Page 59 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Miley

The farther west we go, the more the landscape starts looking like a stock photo for ‘mountain paradise’.

Flat Midwestern nothingness gives way to the white-knuckle drama of actual mountains, the kind that make you clutch the door handle even when you trust the driver with your life. Which I do. Mostly.

We stopped for the night a few hours outside of Stillwater, handing the moving van off to one of Ares’ packmates so we could drive the last leg together.

No complaints from me– I’m perfectly happy being a passenger princess in his big, battered pickup, watching the scenery roll by and feeling the last threads of our old life unravel behind us.

I keep waiting for the homesickness to hit– some spasm of regret or longing for the city we left behind– but it never comes. Just relief. The farther we go, the lighter I feel.

“Welcome to the six-pack,” Ares announces dramatically as he turns off the highway and onto a narrow forest road.

From the outside, there’s not much to see– and I suppose that’s by design.

His alliance keeps its towns hidden from human eyes, tucked deep in the woods so they can live freely as they are rather than trying to suppress their instincts to blend in.

The road unwinds for miles before he veers left, and I instantly recognize the landmarks for Stillwater’s territory from our visits here. The trees thin, sunlight spills through, and we roll into the outskirts of town. My stomach flips, not with nerves, but with excitement .

Ares takes a few more turns before pulling to the curb in front of a house I don’t recognize. It’s new construction in a rustic style– warm cedar siding, wide porch, planter boxes spilling with greenery.

“Aren’t we going to the packhouse?” I ask, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Nope,” he says, shutting off the engine and giving me that I-know-something-you-don’t grin. “Better.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious, and he laughs to himself as he gets out of the truck, rounding the hood and coming over to open my door for me. He takes my hand like the gentleman he definitely isn’t, and now I’m even more suspicious.

The scent of cedar and fresh-cut grass hits me hard as I allow him to lead me up the path toward the unfamiliar house. Ares pauses at the front steps, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head.

“Welcome home.”

“What?” I blurt, pushing him back and blinking up at him.

“Take a look,” he prompts.

I do, taking in the wrap-around porch, the shutters, the planter boxes– every little thing I once described in my ridiculous dream house list.

Before I can react, Ares sweeps me off my feet– literally, like a damn romcom– and carries me up the front steps.

“Put me down!” I giggle, kicking my feet in protest.

He doesn’t. He opens the door and carries me over the threshold, kissing me madly before setting me down on my feet again.

Inside, sunlight spills through massive windows onto wide-plank floors.

The living room is lined with built-in shelves already filled with my books.

Cozy throw blankets drape over the plush chairs and sofa, and the massive window at the back of the house comes with a view so perfect it looks photoshopped.

I turn back toward Ares, still trying to take in the scale of it, the fact that this isn’t a dream I’ll wake up from. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Well?” he drawls, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. “What do you think, babe?”

Before I even register the movement, I’m crossing the room and launching myself at him. “It’s perfect,” I gush, arms winding tight around his neck as I pepper kisses across his jaw and cheek.

He laughs, sweeping me up and carrying me into the kitchen.

Setting me on the edge of a gleaming quartz island, he steps back like he’s unveiling the next surprise, and I glance around to take it all in.

Stainless steel appliances catch the sunlight, my pink apron hangs from a hook, and on the counter next to me, an artfully arranged plate of cupcakes is waiting to be devoured.

I glance from the cupcakes back to him, one brow arched.

“Figured the first thing you’d want to do is sample the local goods,” he says, nodding toward the plate. “They’re from a place over in Westfield.”

“You’re not gonna give me a lecture about sugar for breakfast?” I tease as I shamelessly reach for one.

“Not today.” His smirk deepens, but there’s something softer behind it– like he’s savoring the fact that he can finally give me this.

My mouth is already watering as I peel back the wrapper. “Did you seriously do all this?” I ask, waving the cupcake at the kitchen, the shelves, the sunlight flooding the whole damn place.

He gives a lazy shrug, as if we’re not standing in a literal dream “I mean, technically I paid people to do most of it. But yeah. Had it built. Figured if you were gonna move across the country for me, you deserved a house that doesn’t suck.”

