Chapter 10 - Moira

"Did I just make a deal with the devil?" Moira asked Vera.

She was putting the finishing touches on a birthday cake, piping the letters in a cheery pumpkin-colored frosting. It was a two-tiered cake for a large party, the biggest order she'd taken since the wedding cake, and it had to be absolutely perfect.

Vera's face had turned to stone as Moira told her what had happened with Jonah, and she wasn't sure what part her sister was objecting to. Probably all of it. She'd left out the kiss, unwilling to admit that she'd let herself drunkenly kiss the man who had ruined her life but had told her everything else.

"He's just using you," Vera blurted out, slapping her hand down on the counter.

Moira jumped, smudging the letter she'd started. "Jeez, Vera." She scraped that section of frosting off and started again, eyeing her sister for any more explosions. "I know, but I'm using him too. If it's a way of getting the bakery, I have to take it. I don't have enough saved to do it on my own."

But she couldn't help sliding back into the past. Into the memory that had haunted her ever since. She was back in that empty hallway, fumbling with the combination on her locker. Jonah was beside her, suddenly, arm up to lean against the locker beside hers.

She'd gone cold. His face so close to hers she could smell the mint of his toothpaste, his head leaning in conspiratorially. Whatever he was about to say, she knew she didn't want to hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could make him go away.

"I heard a rumor," he said in a singsong voice. "That you let the whole football team get lucky after practice. They told me it was the best ride of their lives with all that cushion."

Moira's eyes flashed open. She pushed him back, one hand on his chest, as the bell rang and students spilled from the classrooms surrounding them.

One boy caught sight of their interaction and jeered. "Getting a taste for yourself, Jonah?"

Jonah stepped back, holding his hands up like he wouldn't be caught dead touching her. "She keeps begging for it, Freddie, but I can't steal the football team's mascot. That'd be unsporting of me."

Freddie cackled and soon the entire hall was erupting with laughter, all aimed at Moira. She heard the insults, the calls of ‘slut', and ran. It didn't matter that none of it was true. Everyone believed it. She was the school slut ever after.

Until the day she'd gone crying to Vera and told her she couldn't take it anymore. Together, they'd left the school, left the Silversands, and made a new life for themselves with the Rosewoods.

It had occurred to Moira that she could ask Vera for help with the purchase, as she'd asked her for help back them. Her sister had enough saved up to loan Moira the money, and Moira would pay it back over time as the bakery business picked up. But something had always stopped her from asking. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was the fear that Vera would say no.

"I think it's a terrible idea," Vera said, voice getting louder as she went on. "Do you have any pride at all? He bullied you, and now you're going to what? Be his best buddy? It's pathetic, Moira. He's probably laughing at you right now. Like, oh, look at Moira. She's so tragic that she'll even take help from me."

Moira's hand tightened on the piping bag, and a blob of orange frosting fell out. She scraped it off, again, and started over. It wasn't like she hadn't considered Vera's concerns herself, after Jonah had dropped her off that night. But Vera hadn't been there. She hadn't seen the earnestness in Jonah's eyes as he'd apologized.

The apology had been the stuff of fantasy, she admitted to herself. As a teenager, she'd imagined him coming to her many times, begging for forgiveness and saying that he would do anything to make it up to her. And then it happened. She should've made him grovel more, probably. In her dreams, she'd made him get down on his knees.

"I don't think he's like that anymore," Moira replied. She set aside the piping bag, deciding to finish it after Vera left.

"Because you're naive. This is a stupid plan, Moira, and you're going to end up getting hurt." Vera snatched her bag off the counter and threw it over her shoulder. "Don't come crying to me when it happens because all I'll say is I told you so."

"Can't you just be happy for me for once?" Moira rounded on her sister, blocking her way out of the bakery.

Vera's eyebrows pinched together. "I would love to be happy for you. If you'd sign up for classes and actually do something with your life, I'd have the chance to be. I have to go to work now."

Moira felt the wind go out of her. No one could gut her like Vera could, with the surgical precision she'd honed over years together. No one could make her feel so small. Not even Jonah.

She stepped to the side and sliced her hand at the door, gesturing for Vera to leave. Her sister gave her one last look and opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut and stormed out.

Alone, Moira leaned her elbows on the counter and held her head in her hands. She had hoped that just this once, Vera could support her decision without fighting her about it. Instead, she'd sown doubt and made her question everything, and left her with a churning, uneasy feeling in her stomach.

The cake sat half finished, but she couldn't finish it just then. Instead, she threw together a batch of cookie dough, a heavily spiced gingerbread perfect for the weather. Baking always settled her nerves. Losing herself in the measuring, scooping, and shaping, Moira almost didn't notice the time.

