Page 12

Eli

"How much glitter is too much glitter?" I ask, staring at the display of school supplies that Willow is currently raiding. She's already filled her arms with at least three notebooks covered in sparkly unicorns and rainbows.

"There's no such thing as too much glitter," Willow informs me solemnly, reaching for yet another glitter-encrusted folder.

Grace laughs softly beside me, the sound warming something deep in my chest. My wolf perks up, alert and pleased.

I've noticed he does that whenever she laughs—a sound still rare enough to feel like a victory.

The curve of her smile sends heat coursing through me, and I have to force myself to look away before she catches me staring.

My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, eager to claim what we both know is ours.

Mine , he growls. Mate . The instinct grows stronger every day, but I keep him leashed.

Grace doesn't need a possessive shifter marking his territory.

She needs patience, safety—someone who understands that trust has to be earned, not demanded.

That doesn't stop the wanting, though. The way her scent wraps around me when she walks by. The flash of skin when she reaches for something on a high shelf. The soft sighs she makes in her sleep when I check on her and Willow at night.

I want her. We want her. But we'll wait until she's ready.

"Maybe just one glitter notebook, Willow," Grace says, consulting the list in her hand. "The rest can be regular."

Willow's face falls momentarily before she brightens again. "Can I get the unicorn one? Please?"

"Of course," Grace says, her eyes softening as she watches her sister. There's something in that look—a mixture of love and worry that makes my chest ache.

I've seen that look before. It's the look of someone who's had to be both parent and sibling, who's had to make hard choices to keep someone safe. I recognize it because I've worn it myself, back when the pack was forming, when Adrian was still finding his way.

We're standing in Whispering Pines' general store, which is currently packed with families doing last-minute school shopping.

The school year starts Monday, and Grace was adamant about getting Willow properly equipped.

When I offered to drive them into town this morning, Grace hesitated only briefly before accepting.

Progress. Slow, but steady.

My wolf rumbles with satisfaction. He's been invested in Grace's comfort level around us, tracking her tiny concessions like precious territory gained.

"What about a lunchbox?" I ask, pointing toward another aisle. "Every kid needs a good lunchbox."

Willow's eyes widen with excitement, and she practically skips toward the display of colorful lunch containers. Grace follows, consulting her list again with a slight furrow between her brows.

I notice the way she lingers over the prices, mentally calculating. Her shoulders tense slightly when she sees the cost of the backpack Willow is admiring. It's purple with silver stars and a reinforced bottom—good quality, but not cheap.

"We should probably look at the other options," she says gently to Willow.

Before I can stop myself, I reach for the backpack. "This one seems sturdy. It'll last the whole year."

Grace gives me a look—part warning, part resignation. "Eli..."

"Let me get this for her," I say quietly, making sure Willow is distracted by the lunch boxes. "First day of school is special."

"I can't keep letting you pay for things," she whispers, her voice tight. "I need to do this myself."

I study her face, seeing the pride there, the fierce independence that's kept her and Willow going all this time. It's not about the money—it's about proving to herself that she can provide, that she doesn't need anyone else.

My wolf growls in frustration. He doesn't understand her hesitation to accept what we offer. To him, providing is instinct.

"How about this," I suggest, keeping my tone casual. "I'll cover everything today, and you can pay me back after your first paycheck from Theo. No interest, no timeline."

She narrows her eyes, clearly suspicious of my easy capitulation. "You're not going to argue with me about it?"

I shrug. "Would it help if I did?"

A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "No."

"Then what's the point?" I grin, and her smile widens just a fraction before she schools her expression.

"Fine. But I'm keeping track of every penny."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Willow bounces back over, clutching a holographic lunch box. "This one changes colors when you move it! Can I get it? Please?"

Grace hesitates, and I can see her doing the mental math again. Before she can answer, I grab the lunch box and add it to our growing pile.

"Excellent choice," I tell Willow. "Very practical."

Grace rolls her eyes at me, but there's no real irritation there. Just resignation tinged with something that might, if I'm lucky, be affection.

As she turns to help Willow find pencils, I catch a hint of her scent—warm vanilla with something uniquely her, like wildflowers after rain. My wolf inhales deeply, committing it to memory. There's something about her scent that feels like home, though I'm not ready to examine why too closely.

???

An hour later, we've hit three stores and accumulated a small mountain of supplies. The truck is loaded with bags, and Willow is proudly wearing her new purple backpack, even though it's empty.

"Can we go to one more store?" Willow asks as we're walking down Main Street. "I need clothes too."

Grace checks her watch. "We should have time for one more stop."

