Chapter 27 The Shadow at the Door
Aria
The rest of my shift at the bakery went by in a blur of flour and the smell of yeast. Penelope was a talker, which helped keep my mind off the fact that I was basically broke. She told me all about her three cats and how the local grocery store was overcharging for eggs these days. I just nodded and kept kneading the dough until my arms ached.
"You're a natural, Aria," Penelope said, wiping a stray bit of flour off her cheek. "Most girls these days don't want to get their nails dirty. They all want to sit in offices and look pretty."
I gave her a tight smile. "I’ve had enough of offices for a lifetime, Penelope. Trust me."
"Well, the kitchen suits you. It’s honest work," she replied, handing me a damp cloth. "Go on and wipe down the front counter. We’re closing up in twenty minutes."
I took the cloth and walked out to the front of the shop. The morning rush had died down, leaving the place quiet and smelling of cinnamon. I started scrubbing the glass display case, watching the people pass by the window. Silverfang City was always gray, even when the sun was out. The industrial buildings across the street looked like giant, sleeping monsters.
That was when I felt it.
A prickle at the back of my neck, like someone was staring at the spot between my shoulder blades. I looked up, scanning the street. At first, I didn't see anything. Just a few people in business suits and a teenager on a skateboard. But then, I noticed a man standing by a lamp post across the street. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket despite the humid air, and he wasn't moving. He was just looking straight at the bakery.
My wolf stirred, a low growl vibrating deep in my chest. He smelled like woodsmoke and wet earth—not a human scent. He was a werewolf.
The bell above the door chimed, making me jump. A man walked in, but it wasn't the guy from across the street. This guy was tall, with a thick beard and eyes that seemed a little too yellow. He didn't look like a typical Silverfang businessman, He looked suspicious.
"Are you still open?" he asked. His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't used it in a long time.
"We close in ten minutes," I said, my hand tightening on the cloth. "Do you want something specific?"
He walked up to the counter, but he didn't look at the pastries. He looked at me. He sniffed the air openly, a predatory look crossing his face. "Just looking. I heard there was someone new working here. Someone... interesting."
"I'm just a baker's assistant," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "If you aren't buying anything, I have to finish cleaning."
He leaned over the counter, getting way too close to my personal space. "You don't smell like a baker. You smell like the Hart clan. That’s a dangerous scent to carry in this part of town, little wolf."
My heart started thumping. "I don't know what you're talking about. Leave, or I'm calling the manager."
He chuckled, a nasty sound.
"Tell Grayson that the Iron Fangs are watching. Tell him he can't hide his treasures in a cupcake shop forever."
He turned and walked out before I could say another word. I stood there, frozen, until Penelope came out from the back.
"Who was that, dear? He looked a bit rough," she said, looking concerned.
"Just a guy looking for directions," I lied. My hands were shaking. I finished my work as fast as I could, said goodbye to Penelope, and headed out.
The walk home felt longer than usual. Every shadow looked like a person. Every car engine sounded like a threat. I kept my head down, walking fast. I was about two blocks from my apartment when the roar of a heavy motorcycle cut through the silence of the alleyway.
The bike skidded to a halt right in front of me, blocking my path. It was a sleek, black machine, and the rider was dressed in all black leather. He took off his helmet, and I stopped breathing for a second.
It was Grayson.
"Get on the bike, Aria," he said. No hello, no how are you. Just a command.
"Excuse me?" I stepped back, crossing my arms. "I'm walking home, Grayson. I don't need a ride."
He hopped off the bike, moving with that effortless, predator-like grace that made my stomach flip. He stood a full head taller than me, his blue eyes looking like ice in the dim streetlights. "A man from the Iron Fangs just walked into your workplace. Do you have any idea how much danger you're in?"
"I can handle myself," I snapped.
"And how do you even know that? Are you following me?"
"I'm keeping you alive," he countered, stepping closer. "This neighborhood isn't safe for you. That bakery is a glass cage. Anyone can see you. Anyone can grab you."
"I need a job, Grayson! I have bills to pay. I have Nana's medicine to buy. I can't just sit in a hole and hide because you're paranoid."
"It's not paranoia when people are actually hunting you," he growled. He reached out, grabbing my arm. His skin was hot, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "You're coming with me."
I pulled my arm back, glaring at him. "No. You don't get to show up and tell me what to do. You're my ex's brother-in-law, not my boss. I'm staying at the bakery. It's an honest job and Penelope is nice to me."
Grayson let out a frustrated breath, rubbing his hand over his face. He looked tired. "Aria, please. Just for once, don't be so stubborn."
"I'll stop being stubborn when you stop acting like you own me," I said. My heart was racing, but it wasn't from fear anymore. It was the way he was looking at me. Like he wanted to scream at me and kiss me at the same time.
We stood there in the silence of the street for a long minute. I could hear the hum of the city in the distance.
"Fine," he said quietly. "If you won't come with me, at least take this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. He'd written a number on it.
"Is this your phone number?" I asked, taking it from him. My fingers brushed his, and I felt that spark again.
"If anything happens—if you see that man again, or if anyone even looks at you wrong—you call me. Immediately. Do you understand?"
I looked down at the paper, then back up at him. "Why do you care so much, Grayson? You barely know me."
He stepped into my space, so close I could smell the whiskey and leather on him. He looked down at me, his gaze dropping to my lips for a split second before meeting my eyes again.
"I know enough," he whispered.
He didn't say anything else. He just put his helmet back on, got on his bike, and roared away into the night, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with my heart in my throat and his number clutched in my hand.
I walked the rest of the way home in a daze. When I got inside, I didn't even turn on the lights. I just sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the number.