"Wow, it smells amazing in here." Jonah came in, carrying two travel cups. "Hope you don't mind. Brought you a mocha."

"Oh no," she said, grabbing the piping bag and turning to finish the cake.

"Is this a bad time?" Jonah asked, setting the coffee down beside her. "Hey, that looks great. I love the pumpkins."

She finished the text with a flourish and grabbed a box from the counter behind her. It would just fit the cake, but she'd have to be careful.

"I have to get this delivered as of," she glanced at the clock again, "five minutes ago."

"Can I help?" Jonah offered.

Moira bit her lip, considering. It would be helpful to have someone to hold the cake as she drove, then she wouldn't have to worry about it toppling over and getting ruined on the drive.

"Take this," she said, holding the cake out to him. "Don't tilt the box. Don't drop the box. Protect the cake with your life."

He nodded solemnly. "You got it, boss."

They made their way out back door, where the bakery's old, rusted van sat waiting in a small lot. Moira ran ahead and opened the passenger door for him, guiding the box onto his lap before taking her seat on the driver's side.

"Got it?" Moira asked, putting the van in reverse and easing it out of the lot.

"Got it," he repeated, hoping it was true. The old van was top-heavy and tilted side to side with every bump in the road. "How far is it, exactly?"

She kept her eyes glued to the road, hands gripping the steering wheel hard. "Just a couple of miles."

The roads of Silversand were in desperate need of repair, pockmarked with deep potholes and comprised of nothing but curves and switchbacks through the old town. He breathed a sigh of relief when they crossed the border into the Rosewood town, and the roads smoothed out. By the time they came to a stop in front of a banquet hall, Jonah was sweating.

He waited for Moira to let him out. She peered into the box and gave him a terse nod. "Looks alright. Come on, this way."

They slipped into the back of the banquet hall, decorated with balloons and streamers for the occasion, and deposited the cake with the catering staff. Moira accepted their compliments with a flush in her cheeks.

"Thanks for your help," Moira said as they walked back to the van.

"We make a good team," Jonah replied, nudging her with his shoulder.

"I wouldn't go that far." Moira shook her head and drove them back to the bakery. "But I appreciate it. Hopefully, that's the first of many, once word gets out. If they tell a few friends and they tell a few, people will realize the bakery does more than just cookies and pastries."

Relieved of the guardianship of the cake, Jonah turned his gaze on Moira. She was still high from the reception her cake had received; for once, she didn't doubt his reasons for staring at her. He was attracted to her. Wanted her, even. She rolled the window down and let the cold wash over her.

"You'll be a big name in no time. I'll tell everyone I know. Think you can deliver out in White Winter territory?" Jonah asked.

"Don't push it," she warned. "I'll send my delivery man out there, though."

Jonah smiled at that. "Happy to serve you, ma'am."

Her mouth went dry at those words coming from his mouth. She wondered if he'd meant them the way they'd sounded. They conjured up all sorts of images in her mind. Moira cleared her throat, trying to shake the picture of Jonah on his knees out of her head.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "When do you need my help?"

It reminded him of the reason he'd sought her out that afternoon. "Tonight, if you can. The whole pack is gathering to discuss the new alpha, and I need to be there."

Moira nodded. "I can make it. Where should I meet you?"

They pulled to a stop behind the bakery, and he climbed out of the van and stretched his arms up overhead. He caught Moira's gaze snagging on the strip of exposed stomach revealed by his lifted shirt before she dragged her eyes back up to his.

Grinning, he replied, "I'll pick you up at eight, and we can go together."

He walked away before she could muster up a response, her words tripping on her tongue. Something about that surprising and cocky grin, that flash of stomach, had left her spinning. She wanted to see him again.

When she returned, she flipped the bakery sign to open and watched the clock tick down the minutes until she could leave. The afternoon was slow, and she couldn't focus on the small tasks, such as cleaning and stocking. Her thoughts kept drifting to Jonah. A business deal, she reminded herself. Do not grow real feelings for that man. To distract herself, she repeated her argument with Vera from that morning until she felt prickly all over again.

It kept her warm on the walk home, head down against the wind that tugged at her coat and hair. No one else was out as the sky began to darken.

"I'm home," she called to Loaf, shedding her coat at the door.

He meowed from the other room and padded in to butt his head against her legs. She filled his bowl with food and spent some time on the floor with him, tossing a crinkly ball of cellophane back and forth for him to chase.

"Maybe I should just tell you all my woes," she said, watching him skitter across the tile after the ball. "At least you don't tell me I'm an idiot."

Moira rinsed off and dressed warmly for her night with Jonah, spending more time than she'd admit picking out an outfit that struck a balance between cute and obviously trying. In the end, she settled on a pair of faded blue jeans and a thick sweater that dipped low enough to show a hint of cleavage. Then, before she could overthink it, she threw on a coat of mascara and a flick of eyeliner.

