Chapter 8

Levi

Taking a deep breath, I opened the closet in my small room.

Today was the day.

Today was the day I finally felt ready to leave my room and go explore the town. After more than a week of being cooped up inside my room in the Balwood Inn and being nursed back to health by a very friendly innkeeper named Mave who'd kept me supplied with tea and probably the best honey I've ever had, I was feeling well enough to brave the outside world.

I had stuff to do.

First off, I needed to file a police report. I wasn't sure what exactly I could report Alistair for, but I was pretty sure I could call the cops on him for something. Reckless endangerment? Deprivation of freedom? Kidnapping?

Then I had to get a phone. It'd been two weeks since my family had last heard from me. I needed to call my job—even though I was pretty sure I was out of a job by now. I also had to call Alistair and fucking fire him. That was the one thing I was looking forward to. Next, I'd have to go figure out my money issue. I didn't have my phone, didn't have my wallet, didn't have my cards, didn't have anything to pay with—which, yeah, might make buying a phone complicated.

Looking inside the closet, I marvelled at the clothes hanging there. It wasn't a full wardrobe, definitely not my wardrobe, but I had enough to get by. A couple of shirts, sweatpants, three jeans and five sweaters. A pair of boots, socks, underwear, and a thick-looking coat.

The stuff had turned up a day after I'd left the packhouse.

I knew the pack had sent them. Well, Rhett had. There'd been a card. Most of the stuff was used; apparently, other pack members that were my size or close to my size were happy to donate a sweater or two to me, but the underwear, socks, and boots were brand new. Gifts from Rhett.

My heart lurched, my mind spinning as I blindly grabbed a sweater and a pair of jeans. Thinking about Rhett made my head hurt. I'd done a lot of it during the past week, but I couldn't seem to come to a conclusion.

What he'd told me was just so ludicrous.

Fated mates?

He really believed I was the love of his life because of a smell.

It sounded like stuff fairytales were made from.

But he appeared to be serious about it—and he showed me every single day.

My room was filled with small gifts. Flowers were the first thing that had arrived. Followed by a glass of honey—for my sore throat. A book he hoped I'd enjoy reading. A small gift basket filled to the brim with sweets and snacks. A wolf stuffie. I hated to admit it, but the last one now lived in my bed.

It was so very sweet and thoughtful—and I had no idea what to do about it.

Truth was, I kinda missed him.

Grabbing the boots, I shoved my feet inside angrily, shaking my head. Missing him was weird. How could I miss someone I didn't even really know?

We'd had two conversations. Two . He was basically a stranger.

But he helped you through your time out in the wilderness , a voice inside my head supplied. He kept you company and made sure you were as safe as possible.

Laughing, I grabbed my hair and pulled at the strands. Had he helped me? Yes. But he'd also pretended to be a wild animal. I mean, not really. Technically, he was a wild animal. But he'd let me believe he was just a wolf, not a human.

Instead of turning into his human self and bringing me to his packhouse or the town or wherever, he'd let me stay in a dilapidated cabin with no running water and without a source of warmth.

What would you have done if he'd turned in front of you that first day, hmm?

The voice inside my head wasn't happy, and neither was I because I couldn't answer the question. I'd like to think I'd have been glad I wasn't alone, but the truth was, I didn't know how I would have reacted. If I'd seen that wolf for the first time and it would have suddenly turned into a very naked, very tall human… I probably would've run as fast and as far as I could. Which, granted, probably wouldn't have been nearly enough to outrun Rhett.

But would I have listened if he'd caught up to me?

Pretty sure, I'd have been preoccupied with getting away.

So, did he handle things correctly or not?

And that was why thinking about Rhett made my head hurt.

I grabbed the coat from the hanger and slammed the closet shut with more force than necessary.

I definitely needed to get out of here. I'd go mad if I stayed cooped up in this room with nothing but a dozen reminders of Rhett and my thoughts.

