Page 6 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

His eyes narrow slightly. “Shadow Hollow?”

I nod, tossing a twenty toward the office window. “Yeah. Just moving in.”

His scowl deepens, but he doesn’t say anything else. I can feel his gaze on me as I pull back onto the road, the memory of that look prickling my skin.

I pull into town and head toward the mercantile and post office, parking out in front. It’s a squat, mismatched building that somehow manages to look both charming and foreboding. A sign reading Shadow Hollow Mercantile & Post creaks as the wind nudges it, the sound like a faint groan. Inside, the smell of pine cleaner and cedar fills the air, and the shelves are stacked high with everything from canned goods to handmade candles.

Behind the counter, David Wannamaker—a sturdy, middle-aged man with a thick beard and an almost cartoonishly friendly demeanor—greets me with a wide smile. “Isabella Gordon, isn’t it? You were here for Arthur’s funeral, and he has a picture of the two of you at his place. I heard he left you his clinic and the mill house,” he says, his voice booming. “Thought you might be stopping by eventually.”

“Word travels fast,” I murmur, grabbing a basket. “I’m just here for some basics.”

“Basics, huh?” His grin doesn’t falter as he rings up a customer ahead of me. “Might need more than that, running Arthur’s clinic. You planning to stick around?”

I hesitate, feeling the gravity of his question. “For now.”

“Good,” he says, leaning on the counter. “Arthur was one of us. It’s good to know you’re keeping his legacy going.” His tone is warm, but there’s something beneath it—something guarded.

I pay quickly and leave, my bag of supplies heavier than I expected—mostly because Wannamaker kept adding things to my bag and refusing to charge me for them.

I step out of the mercantile, feeling the eyes of those over on the porch of the Moonlight Café on me, but I force myself to walk steadily, head held high. The cold air bites at my cheeks as I load my supplies into the Jeep.

The café sits across the street, its porch lined with chairs and tables that look like they’ve been there since the town was founded. A group of locals—Dorothy Canning among them—are gathered, their voices low but carrying enough for me to catch the occasional word—my name among them. I know the sound of gossip when I hear it.

“Didn’t think she’d actually come back,” one of them says, their tone hushed but pointed.

“Running that clinic alone?” another voice scoffs. “Bet it won’t last a month.”

Dorothy shushes them, her voice firm. “Arthur trusted her. That’s good enough for me.”

The truth is, I’m not entirely sure I belong here. Shadow Hollow feels like it’s holding its breath, watching, waiting for me to prove myself—or fail spectacularly. But as I glance back toward the forest, the image of that wolf flashes in my mind again, its amber eyes burning into me.

It feels as if the people of Shadow Hollow don’t want me here… as if they are hiding something. Whether they like it or not, I’m going to find out what that is.

I pull into the driveway of the Silver Creek Veterinary Clinic just as the last rays of daylight disappear behind the jagged Cascade peaks. The building looms before me, a familiar silhouette against the deepening twilight. The faded sign creaks on rusty hinges, its chipped paint spelling out Silver CreekVeterinary Clinic in blocky, weathered letters. It seems every sign except that of the bakery and café are in need of repair.

As I step out of my Jeep, the air is sharp with the scent of the mountains and the trees all around me. My breath puffs in front of me, vanishing into the cold night. The place is just as Arthur always described it and as I remember it from the funeral—a little worn, a little rough around the edges, but comforting in a way that only something loved and lived in can be.

Arthur’s clinic. The keys feel heavy in my hand as I unlock the front door and step inside. The familiar scent of antiseptic and cedarwood washes over me, mixed with something faintly sweet, like the apple candles Arthur used to burn in the waiting room during the fall. The reception area looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here—worn leather chairs, a cluttered desk, a stack of dog-eared magazines no one ever reads—it feels like Arthur might walk through the door, a coffee mug in hand, smiling his warm, knowing smile.

But reality settles over me all too quickly, too heavily, and I know better.

I run my fingers along the edge of the counter, my throat tightening. “You didn’t just drop dead,” I whisper into the stillness. “Not you.” Arthur was too sharp, too stubborn, and too alive for his death to make sense. An accident? A heart attack? It doesn’t add up.

The clinic seems to agree. The shadows stretch deeper in the corners, the faint creak of the floorboards under my feet sounding like protests. I move into the back, past the exam rooms, and into Arthur’s old office. His scent still lingers faintly here—cedarwood, coffee, and the faint tang of the aftershave he always wore. The desk is neat, papers stacked precisely, but there’s a worn spot on the leather chair where I imagine his elbow must have rested.

I sink into the chair, my hands brushing the edge of the desk, and memories flood in—Arthur teaching me to set a broken paw, his gruff encouragement as I fumbled with a syringe, his laughter as he regaled me with stories of his antics as a child in Shadow Hollow.

“You left too many questions, Arthur,” I murmur. “And I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

The knock at the front door startles me, the sound echoing through the quiet clinic. My pulse jumps, and I’m already halfway to the reception area when the door creaks open, revealing Sheriff Edmund Barnes. His broad shoulders nearly fill the doorway, his bear-like presence as solid as I remember. He steps inside, his hat in one hand, his eyes sharp and unreadable under the fluorescent lights.

“Sheriff Barnes,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “What brings you by?”

He nods toward the clinic, his tone casual but deliberate. “Heard you were back. Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re settling in.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. I’m not sure I believe him. “Well, I just got here. I’m still trying to figure it out. Not really sure what I’m going to do, For now, I need to go through Arthur’s things.”

His eyes narrow, but he seems to realize it, changes his expression and chuckles softly, but the sound doesn’t ring true. “Shadow Hollow’s got a way of keeping folks on their toes.”

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