"The pack built it together," Eli says, pride evident in his voice as he parks the truck. "Ryan and Jenna wanted a place where supernatural kids could be themselves without hiding."
In the backseat, Willow presses her face against the window, eyes wide with wonder. "Are there other shifters like me?"
"Lots," Eli assures her.
As we approach the building, I feel Willow's small hand slip into mine, squeezing tight. I look down to find her watching the door with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I know exactly how she feels.
The door swings open before we reach it, and a woman with warm brown hair and kind eyes steps onto the porch.
She's human—I can tell by the way she moves, by the lack of that predatory grace all shifters seem to possess.
But there's a quiet strength in her stance, a confidence that speaks of someone who's found her place in a world not quite her own.
"You must be Grace and Willow," she says, her smile genuine as she descends the steps. "I'm Jenna Cooper. Welcome to Whispering Pines."
She crouches down to Willow's level, her voice softening. "I hear you're a very special girl. We have a few other shifter children inside who would love to meet you."
Willow's grip on my hand tightens for a moment, then slowly relaxes. "I haven't shifted yet," she admits in a small voice. "I don't know how."
Jenna's expression is so understanding it makes my chest ache. "That's perfectly normal at your age. Some children shift early, some later. That's why we're here—to learn together." She glances up at me. "We have experienced pack members who can help guide her when the time comes."
I nod, grateful she addressed my unspoken concern.
"Eli!" A tall woman with dark hair bounds down the steps, pulling him into a quick hug. "About time you brought them by."
"Hannah," he says with obvious affection. "Grace, this is Hannah Thorne, Ryan's sister and the pack's resident troublemaker."
Hannah rolls her eyes but grins. "Ignore him. I'm the fun one." She winks at Willow. "Want to see where we keep the good snacks?"
Willow looks up at me, seeking permission. I hesitate, old instincts screaming at me not to let her out of my sight, but Eli's steady presence beside me and the open warmth of these women helps me push past it.
"Go ahead," I tell her. "I'll be right here."
With a delighted smile, Willow follows Hannah inside, already chattering away about her favorite cookies.
"She'll be fine," Jenna assures me, nodding for us to follow. "The kids are in the back playroom with a few of our pack members. You can peek in if you want, but first, let me introduce you to everyone."
Inside, the community center is even more beautiful than its exterior promised.
Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating a spacious room with comfortable furniture and walls decorated with colorful murals of forest scenes.
A long wooden table dominates one end, surrounded by mismatched chairs that somehow look perfectly at home together.
Several women look up as we enter, their conversations pausing. I brace myself for the questions, the suspicion, the careful distance I've grown accustomed to when meeting new people. Instead, a woman with silver-streaked black hair hands me a steaming mug of tea and guides me to the table.
"Sit," she says. "You look like you could use this."
Before I know it, I'm seated between Jenna and a younger woman who introduces herself as Lily, listening as they talk about everything from the upcoming community potluck to the latest antics of the pack's youngest members.
No one asks why I'm here or how long I'm staying. No one treats me like I'm temporary.
Through a doorway, I can see Willow in the playroom, already engaged in what appears to be an elaborate game involving stuffed animals and a makeshift fort. She's laughing, her face more relaxed than I've seen it in months.
"She could start school here when she's ready," Jenna says, following my gaze. "I teach at the elementary school. We have both human and shifter children there, so we balance regular subjects with helping the little ones learn control."
"That would be..." I trail off, not sure how to express what it would mean for Willow to have a place where she doesn't have to hide who she is.
"It's a lot to take in," Jenna says, understanding in her eyes. "When I first came to Whispering Pines, I had no idea what I was getting into. Being human in a shifter world isn't always easy, but it's worth it."
I study her, this woman who chose this life. "How did you know? That you could trust them?"
She considers the question, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.
"I didn't, not at first. But Ryan showed me, day after day, that I could.
And then one day, I realized I already did.
" She smiles. "Sometimes trust isn't a decision you make.
