Chapter 2

Hannah

The morning sun streams through the frost-lined windows, gilding the snow-dappled landscape outside in hues of gold and white. I sit up slowly, my blankets pooling around me, and let out a long breath. The house is quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as the pack begins to stir downstairs. But my mind isn’t on the morning routine or the endless list of holiday preparations.

It’s on him.

Rhys.

My wolf growls softly, her possessiveness curling through my chest. Mate. He’s ours. She doesn’t understand why we’re still in bed when he’s just a short walk away. She’s impatient, primal in her certainty. But I’m not just my wolf. And while her instincts scream “claim him,” my human side is a mess of nerves.

I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. I hadn’t expected it—not the pull, not the bond, not the way my entire world had shifted the moment I caught his scent. Woodsmoke and wild earth. It had wrapped around me like a promise, igniting something in my wolf I hadn’t dared to hope for. But Rhys… he didn’t seem to feel it. Or if he did, he didn’t show it.

The thought stings more than I’d like to admit.

I swing my legs out of bed and head downstairs, the pull of the bond making it impossible to stay still. If I can’t talk to him about what’s happening—not yet, anyway—I can at least make sure he has what he needs. My wolf rumbles her approval as I step into the kitchen, already reaching for the skillet on the stove. The scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee fills the room, and I busy myself assembling a tray: eggs, toast, bacon, and a steaming mug. It’s simple, but it’s enough.

“Special delivery?” Leah’s voice cuts through the quiet, and I glance up to see her leaning against the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Just breakfast,” I say, keeping my tone light. “For our guest.”

Leah snorts, her expression skeptical. “You’re being awfully generous to someone we don’t know.”

“It’s Christmas,” I reply, brushing past her before she can say anything else. “Generosity is kind of the whole point.”

Balancing the tray carefully, I step out into the crisp morning air. Snow crunches under my boots as I make my way to the guest cabin, my breath puffing out in little clouds. The cold bites at my cheeks, but the warmth of the tray in my hands—and the thought of seeing him again—keeps me moving.

When I knock lightly on the cabin door, there’s no response. For a moment, I wonder if he’s still asleep—or worse, if he’s slipped away in the middle of the night. My wolf bristles at the thought, her growl low and possessive. No. He wouldn’t leave. He’s ours.

The door creaks open a crack, and there he is. His silver eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The air between us feels charged, as if the bond is alive, humming with a quiet intensity that makes my wolf purr in satisfaction. Mate.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice a little too chipper to ease the tension.

Rhys’s gaze flickers to the tray in my hands, then back to my face. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” I reply, offering a small smile. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He hesitates, his hand tightening on the edge of the door. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I say softly, meeting his guarded expression with as much warmth as I can muster. “But I wanted to.”

His jaw tightens, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in his posture is palpable, and I can almost see the battle waging behind his eyes. Finally, he steps aside, allowing me to enter.

The cabin is simple but cozy, with a fire crackling in the corner and a heavy quilt draped over the bed. Rhys moves to the far end of the room, keeping as much distance between us as possible. My wolf growls softly at the space he’s put between us, her possessiveness simmering just below the surface. I force myself to ignore her, setting the tray on the small table by the fire.

“Thank you,” he says after a pause, his voice low and rough. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t reach for the food right away. Instead, he watches me, his silver eyes sharp and assessing, as if he’s trying to figure out what my angle is.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, folding my hands in front of me. “The pack has a big Christmas decorating event later. You should join us.”

At that, his expression hardens slightly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” I ask, tilting my head. “It’s just a tree. Some ornaments. Nothing too dangerous.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile but doesn’t quite know how. Instead, he shakes his head. “I’m not exactly… welcome here.”

“That’s not true,” I say quickly. “You may not feel it yet, but the pack is more accepting than you think. They just need time to warm up to you.”

Rhys doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something that looks an awful lot like longing. My wolf growls softly, urging me to step closer, to close the distance between us. But I stay rooted where I am, knowing he needs patience more than pressure.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat, “the invitation’s open. No pressure.”

I turn to leave, giving him one last glance over my shoulder. He’s still standing there, his hands clenched at his sides, watching me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. My wolf stirs, hopeful, as if she can feel the bond tugging at him too.

???

The scent of pine and fresh snow fills the crisp mountain air as I step onto the pack’s outdoor community square, my arms loaded with tangles of Christmas lights. The pack is already a bustling hive of activity, the sound of laughter and the occasional bark of a pup echoing through the space.

Our community building stands tall at the center of it all, its sturdy wooden beams dusted with snow and its windows glowing warmly from within. It’s the heart of our pack gatherings, and tonight, it’s getting its holiday makeover.

This is my favorite tradition—the day we transform the square into a winter wonderland. The pups are running around in gleeful chaos, pelting each other with snowballs, while the elders huddle near a fire pit, sipping cocoa and offering unsolicited decorating advice.

