Page 79 of The Strongest Wolf

“Home. I’m finally home,” I murmur. With my head still ringing from blaring car horns, the chatter of pedestrians on the sidewalk, and music pouring out of cafes on my seemingly endless drive through New York, I tell myself I will never leave Wylder again.

There’s nothing about the small east-coast town that would draw tourists out of the city. It’s not full of pretty pastel houses, there’s no ocean view or quaint antique stores. It’s a perfectly ordinary town with clean streets and mom-and-pop stores. But most importantly, you will never find even a hint of traffic on its quiet streets.

The last is a large part of the reason we settled here. That and the cheap, almost crumbling down house just outside of town that came with more acres of forest and farmland than a small pack would ever need. Seven years ago, the house was a building we bought at a steal that was falling down around our ears. Now it’s home.

Just as much of one as this small town feels.

My stomach grumbles at the sweet vanilla and sugary donut scent drifting in through my open windows. Lacey’s Lemon Bar. It’s a name I could never figure out what it meant until asked Lacey herself.

Everything was lemon when I first opened the doors,she said with a wide grin, her blue eyes twinkling.Cakes, donuts, tea. I had an obsession with all things lemon.People didn’t mind it at first because they liked what I made.Until they realized all things lemon were here to stay. Then I learned if you’re going to run a business, unique can get real old, real fast, so I worked on the menu a little. And then a lot. Now there are only two things with lemon in them. The sponge cake and the lemon drizzle cake, because I learned that even I have a limit for all things lemon. Who’d have thought it?

Lunch can come later, I tell myself. I have one stop to make, and then I can grab enough donuts for everyone before I head to the house.

After pulling up outside the jewelry store, I grab my wallet, tuck the chain into my back pocket, and climb out of the truck.

As I slam the door shut, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my wolf growls a warning.

I jerk my head around and brace myself for an attack.

Other than a young woman pushing a stroller with a dozing baby, the only one on the street is me.But someone is watching me.My eyes narrow as I scope the streets, yet there’s no threat that I can see. None I can scent, either.

Dom said these shifters liked to hide and watch, and it feels like they’re doing just that.

If it wasn’t the middle of the day, I’d park my truck up on a side road, strip, and shift to hunt out the shifters on my own. Especially now that in a matter of hours, Sierra will be here.

I’m tempted.Tootempted, because if they put even one hand on Sierra…

My wolf snarls his fury.

Yeah, I know. We wouldn’t leave them in big enough pieces to identify.

“Galen?” An older male voice has me jerking my head away from the empty street and to the jewelers. Standing in the open doorway is Mr. Spence, in a button-down blue shirt and pants, with rimless glasses resting on the end of his pointed nose.

In a town as small as Wylder, there aren’t many people whose names I don’t know. Although they know mine and the rest of the pack, we’ve been careful never to say or do anything that would make them suspect we were anything more than just ordinary people who moved to Wylder in search of a quiet life.

Our arrival in the town came with a lot of curious stares and more than a few thin excuses from the locals to pay a visit to the old farmhouse on the edge of town. But when we spent more time renovating the house than we did drinking in the bar, their curiosity soon faded.

“Noel.” Smiling, I approach the jeweler with a hand outstretched.

The sense of being observed hasn’t completely left me, but it’s not like I can do anything about it now. “I wanted to speak to you about an old chain that I’d like to have repaired. I don’t think it's expensive, but it’s a family heirloom, so—”

He shakes my hand vigorously as he turns to lead the way inside. “There’s nothing more valuable than something that’s been passed down from generation to generation. Come inside, and I’ll take a look at it while Melissa makes us some coffee. You look like you could do with it.”

Home. It feels good to be home.

19

SIERRA

It’s oh so tempting to put my foot down on the accelerator and speed across what feels like hundreds of thousands of miles that separate the Colorado mountains and Upstate New York.

I nearly give in to temptation a couple of times, but it’s the real fear of what would happen if the cops were to pull me over. Then I’d be stuck trying to explain how I don’t have a driver’s license, only a few hours of practice driving between the Stone pack and town behind me, and I’m driving a car that does not belong to me.

So I stick within the speed limit—or pretty close to it—especially when I’m anywhere near towns or cities, and I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as each hour gets me closer and closer to Galen.

And his pack.

That thought is still a little scary to think about, but I won’t be facing them alone.

---