Double Trouble, Triple Heat

Chapter 5

I wake in an unfamiliar bed, sunlight streaming through windows I don't recognize.

It takes a moment for the memories to surface. The dinner. The wine. The kiss that set my whole body on fire. The zipper sliding down my back, hands everywhere, and then—

They stopped. They actually stopped.

I sit up slowly, taking in the guest room. Simple, clean, masculine. The sheets smell like pine and something wilder, and I realize with a flush that I'm still wearing last night's dress, now hopelessly wrinkled.

Voices drift from somewhere downstairs. Low, intimate. I can't make out the words, but the rumble of Dominic's voice and the lighter lilt of Caspian's are unmistakable.

I find them in the kitchen, moving around each other with an ease that speaks of years of practice. Caspian's flipping pancakes while Dominic pours coffee, and they turn in unison when I appear in the doorway.

In unison. Exactly together, like they sensed me at the same moment.

"Morning, little star." Caspian's smile is warm but careful. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead." I accept the coffee Dominic offers, our fingers brushing. "Thank you. For last night. For... stopping."

Something passes between them. That wordless communication I keep noticing.

"We meant what we said." Dominic's amber eyes hold mine. "When you're ready. When you're sure."

"I know."

Breakfast is easier than I expected. They don't push, just feed me pancakes and tell stories about growing up in Silverpine Falls. But I can't stop noticing things.

The way Dominic's head tilts toward the window a full second before a bird lands on the sill outside. The way Caspian's nostrils flare slightly when I shift in my seat, like he's catching a scent. The way their eyes catch the morning light at odd angles, reflecting gold and silver.

When I accidentally knock a fork off the table, Dominic catches it before it hits the ground. His reflexes are impossibly fast—faster than anyone I've ever seen.

"Good catch," I manage.

He just shrugs, but Caspian shoots him a look I can't quite read.

I'm being paranoid. It's just the strangeness of the situation, my overactive imagination working overtime.

Still. Something feels off.

After breakfast, they walk me back to my cabin, flanking me on the path like bodyguards.

"You don't have to escort me everywhere," I say. "I can walk myself back to my house."

"We know." Caspian's hand brushes the small of my back. "We just like walking with you."

At my door, Dominic lingers like he wants to say more. But he just nods and follows Caspian back into the forest.

I spend the afternoon trying to make sense of my own head. The almost-sex. The way I spilled my deepest insecurities. The fact that I wanted them—both of them—with a desperation that still hasn't faded.

A knock at the door pulls me from my spiral.

The woman on my porch is maybe sixty, silver hair in a practical bun, sharp blue eyes that seem to see straight through me. She's carrying a casserole dish.

"You must be Sera." Her smile is warm but assessing. "I'm Miriam. Lived next door to Eleanor for thirty years. Figured it was time I introduced myself."

I invite her in for tea. She settles at the kitchen table like she belongs there, her gaze sweeping over Eleanor's things with obvious familiarity.

"You look just like your mother," she says. "Same eyes. Same way of holding yourself, like you're ready to bolt."

"You knew her?"

"Everyone knew Lena." Something guarded enters her eyes. "She was special. Important to this community in ways that are hard to explain."

That phrase again. Important. Special. No one ever explains what it means.

"I've been spending time with Dominic and Caspian," I offer. "They knew her too."

Miriam's teacup pauses halfway to her lips. "The Blackwood boys. Yes, they would have."

"Is there something wrong with them?"

"Wrong?" She sets her cup down carefully. "No. But you should be careful, Sera. Those two are more than they appear."

"More how?"

She studies me for a long moment. "Your mother understood things about Silverpine Falls that most people don't. She was part of something ancient here. A community within the community."

"Like a cult?"

Miriam laughs, but it sounds strained. "Something like that. The old families here have traditions that go back centuries. Ways of living that outsiders wouldn't understand."

"And my mother was part of this?"

"Your mother was the heart of it, for a while. Before she left." Miriam's eyes grow distant. "She broke a lot of hearts when she chose your father. Some people never forgave her for leaving."

"Leaving what, exactly?"

"The pack." She says it so casually, like it's a normal thing to say. "Just—be careful on full moons. And if you're not part of them, you should know what you're getting into before it's too late."

Pack. Full moons. The words should sound ridiculous, but the way she says them—so matter-of-fact, so certain—makes my skin prickle.

Still, I push it away. She's just a lonely old woman with too much imagination. Small towns breed eccentrics. That's all this is.

"Mrs. Miriam, I appreciate the concern, but—"

"Just remember what I said." She stands abruptly. "The Blackwood boys aren't bad people. But they're not... well. Be careful."

She's gone before I can ask anything else, leaving me with a casserole and the growing suspicion that everyone in this town is slightly unhinged.

I spend the rest of the afternoon dismissing her words as small-town superstition. Pack. Full moons. Ancient communities. It's nonsense. The ramblings of someone who's lived alone in the mountains too long.

Then I check my phone.

Three missed calls from a blocked number. One voicemail.

Joseph's voice makes my blood run cold: "Did you really think you could run, Sera? I know exactly where you are. That little cabin in the mountains—very isolated. Very private. No neighbors for miles. We should talk about what you owe me for ruining my reputation. I'll be in touch soon."

The phone slips from my fingers.

He found me. Somehow, he tracked me across state lines and found me.

I should call the police. I should tell Dominic and Caspian. Instead, I lock all the doors, check all the windows twice, and tell myself I'm overreacting. Joseph is a bully and a coward. He's trying to scare me because that's all he knows how to do. He won't actually come here.

I almost believe it.

That night, sleep won't come. Every creak sounds like footsteps. Every rustle of wind sounds like someone at the door.

Around midnight, I give up on sleep and go to the window.

Two shapes sit at the treeline. Large. Still. Watching.

Wolves. One black as midnight, one silver-grey. Their eyes catch the moonlight, glowing gold and amber in the darkness.

My heart hammers against my ribs. My father's stories echo through my mind—wolves that watch, wolves that wait, wolves that wear human faces under the moon.

I tell myself they're just animals. Just wildlife, curious about the cabin. Maybe they smell the casserole Miriam left.

But they don't move. Don't hunt or pace or do anything a normal wolf would do. They sit perfectly still, side by side, their glowing eyes fixed on my window.

Like they're guarding me.

Like they know exactly who I am.

I stand there until my legs ache, watching them watch me. And when I finally crawl back into bed, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not as alone in these mountains as I thought.

For better or worse, something is watching over me tonight.