Glancing at the mirror, I swallowed. I didn't look too good. During the time out in nature and the last week of being sick, I'd lost weight I didn't have to spare in the first place. My skin was still too pale to look entirely healthy and my cheeks were bordering on looking sunken in.

Shaking my head, I quickly left the room. I didn't like what I was seeing in the mirror. Not at all.

Walking along the carpeted hallway of the Inn, I inhaled deeply, and a smile tugged at my lips as I caught a hint of maple and sugar.

Mave was baking again. In the beginning, I'd tried calling her Mrs. Westerfield, but she'd gently scolded me, saying I was pack, which meant I was family and family was on a first-name basis.

Being called family by a stranger was weird, almost as weird as thinking about the fifty-ish innkeeper being able to turn into a giant wolf… or was she a different kind of animal? I hadn't asked.

Was I allowed to?

Rhett had said the pack consisted of different shifter species, but I had no idea if asking about one's shifter animal was an appropriate thing to do.

I'd have to ask… someone about it.

Rhett?

Mave?

Sighing, I turned left, gripped the handle of the stairs and slowly started my way down to the entry hall-slash-reception-slash-sitting area. It got warmer the further down I went, and I inhaled the faint hint of smoke. One look told me that Mave had already started the fire in the fireplace, and one of the other guests—a professor in his forties—was occupying one of the big, old, leather wingback chairs, reading an honest to god newspaper.

"Levi," Mave greeted me, her cheeks flushed, smiling so wide I was halfway convinced it had to hurt. "It's good seeing you out and about. Do you have plans for the day?"

"Good morning, Mave," I said and headed towards the big, cedar reception desk, leaning against the polished wood. "Actually, yeah. I want to explore a little, and I think I need to file a police report."

Mave nodded, lips thinning. "You definitely have to do that, sweetie. I think Paul already knows you'll be coming his way."

"Paul?"

She nodded. "Paul Lessard."

Glancing at the professor sitting in the wingback chair, legs resting on a small stool, she waved me over. "Follow me to my office." Louder, she added. "Oh, I have a few pamphlets for you. Come with me, dear."

I hesitated for a moment, then surrounded the reception and followed her through a swinging door towards the back office. It was stuffy, a little dusty, but had the same warm feeling to it Mave had. Pictures of kids and young adults covered every available surface that wasn't occupied by mountains of paperwork.

"Sorry, sweetie, I was just making sure our dear professor was out of earshot. He's a strange one, that fellow. A history professor specializing in old, regional legends. I'm keeping an eye on him, just to make sure he really is just here on vacation."

I nodded. "You think he's here because of…" I nodded at her. "… You know?"

Mave giggled. "It's a possibility, and quite frankly, it's not a risk I'm willing to take. Better safe than sorry. Anyway, Rhett told us about what you've been through. You know, pack is a little like having a really big, extensive family. Gossip is a currency. Everybody is up in everybody's business… Anyway, Paul Lessard works as a Mountie and is a member of the pack, so just go ahead and ask for him. It's easier for you to explain everything to him without having to leave anything out. He knows what to write in the report."

Exhaling, I realized I was incredibly relieved about having a… shifter contact with the police. I hadn't even thought about it beforehand, but explaining how I managed to get out of the woods was definitely easier if I could be honest about it.

"Also, I made a map for you, highlighting the shifter-owned businesses in town." Mave grabbed something off her desk and handed it to me; an old school paper map, obviously printed from the internet. The quality of the print was horrible, the font so blurry it was hard to read anything, and the bright pink highlighter used to circle a couple of the stores didn't help.

"Thank you," I said. "Though I'm afraid you won't be able to get much money from me. I don't have my wallet or passport or, well… anything, for that matter, and I have no idea how to get it all back. Maybe Paul can help with that, too."

Mave nodded, her wrinkly face still serious, lips pressed into a thin line. Then she suddenly snapped her fingers, face lighting up, the usually rosy hue returning to her cheeks. "Oh, dear, I almost forgot!"