It's just something that happens while you're busy trying to keep your walls up. "
The door opens, and Eli walks in with a tall, imposing man who can only be Ryan Thorne. They've clearly been discussing something serious, but Ryan's stern expression softens when he spots Jenna.
"Ladies," Ryan nods to the group, his eyes lingering on his mate with unmistakable affection before he turns to me. "Grace. Welcome to our home."
"Thank you for having us," I say, surprised by how much I mean it.
As Ryan moves to greet the others, Jenna leans closer to me with a conspiratorial smile. "I see the way Eli looks at you when you're not watching. He's been stealing glances at you all afternoon."
I follow her gaze to where Eli stands, his broad shoulders relaxed. The afternoon light catches in his tousled brown hair, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. As if sensing our attention, he turns our way, and the warmth in his eyes when they meet mine makes something flutter in my chest.
Heat rises in my cheeks. "We're not—he's just letting us stay with him until we figure things out."
Jenna's knowing look tells me she doesn't believe me for a second. "Mmhmm. That's how it starts."
Before I can protest further, Eli approaches. "Ready to head back? I promised Willow we'd stop for ice cream on the way home."
Home. The word echoes in my mind, both tempting and terrifying.
As we gather Willow and say our goodbyes, I'm struck by how natural it all feels—the casual invitations to return, the genuine smiles, Willow's reluctance to leave her new friends. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to belong here, to have this be our life.
The thought is still with me as we walk back to the truck, Willow skipping ahead, chattering excitedly about all the things she learned.
"So..." Eli says once we're out of earshot of the others. "Stealing glances, huh?"
I groan and give his arm a playful shove. "You heard that?"
"Wolf hearing," he reminds me, tapping his ear with a grin. "Hard to miss."
"She was just teasing," I say, but the laughter in my voice betrays me.
"Mmhmm." His eyes meet mine, amusement dancing in their depths, but there's something else there too—a warmth, an invitation, a promise.
For the first time in years, I don't immediately look away. Instead, I let myself feel the connection between us, this fragile thing taking root despite my best efforts to stay detached.
Later that night, after Willow is asleep and the cabin is quiet, I stand in my bedroom staring at the duffel bag I still haven't fully unpacked. My clothes remain mostly folded inside, ready to grab at a moment's notice. Ready to run.
The memories come unbidden, as they always do when I let my guard down.
Two years ago. Coming home from my shift at the diner to find the front door of our little rental house splintered open.
The metallic scent of blood hitting me before I even stepped inside.
Our father sprawled across the living room floor, his eyes vacant, his chest torn open.
Willow's mother in the kitchen, her body crumpled beside the back door like she'd tried to run.
I remember the silence most of all. The terrible, suffocating silence that made me think I was too late, that they'd taken Willow too.
Until I heard it—the softest whimper coming from the kitchen cupboard. I yanked it open to find her curled into a ball, her five-year-old body trembling, tears streaking her dirt-smudged face.
"Don't let the bad men get me," she'd whispered.
We were gone within the hour. Everything we could carry stuffed into two bags, my college fund emptied from the bank, and Willow clutching her stuffed rabbit as we hopped in my janky car and headed anywhere but there.
She told me what little she'd seen through the slats in the cupboard door—men with guns and knives, talking about "the half-breed child" and "cleaning up the bloodlines. "
Hunters. Looking for Willow.
I never saw their faces. I don't know their names. I have no idea if they're still looking for us or if they gave up months ago. But I couldn't take that chance. Not with Willow's life.
So we kept moving. New town, new names, new story every few months. Never staying long enough to be found. Never staying long enough to belong.
I reach for a stack of shirts, then hesitate, my hand hovering over the bag. The job with Theo starts Monday. Willow has made friends. Eli's cabin feels more like home than anywhere we've stayed in years.
But unpacking means staying. Unpacking means believing we're safe. Unpacking means trusting.
After a long moment, I close the bag and slide it back under the bed. Not yet. But maybe soon.