Page 13 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

Marjorie’s lips twitch like she knows it’s a lie too. “Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Like a lot of small towns, Shadow Hollow isn’t always overly welcoming to newcomers.”

Before I can respond, Marjorie continues on, “Breakfast?” she asks, her tone a little too bright. “On the house…”

“That’s not necessary…”

“Of course it is, any friend of Arthur’s and all that. What’ll you have?”

I smile. “If those cinnamon rolls I’m smelling are ready, I’d love one.”

“Coming right up.” Marjorie disappears into the kitchen, leaving me with my coffee and the low hum of muted conversations filling the café.

Arthur’s death was supposed to be an accident—a heart attack, the sheriff said, but I’m not buying it. My stomach twists as the cinnamon roll is set before me. When the bell over the door jingles, I glance over my shoulder. My breath catches when I see him. Ryder Stone.

He strides into the café as if he owns the place, his presence sucking the air out of the room. His tall, muscular physique is enough to take my breath away. With his dark, disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow, he looks like he’s been running through the woods again. His eyes sweep the room before landing on me, sharp and piercing, making my heart do an annoying little stutter. I can’t possibly be attracted to this guy, can I?

He doesn’t smile. It would seem Ryder doesn’t do smiles. Instead, he nods at Marjorie before coming to stand beside me. “Why are you still here?”

“Good morning to you too, Ryder,” I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though the heat in it makes my cheeks flush. “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record. Where’s your better looking, less menacing brother today?”

I hear several nervous twitters.

His jaw tightens, and he leans in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t Seattle.”

Something in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to back down. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not going to work. I’m not leaving.”

He straightens, his gaze burning into mine for a long, tense moment before he shakes his head. “You should.”

And with that, he turns and walks out, leaving me with more questions than answers and a lingering heat in the air that has nothing to do with my coffee.

As the door closes behind him, the room feels too quiet. I take a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the mug.

Whatever Arthur was looking into, it’s clear the town doesn’t want me to do the same. The question is, what are they so afraid I’ll find?

The Shadow Hollow sheriff’s station smells like old coffee and damp wood. The walls are lined with fading photographs of the town through the decades—black-and-white shots of loggers, miners, and one grainy image of a group of people standing just a little too far back in the woods to make out their faces. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like a stranger the second you step inside, even if you’ve been here before.

Sheriff Barnes sits behind his desk, a hulking man with graying hair and a sharp gaze that makes it clear he misses nothing. His uniform is neat, not a crease out of place, and there’s something about the way he leans back in his chair that suggests he’s used to being in control.

“Bella,” he says, setting down a stack of papers. “What can I do for you?”

I don’t sit, even though he gestures to the chair across from him. Sitting feels like telling him I think he’s in charge. He isn’t. Instead, I plant my hands on his desk, leaning in just enough to make it clear I mean business.

“I want to know what you know about Arthur’s death,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotions curling in my stomach.

His brow furrows. “What about it?”

“The investigation. Or lack thereof.”

Barnes sighs, leaning back in his chair. “There’s nothing suspicious about what happened to Arthur. The coroner ruled it a heart attack. Clean and simple.”

“I don’t buy it,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “Arthur was healthy. He hiked every weekend, for God’s sake. He wasn’t the kind of man who just dropped dead of a heart attack.”

Barnes’s eyes narrow slightly, the lines around his mouth tightening. “Sometimes these things happen,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “Even to people who seem healthy.”

“But what about whatever he was looking into?” I ask, refusing to back down. “I saw his notes, Sheriff. He was onto something, and now he’s gone. You’re telling me you believe that’s a coincidence?”

He hesitates, just for a second, but it’s enough to make my pulse spike.

“Arthur was always looking into something. He had some crazy theories,” Barnes says finally, his tone laced with something that makes my skin crawl. “But there’s no evidence—no proof—that whatever he was looking into had anything to do with his death.”

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