“Need a hand with those?” a familiar voice calls from behind me.

I glance up to see my brother, Ryan, striding toward me, his expression already set in his default alpha mode: stern, watchful, and always on the lookout for trouble. He’s got a coil of lights slung over one shoulder, though I’m pretty sure he hasn’t actually been helping.

“I’ve got it,” I reply, adjusting the boxes in my arms. “You should go have fun for once. Jenna’s been trying to get you to hang the wreath above the door for the past ten minutes.”

Ryan snorts, his lips twitching in what might technically qualify as a smile. “Jenna’s idea of ‘helping’ is standing around and telling other people what to do. I’m better off here.”

Of course, he is. Ryan’s idea of a good time is micromanaging the pack—or, in this case, the decorations. “Suit yourself,” I say, setting my boxes down near the base of the building. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking a cookie from the dessert table earlier.”

His brows lift, feigning innocence. “What’s the point of being alpha if I can’t have first pick?”

I laugh, shaking my head. For a moment, it feels like old times, before the weight of leadership settled on his shoulders and turned him into a grumpy bear. But then his expression shifts, his gaze sharpening as he lowers his voice.

“Hannah,” he says, the alpha edge creeping in. “We need to talk.”

I cross my arms, already bracing for the lecture. “What is it now?”

“It’s about the lone wolf,” he says, his tone serious. “I don’t trust him, and neither should you.”

My wolf growls softly in the back of my mind, her hackles rising at the implied threat against our mate. I take a steadying breath, forcing her down. “Ryan, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He just needs a place to rest for a few days. It’s Christmas—we’re supposed to be showing kindness, not suspicion.”

Ryan’s jaw tightens, his alpha instincts clearly at war with his love for me. “Lone wolves don’t just wander into pack territory without a reason. He could be dangerous.”

“Or he could just be someone who’s had a hard life and needs a little compassion,” I counter, refusing to back down. “Not everyone is out to hurt us, Ryan.”

His eyes narrow, his gaze flicking past me to something—or someone—standing at the edge of the square.

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Rhys. “Don’t start,” I warn him under my breath. “He’s not hurting anyone.”

Ryan doesn’t respond, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes. After a long pause, he mutters, “Just be careful,” before turning on his heel and stalking off.

I let out a sigh, rubbing my temples. Dealing with Ryan is exhausting enough on a normal day; add a lone wolf and holiday stress to the mix, and it’s a miracle I haven’t lost my mind.

When I turn around, Rhys is hovering near the edge of the square, looking as out of place as ever. His hands are stuffed deep into the pockets of his battered jacket, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He watches the pack with a guarded expression, like he’s not sure whether he wants to join in or make a run for it.

I grab a coil of lights and make my way over to him, ignoring the little voice in my head that says I should leave him alone. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want my company, but something about him pulls at me—a thread I can’t stop unraveling.

“Hey,” I say, stopping a few feet away. “We could use some extra hands with the lights. Want to help?”

His silver-gray eyes flick to mine, unreadable. “I’m not much for decorating.”

“Neither is my brother, but that hasn’t stopped him from bossing everyone around,” I say lightly. “Come on, it’s just lights. No glitter or tinsel, I promise.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, so faint I almost miss it. “Fine,” he says after a long pause. “But only because you look like you’re about to drop those.”

I grin and hand him a coil of lights before he can change his mind. Together, we walk to the community building, where several pack members are already climbing ladders and draping garlands along the porch railings.

At first, Rhys keeps to the edges, his movements stiff and deliberate as he helps me untangle the lights. But as the afternoon wears on, I catch him starting to relax. He doesn’t say much, but he listens when I explain where the lights need to go, and he even helps Ryan secure the giant wreath over the front door without a single complaint.

“See?” I say, nudging him lightly as we step back to admire our work. “You’re a natural.”

He snorts softly. “Hardly.”

I reach for another strand of lights, brushing my fingers against his as I do. The contact is brief, accidental, but it sends a spark skittering up my arm. I glance at him, startled, and find him already looking at me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, the world seems to tilt, the laughter and chatter around us fading into the background. There’s something in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable that tugs at my heart.

I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “Thanks for helping,” I say, my voice a little too bright. “We’re almost done with the lights.”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away, either. And for now, that’s enough.

As the afternoon winds down, I find him standing near the tree, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights. He looks almost… peaceful. Like he belongs, even if he doesn’t believe it yet.

“Thank you,” I say, coming to stand beside him. “For helping out. It means a lot.”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his expression that wasn’t there before. “It wasn’t so bad.”

I smile, wrapping my arms around myself against the cold. “You should stick around. The holidays are just getting started, and there’s plenty more where this came from.”

He turns to look at me, his silver eyes catching the glow of the tree lights. For the first time, he doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of running. “We’ll see,” he says quietly.

And for the first time, I think he might mean it.