Vera would say she was begging for attention, but Moira stuffed down her sister's voice. She was beginning to think that Vera didn't have her best interests at heart, that the little ways she hurt Moira were intentional and designed, in some way, to keep Moira small and needy.

The doorbell rang right on time, interrupting her morose train of thought.

"Coming!" She called out, though she doubted he could hear her from up there.

Pulling on her boots, she said goodbye to Loaf and ran down the stairs, slowing down to a walk at the last two steps.

"You're very punctual," she said by way of greeting.

He'd put some effort in himself, judging by his shining curls and the freshly-showered scent. Take that, Vera.

"Is that… a bad thing?" He asked, brow wrinkling in confusion. "I could take a walk around the block and come back in say, ten minutes or so. Pretend to not even notice I'm late, if that's what you're into?"

She shot him a look and got a grin in return, fighting her own urge to smile. "Just don't make it a habit."

"Shall we make this a four-legged trip?" He asked, hopping off of the steps.

It was fully dark by then, and the wind had not eased up, bending the trees around them and shaking the street signs with an awful rattle. She nodded, eager to be in the warmth of her fur coat.

They shifted and moved in unison along the backroads out of town, cutting through the scrappy woods to the Silversand territory. She kept pace with him, relishing the quiet connection between them, the way they moved without the need for words. Life was simpler as a wolf.

Jonah led her back to the beach they'd walked on but farther up the coast, to a spot she'd visited with the Rosewood tracking group not long before. The lighthouse. It looked, somehow, even spookier in the nighttime. It jutted up from the sand like a giant fang toward the plum sky.

A fire flared at the base, and the smell of burning wood filled her nose, choking out the scent of the sea and the gathering of wolves that ring the flame. She slowed as they got closer and noticed, when she didn't fall behind Jonah, that he'd slowed as well. Neither of them were looking forward to this.

One man stood up as they approached, lifting a hand in greeting.

"Hey Jonah," he called, his glasses flashing in the firelight.

The others turned to face them. Moira wanted to turn and run, but she'd made Jonah a deal. Holding the promise of the bakery being hers, finally, completely hers, she shifted back to her human form.

Jonah beside her did the same and returned the wave. "Nice to see you again, Rami."

Everyone was human, except for the white wolf curled close to the fire, its tail tucked over its nose. It was bony, frail, and nearly lost against the pale sand. The soothsayer. She stared at him, unable to look away from this man who had seen her future tied to Jonah's.

"So the son returns," a woman spoke up beside the fire, her hair wild in the wind. "Welcome home, Jonah."

Moira watched the reunions, a step behind Jonah, trying to gauge everyone's reactions to his homecoming. Her old pack. She felt alien among them now and imagined Jonah felt much the same. Though she had stayed living in close proximity, her choice to leave the pack had built a wall of coldness between them.

"And Moira, too," she said, glancing at her. Moira recognized her as Ella. "What a pleasure. We've all heard the soothsayer's words. Fated mates? Who could have imagined it?"

At that, the soothsayer's eye cracked open and settled on Moira. She took an unsteady breath. Jonah caught her before she could spiral, wrapping his arm around her waist, steady and solid beside her. He pulled her close against him.

Ella watched the exchange with curious eyes. "Are you here to stake your claim for alpha?"

Jonah tensed, his muscles pulling taut. She squeezed her arm down against his hand, trying to give him some of the reassurance he'd given her.

"I am," he said, loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind.

"You are not the only one." Ella pointed at a man half-hidden in shadow.

He leaned forward, bringing his face into the firelight. Moira's mouth parted in surprise. Evans. The man she'd danced with at the club the other night before spotting Jonah in the crowd.

"And unlike you, I've been here trying to keep everything together." Evans' words were charged with hostility and disdain. He didn't even look at Moira.

Rather than reply to Evans, who seemed hungry for a fight, Jonah turned back to Ella. "Two contenders, then."

"Fated mates, and the pack's future tied to them," Ella said, thoughtfully. "We will need to see a strong bond between the two of you, proof that the pack's future is not doomed. A good lpha is a good mate. Evans has the advantage of choosing this pack, working for it. You have the rather questionable advantage of being the previous alpha's son."

The pack muttered at that. There was no love lost for the old alpha. Ella went on.

"But he was kind and good before your mother's death. Out of respect for that, we offer you the chance. One chance, Jonah. Prove yourself to the pack or be ousted, exiled forever from this land."

And if he was exiled, his mate would be as well. The bakery was on Silversand land. If he failed and they were exiled from it, she'd lose the bakery forever. What had she gotten herself into?