Within the blink of an eye—really, she was moving so fast I could barely keep track of her movements—she was standing in front of her big, antique looking desk, pulling open various drawers, muttering something under her breath while rummaging through stacks of opened mail, notebooks, and pencils.

Finally, after starting her search a second time, she pulled a white envelope that had my name scribbled on it in big letters out of a drawer.

"Rhett left this with me. He said he wanted you to have this," she said, handing it over.

I immediately knew what it was. The shape of the object inside the envelope was unmistakable. A card. Likely a credit card.

He couldn't really be giving me a credit card, could he? I mean… who did that?

Someone who believes fate chose you two for each other , my brain helpfully supplied.

Shaking my head, I opened the envelope and—sure enough—there was a credit card inside that had a note attached to it.

Dear Levi,

I know you currently don't have access to your bank account since you don't have your belongings. I don't want you to feel trapped here, so please take this card. It has a limit of $1000. That should tide you over for a while.

Also, I figured you probably want a way to go online. I don't know exactly what you need and if the stuff is up to your standards, but there's a tablet and a phone waiting for you at the packhouse. Just tell Mave you need it and she'll have the stuff delivered.

Yours,

Rhett

There was a lump in my throat that made it impossible to breathe.

I couldn't accept this.

"Everything okay, sweetie?"

I nodded, then shook my head before settling on a shrug.

Was everything okay? I honestly didn't know. It was too much. The clothes, the gifts, a fucking credit card. How Rhett anticipated what I'd need and just… took care of it, without wanting recognition.

Yeah, sure, he'd signed the note, but he wasn't rubbing it in. He didn't demand I meet him, didn't pressure me to talk to him in exchange for the stuff he was giving me. He was just… helping.

Just like he'd been helping me ever since we'd met.

I felt tears burning in my eyes, even though I didn't even know why I was getting so emotional.

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay," Mave said, pulling me into a firm, warm hug. She smelled like maple syrup and cinnamon. "I know it's a lot. Finding your mate always is. Add in the fact you're human and just finding out about everything, you ought to be overwhelmed."

Somehow, she just knew what to say to make me feel better.

I leaned against her and closed my eyes for a moment.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered. "I don't want to give Rhett false hope or lead him on or anything. He's so nice and kind, and I feel like crap for needing space."

"Rhett is a good man, one of the best I've ever met, and he has the patience of a saint. He has to in order to be Grayson's Beta." She chuckled before grabbing my shoulders, gently pulling me off of her so she could wink at me. "Just ask anyone here in town about them being teenagers. It was… a wild time. Not your Rhett, mind you, but Gray was a first-class troublemaker. Incredibly charming, but dear goddess, the ideas that boy came up with, and Rhett was always there to prevent the worst of it. What I'm trying to say is that if anyone in this pack has the ability to give you all the time and space you need, it's Rhett."

Nodding, I tried smiling at her, though I still felt a little shaky and wasn't sure if I could actually bring myself to use the credit card.

"Thank you."

"Always." Mave grinned at me. "And while you're in town, maybe check out a couple of those shifter-owned businesses, get to know the pack. I'm sure there are tons of people willing to answer any questions you might have. I made that map for a reason."

"I will," I said and realized it was the truth. I really was going to seek those places. Maybe it'd help me figure out what to do next.

One way or another.

I didn't know what I'd been expecting a police station in a small town in the middle of nowhere would look like, but it certainly wasn't the calm, almost homey atmosphere that welcomed me upon opening the door. A faint smell of burnt coffee hung in the air, mixed with a bit of dust and old paper. The clicking of keyboards overpowered hushed conversations, and the shrill tone of a ringing phone almost seemed out of place.

All in all, it reminded me more of the public library I liked to frequent than a police station, even though the huge Mounties sigil on the wall was a dead giveaway as to where I really was.

Looking for a reception desk, I turned my head, taking in the interior. The bullpen was filled with a couple of desks behind a small, hip-high fence, a row of offices on the right wall, and—finally—a reception to the left of me.

