Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

R ochelle tapped her pen against the counter, watching her replacement fumble with yet another form. Herb stared at the computer screen, his fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. Rochelle’s jaw clenched, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Uh, I think I messed up again." Herb's voice was unapologetic as he glanced over at Rochelle, clearly expecting her to fix it for him. "The program is not saving the data correctly."

Rochelle forced a tight smile, pushing back the mounting frustration. "You need to click here," she said, pointing to the correct field on the screen. "And make sure you double-check the account numbers before you hit submit. This is someone’s savings for their retirement, so we can’t afford any mistakes."

"Oh, right. Of course. I’m sorry." His big fingers fumbled again as he tried to follow Rochelle’s instructions and hit the wrong button just before hitting submit.

Rochelle resisted the urge to sigh, biting back her words. Every little mistake, every hesitation, grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Out in the reception area, Mrs. Calloway, one of her longtime clients, was patiently waiting for a routine check on her mortgage accounts. But Herb's voice was loud enough to carry over the desk, out the door, and into reception. The elderly woman gave Rochelle a worried smile when their eyes met.

Rochelle wasn’t just leaving a job. She was leaving people. A community. Her community.

The decision to take the promotion had seemed so simple at first. It was the next step in her career, a chance to move up, to expand her horizons. But now, standing here, watching someone who couldn’t even input basic data properly, doubt gnawed at her like a relentless itch. Could she really leave these people in the hands of someone so… incompetent?

"Okay, I think I’ve got it this time." Herb flashed a smug smile.

Rochelle glanced over at the screen, scanning the data entry for any errors. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at the obvious mistake. She quickly corrected it herself, her fingers moving swiftly over the keys. "There, that should do it."

"Thanks," Herb said, sounding more relieved than confident.

Rochelle nodded curtly, stepping away from the desk. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she moved to her office. The smell of fresh coffee, the hum of the printers, the low chatter of clients greeted her as she motioned for Mrs. Calloway to follow her. It was all so ordinary, so routine. And yet the thought of leaving it behind tugged at Rochelle in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

After expertly handling Mrs. Calloway's account, Rochelle let her head drop. She stared blankly at the paperwork in front of her. She had been so focused on her career goals, on proving that she didn’t need the bond or Caleb or anyone else to define her success. But now, with the thought of leaving, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

And then there was Caleb.

Her thoughts drifted to him, unbidden but insistent. The sight of him laughing with another woman had stirred something in her, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Both she and her wolf had been riled up, the jealousy simmering under her skin like a slow burn. But it wasn’t just jealousy—it was guilt, too.

The barista's words rang in her ear; the sound of that ringing was the truth. Rochelle had been unfair to Caleb. She’d kept him at arm’s length for years, refusing to accept the bond but also never letting him go. She didn’t want him to be unhappy, didn’t want him to be alone. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t giving him the chance to be with someone who could truly commit to him. Maybe she should set him up with someone?

Not the barista. She wasn't what Caleb needed. Rochelle's mind toyed with the idea, trying to think of someone in the community. Someone kind, steady, someone who could offer Caleb the life he deserved. But as her thoughts wandered, she realized something startling.

She didn’t know anyone.

Sure, she knew plenty of people through work, through the bank. She had helped families with their savings, guided couples through mortgage processes, sat down with business owners to discuss financial planning. But they were all clients. Business relationships. She didn’t have a single social relationship in the community. Not a real one.

Except Caleb.

He was the only person she talked to outside of work. They’d meet on the full moon, run through the woods together, their wolves silent but in sync. She pretended she didn’t know he was watching her every day, sitting outside the bank like some quiet, protective presence. But she had always known. He was the only constant in her life. The only true connection she had.

Her fingers drummed restlessly on the desk, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. She had spent so long convincing herself that she didn’t need him, that she was fine on her own. That her career, her independence, was all that mattered. But now, the thought of him moving on, of him finding happiness with someone else, twisted her stomach in knots.

The bank door chimed in the distance. Rochelle snapped out of her thoughts, blinking away the haze of emotions. She glanced at the clock—lunch hour. She was supposed to meet a few colleagues for a quick bite, but her appetite had vanished, replaced by the unsettling churn of doubt and longing.

The soft ticking of the clock on her office wall was the only sound in the room, marking the passing of another long day. Time had slipped away from her, and now the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a deepening twilight over the small town. The sky outside her window was bathed in hues of purple and orange, the colors fading into the dark indigo of the approaching night… and the final phase of the full moon.

She felt it immediately—the familiar tug deep inside her. The pull that made her thighs press together. The full moon always made it harder to ignore the bond between her and Caleb, the one she had spent years pushing away. And now, with the moon shining so brightly, the urge to go to him was overwhelming.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t send him mixed signals. After everything that had happened, after their fight and the distance she had put between them, she couldn’t give in to the bond tonight. It wasn’t fair to Caleb, and it wasn’t fair to herself.

She exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from her body, or at least trying to.

“You still working? It’s past closing time.” Herb stepped into her office without knocking. His tie was loosened, his shirt untucked.

“I’m just wrapping up,” she said, her voice sounding more composed than she felt.

Herb took a few more steps into her office, moving closer than was appropriate. She tensed, her fingers curling around the edge of her desk as she felt his presence invade her space.

"You know, Rochelle," Herb began, his tone a little too familiar, "I’ve been meaning to tell you—you work way too hard. A woman like you shouldn’t be spending all her time here in the bank. You deserve to be appreciated… properly."

Rochelle blinked, her mind struggling to process his words. Was he… making a pass at her? It rarely happened. No wolf in town ever had. They all knew she belonged to Caleb.

She'd had a few human males pay attention to her in school, but she had hardly paid attention back. Her nose was always in the books. She was in the library instead of the pep rallies. Interning instead of going to the clubs. So nothing ever came of it.

Herb didn't scent the claim on her. He hadn't been in town long enough to hear any warnings. Didn't matter. Herb was harmless. A bit incompetent, sure, but nothing more. Yet now, as he stood so close to her, his breath too warm and too close, the air between them felt suffocating.

"I thought I felt an attraction between us earlier at my desk."

"You mean when I corrected your mistakes?"

Herb leaned in closer, his hand brushing against the edge of her desk, fingers dangerously near hers. She wasn’t scared—she knew she could defend herself easily. She wasn’t weak. But the sheer audacity of Herb’s advance left her frozen, the situation so unexpected that her brain refused to respond.

“That's right. You took care of me. Now let me take care of you.”

Rochelle's skin crawled at his words, revulsion twisting in her gut. She wanted to move, to push him back, to tell him off, but her body wouldn’t respond. She wasn’t frightened—she was a wolf shifter, after all—but the shock had her rooted to the spot, disbelief clouding her instincts.

And then she heard it—a low, guttural growl.

Her heart skipped, and her wolf stirred inside her, ready to react. But it wasn’t her wolf that had let out the warning growl.