party. I might be leaving Mystic Ridge."

Thorne went very still, his hands dropping from my face like I'd burned him.

He just stared at me, and I watched the realization rolled over him in waves. First confusion, then understanding, then something that looked almost like grief.

"LA," he said finally, his voice carefully controlled.

"Corporate wants to talk about a national syndication deal," I said miserably. "Bigger markets, everything I've been working toward. I have to take the meeting."

He stepped back, putting distance between us that felt like a chasm. "Of course you do."

"Thorne, I?—"

"It's fine," he said, but his voice suggested it was anything but fine. "You have your career to think about. Your future."

The careful politeness in his tone was somehow worse than anger would have been. I wanted to explain, to tell him that the thought of leaving felt wrong in a way I couldn't articulate, that standing here with him made LA seem like a foreign country I had no interest in visiting.

But how could I explain something I didn't understand myself?

"This is the worst possible timing."

He nodded curtly, already pulling back into himself, retreating behind the walls I'd glimpsed him lowering.

"I should take you back to your car," he said.

The offer was polite, distant, everything that the last hour hadn't been. I wanted to refuse, to stay and fight for whatever this was, but the shuttered look in his eyes told me that moment had passed.

"Okay," I said.

The hike back down the trail was silent.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the magic of the forest spirits and the breathtaking view already feeling like something that had happened to someone else.

Even the short drive to where I'd left my car felt endless, filled with everything we weren't saying.

"Thank you," I said when he pulled up next to my Honda. "For the tour. For showing me the Lookout."

"You're welcome." Professional. Polite. Nothing like the man who'd kissed me like I was everything he'd been searching for.

I climbed into my car without looking back, but I could feel his eyes on me until I pulled out of the compound gates.

It wasn't until I was halfway home that I realized I was crying.

The tears didn't make sense. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? The promotion, the bigger platform, the chance to make a real impact beyond the borders of our town.

But as I drove through the streets of Mystic Ridge, past the coffee shop where I'd learned to love caffeine, past the bookstore where I'd discovered the calming effect of a good book and a quiet place to rest, past Haven House where the windows glowed warm with the promise of safety for kids who needed it, leaving felt less like an opportunity and more like a betrayal.

Of the town. Of myself.

Of the man who'd just shown me his secret sanctuary and kissed me like I mattered.

And I still had to face him again. Still had to be professional, still had to stand beside him while pretending my heart wasn't being torn in different directions.

I pulled into my driveway and sat in the dark for a long time, staring at my little house and trying to remember why a national radio career had ever seemed like something worth wanting.

But Monday was still coming, and the meeting was still happening.