I take a bite, the frosting sweet and rich on my tongue. “Considering where we came from, you realize the bar for not sucking is really, really low, right?” I murmur around the cake in my mouth.

“I aim high,” he grins.

I polish off the cupcake in too few bites, brushing crumbs from my palms before slipping down from the counter. The rest of the house pulls me forward like a magnet. I trail my fingers along the smooth railing of the stairs, peek into rooms painted in warm earth tones.

There’s a dining room with a long table just begging to host family dinners loud enough to shake the walls.

A mudroom with sturdy hooks for coats and shelves for shoes– the kind of everyday details that make a place feel lived in.

Upstairs, the bedroom is twice the size of the one in our old apartment and smells faintly of lavender and new paint.

The bed is covered in a comforter so thick it could double as a mattress.

When I turn, Ares is in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, watching me with that smug expression that always gives him away.

“You want the tour?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Pretty sure I just gave myself one,” I say, flopping backwards onto the bed and testing its bounce.

He crosses the room and sits beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.

For a moment, he just lets the silence settle between us.

Then, almost like he’s tossing out an afterthought, he says, “Got you a meeting with the Alliance Gazette tomorrow morning. Editor’s a friend of my mom’s, but don’t hold that against him.

He needs a reporter, and I think you’d be perfect for the job. ”

I choke, sitting up so fast it makes me dizzy. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Nope. Ten o’clock. He’ll probably ask you to cover a bake sale or some shit, but… it’s a start, right?”

All my sarcasm evaporates. I launch myself at him, knocking him backwards onto the bed. My arms wrap around his neck so tight he has no choice to take me with him, and I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to steady the rush of emotion flooding my chest.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice wobbling.

It’s not just the meeting. It’s the fact that he thought of it, that he believes in me, that he built this house and this life for us . Things I don’t have the right words for.

He hugs me back, warm and solid. “You don’t have to thank me for wanting you to be happy,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

I want to say something romantic, but words don’t feel like enough in this moment, so I just kiss him like the air between us doesn’t exist. His hands skim up my sides, taking my shirt with them, but before we can get to the good stuff, a sharp knock echoes from downstairs.

I freeze, still straddling him. “Company?” I ask, pulse kicking up.

He props himself up on his elbows, giving me a crooked grin. “My family wanted to say hi,” he says sheepishly. “I told them to wait a day, but uh… they don’t listen.”

“Of course,” I laugh, already sliding off him.

We scramble to straighten our clothes and smooth our hair, exchange one last conspiratorial glance that says we’ll be back in this bed soon, and jog down the stairs. Ares swings the front door open, and the quiet of our brand-new house is instantly swallowed whole.

The Raines’ arrive like a storm of warmth and noise with boots thumping on hardwood, voices overlapping, and arms outstretched. His parents, his siblings, and their mates all tumble inside in a tangle of hugs, shouts, and laughter.

They engulf Ares first, and then me, one after another. And even though I’ve met them all before, this feels different. I’m not the city-girl mate dropping in for a long weekend; I’m here to stay. This is my front door they’re crowding, my home they’re filling with their energy. It’s… surreal.

Ares’ sister Andie barrels into me with a hug so fierce my ribs creak. “Welcome home, sis!” she squeals in my ear, rocking us both side to side.

Over her shoulder, Nash grins like he’s in on some private joke. “I see he didn’t scare you off yet,” he remarks.

“Not yet,” I shoot back, grinning.

Ares’ mom Serena pulls me in for a warm, lingering hug, and his dad Reid follows, big hands patting my back in a gesture that’s more reassuring than words. Archer claps me on the shoulder in a brotherly way, while his mate Meredith squeezes my hand like we’re sealing some unspoken pact.

Eventually, we all migrate toward the living room.

It takes a few minutes– the Raines’ are incapable of moving from one space to another with stopping to talk– but we end up scattered across the plush chairs and couches, the air humming with overlapping conversations and laughter bouncing off the tall ceilings.

Someone asks about the move, someone else asks about the drive, and for once, I’m not self-conscious about taking up space in the middle of their chaos.