Page 11 of Collar Me Crazy
She hung up before he could respond, leaving him alone with his wolf's increasingly agitated protests. The animal wanted out, wanted to track Sonya's scent back to town and stake a claim that would complicate both their lives beyond repair.
Instead, Ryker headed for the medical cabin to check on his patients. Work had always been his refuge, the one thing that made sense when the rest of his world felt like chaos. The messenger hawk was awake and alert, testing her wing with careful movements.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better," she said in the common tongue. "The pain's nearly gone. I should be able to shift and fly tomorrow."
"Take another day. Better to be cautious."
She studied him with those sharp golden eyes. "You smell different. Agitated. Find yourself a mate?"
Ryker's hands stilled on the medication bottles. "What makes you say that?"
"You've got that scent shifters get when they find their other half. All wound up and conflicted. Course, you also smell like you're planning to do something stupid about it."
"I'm not planning anything. There's nothing to plan."
"Uh-huh." The hawk shifter settled back onto her bed. "Word of advice? Denying what your animal knows is true tends to make them cranky. And cranky shifters make mistakes."
Ryker finished his rounds in brooding silence, but her words echoed in his mind. Cranky shifters make mistakes.
He'd been making mistakes his whole life. The biggest one had been surviving when his pack died. The second biggest might be staying in Hollow Oak, building connections with people who'd be safer if he just disappeared.
But letting Sonya get close, letting her matter, letting himself hope for something he could never have?
That would be the biggest mistake of all.
His wolf snarled disagreement, but Ryker ignored it. He'd gotten good at ignoring inconvenient truths over the years.
He just hoped this time would be easier than it felt.
7
SONYA
The wind bit sharp with the promise of winter as Sonya made her way back through Hollow Oak's streets the next morning. November had settled over the mountains with serious intent, painting the trees in the last stubborn shades of amber and rust before the real cold arrived. Her breath misted in the crisp air, and she pulled her jacket tighter while navigating the cobblestone paths.
Last night's encounter with Ryker had left her restless and confused. The pull she'd felt, the recognition in his eyes before terror took over, the way he'd fled like she carried some kind of plague. Her visions had never been wrong before, but they'd also never been so personal.
Which meant she was missing something important.
The Griddle & Grind was already bustling with morning customers when she passed, and through the windows she caught sight of Twyla serving steaming mugs with knowing smiles. No doubt the fae woman would have plenty of questions about last night, but Sonya wasn't ready for that conversation yet.
Instead, she followed the directions Moira had given her yesterday, taking the forest path that wound toward the Council Glade. If anyone knew why Ryker had reacted like a spooked deer, it would be Elder Varric. From what Lucien and Moira had said, the wolf elder had practically raised Ryker after some unnamed tragedy.
The trail led deeper into the woods than she'd expected, past towering oaks whose branches formed a canopy overhead. Fallen leaves crunched under her boots, and out there in the distance, she could hear the gentle sound of running water. Magic hummed in the air here, old and patient and carefully contained.
The Council Glade opened before her like a secret garden. Ancient stones formed a rough circle in the center of a clearing, their surfaces carved with symbols that seemed to shift. A small stream meandered along one edge, its water catching the filtered sunlight, and the whole space felt hushed with the weight of important decisions made over centuries.
A man stood with his back to her, feeding breadcrumbs to a family of squirrels who chattered at him in what sounded suspiciously like actual conversation. Long silver braids draped over his shoulders, and when he turned at the sound of her approach, his eyes held the color of storm clouds.
"Sonya Sibyl," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "I wondered when you'd find your way here."
"Elder Varric." She inclined her head respectfully. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"The glade is open to all residents of Hollow Oak. And you are a resident now, whether you realize it or not." He scattered the last of his breadcrumbs and brushed his hands clean. "Your visions brought you here for a reason."
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Sonya moved closer, noting how the squirrels continued their chatter even in her presence. "I met Ryker last night."