I headed that way, smiling at the young woman who was busy scribbling something onto a notepad, when someone called my name.

"Levi? Hi! You're Levi, right?"

Confused, I turned my head and saw a bright-eyed young Mountie in uniform jogging towards me. For some reason, I'd expected him to be close to Rhett or Grayson in size and body mass, but he was closer to my height, and almost as slender. His bright red hair was gleaming like copper in the fluorescent lighting of the station.

What was his name again? T… no, P… "Paul?"

"Yes!" He beamed at me and enthusiastically thrust out his hand. "It's so nice to meet you. Rhett and Al… uh, Grayson already filled me in on what happened to you, so I already got most of the paperwork ready. I mean, I still need your report and everything, but I took the liberty of preparing things. I figured you'd stop by once you're better. You are better, right?" Raising one eyebrow, he cocked his head.

I suppressed a laugh at his comical expression and shook his hand.

Less of a wolf, more of a puppy, I thought, smiling at the police officer that was so unlike most Mounties I'd met in the city. They'd always been friendly, but in more of a distant, stern-father kind of way.

"Yeah, I'm Levi. It's nice to meet you too. And I really appreciate you preparing the paperwork ahead of time, because honestly? I have no idea what crime to even file a police report for."

Paul chuckled, then put a hand at the small of my back and guided me through the hip-high swinging door, through the bullpen, and towards one of the closed-off offices on the right.

"Yeah, I get that. Your story is highly… unusual." Closing the door behind us, he gestured for me to sit in front of a desk that looked like a relic from the eighties. Basically, that was the vibe of the whole office. Cheap, veneered furniture, aggressive, vomit-green upholstery, and greyish-brown carpets. Even the lush green plants did nothing to make the office brighter, and the modern-looking computer looked comically out of place, like one of those ‘one thing does not belong' pictures.

"I bet you don't have to deal with crazy managers often," I said, sitting down in the chair and leaning against the backrest, taking a deep breath. Damn it, the walk over hadn't been far, but… I wiped the sweat off my forehead, taking another deep breath to calm my fluttering heart. Fuck, I was winded.

"Can't say I've ever had to deal with any kind of manager before." Paul giggled. "My colleagues were low-key jealous that I got such a fun case." He flinched, shaking his head. "Not fun as in funny—what happened to you was anything but fun. More in a ‘fun-as-in-interesting' kind of way. Anyway, from what Alpha Grayson and Rhett told me, you were abandoned on the beach without the necessary means and knowledge to survive in the wilderness, right? And without the means to actually call for help?"

I nodded. "Alistair took my phone, but he left a walkie-talkie."

Paul snorted. "And then he took off in a boat? Do you have any idea what the range of a walkie-talkie is?"

"Probably not enough?" I guessed.

"Bingo." He nodded. "Even if he left you a satellite phone—something you could have actually used out there—it'd be considered Criminal Negligence, or… did you, by any chance, sign a release for injuries or anything?"

"Nope," I said, popping the p. "And I sure as fuck did not have anything in my contract with Alistar that would allow him to do something like that. He was supposed to book, like, photo shoots for me or organize collabs with other influencers or, I don't know, score sponsorships. All the administrative stuff that was starting to be a fucking pain in my ass. And my contract clearly states that he has no executive power; I'm the one who makes the final decisions."

Paul nodded along. "That's good to hear. It certainly makes the whole thing a lot easier."

Thank fuck. I let out a gust of air, my shoulders dropping. At least hiring a contract lawyer had ultimately paid off—even though it'd taken a huge chunk out of my income.

"Can we also get him for theft? He took all my stuff. I don't even have money or my ID."

Paul nodded, scratching his head. "You had your stuff on you when he abandoned you?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "Everything was in a big, dark grey backpack. A Surface laptop, my phone, my wallet, a pair of headphones, as well as a set of spare clothes."

Typing something on his computer, Paul kept absently nodding his head. "And you're from Vancouver City?"

"Yes."

