Page 19 of Wolf Fated

“Fur & Fang Outfitters,” I continue, nodding at the rustic storefront with its display of rugged outdoor gear and accessories. “They cater to a very niche clientele.”

This time, Sarah doesn’t bother trying to hide her confusion, her head swiveling to fix me with an incredulous look. “Niche clientele?” she echoes, her tone laced with challenge. “Mitch, what exactly is going on here?”

A low chuckle rumbles in my chest, and I shake my head, unable to resist the urge to tease her just a little. “All in good time, Sarah. There are secrets here only those who live here can know.”

She lets out a soft huff of laughter and turns her attention back to the scenery unfolding before us, completely unaware I wasn’t joking.

“Fine, keep your mysteries. But you’d better be prepared to spill everything eventually, Sheriff,” she concedes.

The endearment rolls off her tongue with a familiarity that sends a surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through my veins. I feel her ease slide through the bond. The way the discomfort of before has vanished in place of something more settled. The bond is strengthening and it makes my heart light.

With a grin, I guide the cruiser onwards, pointing out each unique shop and business as we drive past. The Moonlit Bookstore, with its dusty tomes and arcane volumes. The Paws N’ Claws Pet Emporium, catering to the furry companions that roam our streets with unbridled freedom.

Sarah drinks it all in, her expression a kaleidoscope of emotions–wonder, curiosity, and just a hint of trepidation all vying for dominance. Finally, we reach the sprawling, fortress-like structure that serves as the central hub for our community. The Pack House, as it’s known, looms before us, its imposing walls and sturdy battlements a testament to the strength and resilience of our kind.

“This is where the true heart of Willowbrook resides. It’s a place of coming together as a…township…to celebrate our traditions and honor our roots,” I say.

And where I hold pack meetings and make decrees that affect the thousands of people who live in my packlands.

Sarah’s gaze is transfixed, her lips parted in a soft ‘o’ of wonder as she takes in the majesty of the Pack House. She shoots me a sidelong glance, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “The names of these shops...” she begins, her tone laced with a hint of curiosity. “The Herb and Potion Emporium, Fur & Fang Outfitters, Paws N’ Claws Pet Emporium...” She ticks off each establishment, her gaze growing more thoughtful with each passing syllable. “And then there’s that massive building you called the Pack House. Is there some sort of wolf theme going on here? Some kind of inside joke that I’m missing out on?”

For a brief moment, I consider deflecting, offering up some half-truth or vague explanation to keep the mystery alive. But something in Sarah’s expression, that insatiable curiosity and thirst for understanding, has me reconsidering. Perhaps it’s time to start peeling back the layers.

“The wolf holds a special significance here in Willowbrook,” I say.

Her brow knits. “What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me that this town is full of...wolf enthusiasts or something?”

A slow grin tugs at the corners of my lips, and I shake my head in quiet amusement. “Let’s just say that the wolf is more than just a symbol or a mascot around these parts. It’s a part of our very essence, woven into the fabric of who we are.”

Sarah regards me for a long moment, her boundless eyes searching mine for any hint of deception or jest. But she finds none, only the quiet certainty that radiates from my every pore as Alpha.

She lets out a soft huff of laughter and shakes her head in bemusement. “You’re certainly full of surprises, Sheriff,” she murmurs.

She has no idea.

Not yet, anyway.

I can’t resist the urge to show Sarah a piece of myself, a glimpse into my life. With a turn of the steering wheel, I guide the cruiser down a winding side road, the trees giving way to reveal a breathtaking view of a secluded valley, nestled amidst the towering peaks like a hidden paradise.

Situated between the trees stands the home I’ve built but never lived in. Its sturdy timber walls and soaring pitched roof exude rustic charm, but it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that truly steal the show, their vast expanses of glass reflecting the splendor of the surrounding landscape.

Sarah’s sharp intake of breath is music to my ears, and I shoot her a sidelong glance, drinking in the awe that has transformed her delicate features. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, her beautiful eyes wide as she takes in the majesty of the cabin and its pristine surroundings.

Pride swells within me, a fierce, possessive surge that has my wolf preening and puffing out his chest. I lean over the steering wheel, imagining seeing it for the first time, the way she does. “I built it myself. Every beam, every pane of glass...it’s all a part of me, a reflection of the home I’ve always wanted to create.”

I built it for my mate. For her, even before I’d seen her face. Call it divine inspiration or just plain hope, I’d laid every plank of timber hoping to one day build this home.

Our home.

Sarah’s gaze snaps to mine, her expression one of open astonishment and admiration. “You built this? Mitch, that’s...that’s incredible. You’re incredibly talented.”

A low rumble of satisfaction vibrates in my chest at her praise. “It was a labor of love. A way for me to pour every ounce of my heart and soul into creating a haven, a sanctuary for my...”

“For your…?” She lets the question hang in the air.

The words catch in my throat, the truth hovering on the precipice of revelation. For you, my mate, my other half. A place where we can build a life together, a home to call our own. Where we can live out our lives together. But even as the admission burns on the tip of my tongue, I force it back, swallowing hard against the tide of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.

“I built it for my ma…my wife.”

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