I lead them to Pines & Needles, a small boutique owned by a fox shifter named Marlene. The bell chimes as we enter, and Marlene looks up from behind the counter.

"Eli Greystone," she says warmly. "Haven't seen you in here before. Finally decided to upgrade your wardrobe?"

I laugh. "Not today. We're looking for some school clothes for Willow."

Marlene's eyes light up when she spots Willow. "Well, aren't you just the cutest thing! The children's section is in the back corner. We just got some new fall items in."

As Marlene leads them toward the children's section, she gives me a knowing look over her shoulder. My jaw tightens. I recognize that look—it's the same one Maya gives me whenever Grace's name comes up. Apparently, I'm more transparent than I thought.

Willow is already holding up shirt after shirt, seeking Grace's approval for each one.

I hang back, content to watch as they move through the racks together.

Grace's dark hair falls forward as she bends to help Willow with a button, and my fingers itch with the sudden, unexpected urge to brush it back from her face.

My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin.

The protective instinct that's always been part of me—the need to guard, to shelter—finds its focus in them.

Not because they're weak, but because they matter.

Because somehow, in the span of just a few weeks, they've become important to me in a way I didn't expect.

My wolf knows it. Has known it since they first stepped into our territory.

Mine to protect. Mine to care for.

This—quiet moments, laughter in colorful aisles, a child excited about new clothes—this is what we're building at the Sanctuary.

Not just walls and wards and security systems. A life worth protecting.

A future where families like Grace and Willow can simply exist without looking over their shoulders.

"What do you think?" Grace's voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up to see Willow twirling in a sparkly purple skirt that matches her backpack.

"Stunning," I say, and Willow beams. "You'll be the best-dressed kid in school."

"Can I get it?" she asks Grace, who nods with a soft smile.

"Yes, but only one skirt. We need practical things too."

As Grace helps Willow pick out a few more items, I wander through the store, stopping when something catches my eye.

It's a soft, forest-green sweater that would complement Grace's warm brown eyes perfectly.

Without overthinking it, I grab it in what I hope is her size, along with a few other small items I've noticed her eyeing or mentioning—a bottle of lavender lotion, a patterned scarf, and a paperback book I saw her looking at in the window of the bookstore earlier.

I'm at the register, paying for my purchases, when I feel Grace's presence behind me. Even before she speaks, I know it's her—her scent reaches me first, followed by the quiet sound of her breathing.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice low.

I turn, holding the bag. "Just picking up a few things."

Her eyes narrow. "For who?"

Before I can answer, Willow appears at her side, eyes widening as she spots the green sweater peeking out of the bag. "Is that for Grace? That would look so pretty on you!" She turns to Grace with a gleeful grin. "Please say yes?"

I lift a brow and murmur, "You heard the boss."

Grace rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush a delicate pink. The color spreads down her neck, and my wolf watches with fascination. I wonder how far that blush extends.

She gives a reluctant nod. "Fine. But this doesn't count toward the loan."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say, trying not to look too pleased with myself.

Our fingers brush as I hand her the bag, and the brief contact sends a jolt through my system. My wolf surges forward, hungry for more contact, and I have to consciously pull back.

We finish our shopping, and as we head back to the truck, I can't help but notice how different Grace looks compared to when we arrived.

There's a lightness to her steps, a softness around her eyes that wasn't there before.

She's still cautious—still scanning the street, still keeping Willow close—but she's also allowing herself small moments of joy.

"Thank you," she says quietly as we walk, the words so soft I almost miss them. "For today."

I glance at her, surprised. "You don't need to thank me."

"I know. That's...that's why I am." She doesn't meet my eyes, but the admission hangs between us, weighted with everything she's not saying.

My wolf preens at her acknowledgment, and I have to bite back a smile. "You're welcome."

Willow skips ahead of us, her new backpack bouncing against her shoulders, then glances back with a mischievous grin that immediately puts me on alert. That look reminds me of Maya when she's about to say something outrageous.

"You two should kiss," she announces with the blunt honesty only a child can muster. "You like each other."

Grace freezes beside me. I choke on a surprised laugh, even as my wolf perks up with enthusiastic agreement.

"Willow!" Grace hisses, her face flushing a deep crimson.

I shrug, unable to suppress my grin. "She's not wrong."

Grace glares at me, but her lips twitch with the beginning of a smile. She shakes her head and mutters, "You're both impossible," before marching ahead to catch up with Willow.

I follow, still smiling. Because impossible or not, I'm exactly where I want to be.

And my wolf—who's been restless for years, searching for something I couldn't name—seems to agree.