After answering a ton of questions, Paul finally looked up from his computer and gave me a crooked grin. "That's it for now. I know you're probably itching to tell that manager of yours off, but if you could refrain for another day or two, I'd really appreciate it."

I wanted nothing more than to yell at that bastard, tear him a new one through the phone and immediately fire his ass, but… "Uh, sure. May I ask why?"

"A. I'm trying to get a search warrant. Rhett and I already retrieved the cameras from the cabin, and the footage really helps your story, but him having your belongings would be another piece of evidence we can use. B. The storm was more than a week ago. By now, your manager should have called the authorities about you—and he hasn't. That's something that also can be used in court. By now, he should've filed a missing person's report or done something to try finding you, but… He didn't report you as missing. Hell, we're by far the closest town, and he hasn't even called to let us know you're stuck in the woods out here. He has to assume you're injured—or worse. Him not doing anything… that's a really bad look for him. I don't want you to call him, otherwise he might try getting rid of evidence."

"That makes sense."

I hated missing out on screaming at Alistair, but if it got him behind bars, I was all for it. I wanted to see him suffer, just like I'd suffered. I wanted to see him lose everything, just like I'd thought I'd lose my life out there.

"Perfect. I'll call you… uh, sorry. I'll call the Inn as soon as I know something new." Paul grinned at me, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. Blinking, I cocked my head. His wide smile, the slim, pointy face, combined with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes made him look like…

"Are you, by any chance, a fox?" I blurted, before slapping my hands over my mouth. My cheeks grew warmer, undoubtedly flushing a deep red.

Was it okay to ask something like that?

Someone should write a book with the title ‘ How to Behave Around Shifters without Making an Ass out of Yourself .'

Paul chuckled, biting his lips for a moment. "Right on the spot," he said, winking at me. "My mom always says that I couldn't hide my shifter nature if I tried. You know, there are certain plants you can use to hide your scent—and there's always magic—but for some reason, the goddess thought it'd be incredibly funny to make me look a little fox-like even in human form. But do you want to know the kicker?"

I nodded before I could even try to stop myself, so I added a quick, "If it's okay to ask?"

Paul waved his hand nonchalantly. "I wouldn't go around asking people about their shifter sides willy-nilly; it can be a sore spot for a lot of folks around here. However, I know you're new and I can't even begin to understand how hard it must be having to figure all of this out as an adult, so it's fine. Anyway, the kicker is… I'm not a red fox. I'm a polar fox."

"But your hair…"

He laughed. "Yeah, it's amazing. Other shifters can smell that I'm a fox, you know? So they're always expecting a red fox, and then poof ." He made jazz-hands at me. "Puffy polar fox it is."

I couldn't help but giggle. Paul was definitely not what I'd expected from a police officer, but in a positive way. I liked the way his eyes sparkled and the ever-present hint of a smile on his face.

"Okay. I hate to kick you out, but I want to try to get a search warrant as soon as possible—and I need to find out where your manager actually is. I know you said he lives in Vancouver, too, but if he dropped you off here, he might still be in a hotel somewhere close."

Standing up, it took me a moment to gather my balance. Yeah, I definitely wasn't back to a hundred percent yet. "It's fine. Thank you so much for your help. And don't let me keep you. I wanted to spend the day exploring the town a little, anyway."

I pulled the printed map out of my pocket and waved it around. "Mave made this for me."

Paul nodded slowly, eyes tracking the map.

"Giving you pointers as to where shifters are is certainly a good idea."

"I sense a but coming?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Not in terms of ‘you shouldn't go there,' more in terms of ‘but the best coffee shop in town is the one owned by Herbert Stone.' He's this dude in his eighties, and his shop looks like he hasn't updated anything in decades, but he makes the best fucking donuts, Nanaimo bars, and beaver tails, so if you want to treat yourself, I'd head there. Also, his shop is on Main Street and it's always fun to people-watch."

Placing the map in front of him on his desk, I grinned. "You had me at ‘ best coffee in town .' I'm a barista. So… where exactly is this place you're talking about?"