Page 12 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

His hand snaps out, grabbing my arm, not rough but firm enough to make me freeze. His gaze locks onto mine, fierce and unrelenting. “Go home, Bella.”

“No.” My voice sounds shaky. His fingers linger against my skin, the heat of his touch burning through me. “I’m not some fragile little city girl who needs protecting.”

His eyes darken, his grip tightening ever so slightly. The air between us feels too charged, too heavy, like the woodsthemselves are leaning closer to listen. “I doubt you’re fragile. Arthur didn’t like fragile,” he says, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “But you’re not invincible, either.”

“Ryder,” another male voice cuts in, smooth and easy, breaking the moment like a cool breeze. “Ease up. I’m sure she doesn’t bite, and if she does, my guess is she’s had her shots.”

I glance past Ryder, my pulse still racing, to see another man emerging from the trees, laughing. He’s tall, built a lot like Ryder and just as striking, with a teasing grin that contrasts sharply with Ryder’s scowl. His dark hair is slightly longer, curling at the edges, and his eyes are warm, almost inviting, as they glance between us.

He hands Ryder a heavy sweater. “Put this on.”

“Lucas,” Ryder growls, his hand dropping from my arm as he takes a step back, takes the sweater and pulls it on. His frustration is palpable, though whether it’s with Lucas or me, I can’t tell. Probably both.

“Nice to meet you, Bella,” Lucas says, ignoring Ryder’s glower as he extends a hand toward me. “I’m Lucas. The less grouchy brother.”

“That wouldn’t take much,” I quip. I hesitate for a second before shaking his hand. His grip is firm, but there’s a friendliness in his smile and stance that puts me at ease.

“Younger brother,” Ryder corrects sharply, his tone like steel.

“Details,” Lucas says with a shrug, releasing my hand and leaning casually against a nearby tree. “So, what brings you out here, Bella? Decided to ignore all the ominous warnings and see what the big bad woods have to offer?”

“I was investigating something Arthur wrote in one of his journals,” I say, glancing at Ryder, who’s glaring daggers at Lucas now. “But apparently that’s a crime in these parts.”

“It’s not a crime,” Ryder snaps, stepping closer again, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “It’s reckless.”

I take a step back, my frustration boiling over. “You know what? If you two are done being two interfering old busybodies, I’ll be on my way.”

Ryder’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop me as I grab my flashlight and start back toward the trail. My steps are quick, fueled by anger and something else—something raw and confusing that lingers in the space Ryder just vacated.

The woods seem darker now, the air heavier, but I don’t look back. Not even when I feel Ryder’s gaze burning into me, like he’s still there, just out of sight, watching. Waiting.

Whatever Arthur was chasing… whatever’s out here… it’s bigger than I first thought. And I can’t seem to shake the feeling that somehow, I’m right in the middle of it.

CHAPTER 5

ISABELLA

The following morning, the Moonlight Café smells like a warm hug—strong coffee, sizzling bacon, and the faint sweetness of cinnamon rolls warming in the back. It’s the kind of place where time slows down, where regulars have claimed their favorite tables for decades and the menu hasn’t changed in just as long. But the warmth in the air feels at odds with the sharp, probing stares that land on me as I step inside.

I feel their eyes, curious and heavy, tracking my every move as I make my way to the counter. The bell above the door jingles behind me, but the low murmur of conversation doesn’t pick back up until I sit down.

“Isabella Gordon,” the woman behind the counter says. “I’m Marjorie Reed. I own the Moonlight Café. Welcome. Coffee?”

“Please,” I say, forcing a smile as I shrug off my jacket. “Black would be great.”

Marjorie bustles around behind the counter, her silver bob catching the light as she pours a cup of coffee and sets it in front of me. “You’ve been busy. Word is you’re thinking about taking over Arthur’s clinic.”

I nod, wrapping my hands around the mug. “I am. Regardless of what I decide, there’s a lot of stuff to go through.”

Marjorie leans on the counter, her blue eyes sharp despite her pleasant smile. “Must be hard, coming back after Arthur’s death. Who’d have thought Arthur would leave his clinic and his house to you?”

“Not me,” I admit, keeping my voice light even though her words land like a subtle jab.

She hums thoughtfully, her smile never wavering. “Arthur spoke of you often. He always had a soft spot for you. But the clinic is quite a responsibility; are you planning to stay?”

The question hangs in the air, deceptively casual, but I know better. This feels more like fishing than small talk.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I respond, wondering why I feel like I’m lying, like I already know I’m staying.

---