Chapter 14 The Ranch
The old ranch came into view as the taxi rumbled up the dirt road, its headlights slicing through the fog that clung to the valley. The place looked like it had been forgotten by time, its wooden fences half-collapsed, the main house large but weathered, its paint long peeled away by the wind. Cattle skulls hung from the gateposts, and the distant echo of wolves howling somewhere in the hills made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Fred leaned forward in his seat, his hand resting on the door. “That’s it,” he murmured. “This is the place.”
The driver snorted. “You sure you want to stay here?”
Fred nodded, and before I could say anything, we were pulling up to the front of the ranch. The night was cold, biting through the thin layers of our clothes, and I could feel the pulse of energy in the air, strong, old, and distinctly werewolf.
When I stepped out of the car, my boots crunched on gravel. I could smell smoke from a distant fire, damp wood, and earth, familiar scents that stirred memories I didn’t want to relive. My throat tightened.
The front door opened, and a huge man stepped out. He was taller than any man I’d seen, broad-shouldered, his muscles straining beneath a flannel shirt. His head was shaved, and tattoos covered every inch of visible skin, winding over his skull and down his neck like dark vines. One of his eyes was a pale, misty white, the other sharp and piercing.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. “Tom’s kid?”
Fred straightened. “Yes, sir. Fred.”
The big man’s expression softened slightly. “You got his jaw. He was a good man. Stubborn as hell, but good.”
“I’ve been told,” Fred said with a small, nervous smile.
The man chuckled and motioned for us to follow him inside. “Name’s Big Joe. Everyone just calls me Big. Come on in. It’s cold as a witch’s heart out here.”
We followed him into the house. The moment I stepped over the threshold, I could smell wolves everywhere, musky, earthy, alive. My muscles tensed instinctively. There were more than a few of them here, their scents layered through the air, males, strong ones, dominant ones. The kind that noticed every foreign presence.
The living room was large, dimly lit by the glow of a fireplace. A few wolves sat around, their conversations dying down as soon as we entered. I could feel their eyes on me, sharp, assessing, not welcoming.
Big noticed, his single good eye flicking toward them. “Back to your drinks,” he growled, and just like that, they turned away.
An older woman entered from the hallway. Her hair was silver, her eyes pale green. She moved with the kind of quiet grace only older wolves had, the kind that came from surviving too long.
“Ruth,” Big said, gesturing toward her. “This is Tom’s boy, and his… companion.”
Ruth’s gaze slid to me. I felt the weight of her scrutiny but also a kind of understanding. She nodded once. “They’ll be needing rest, I imagine.”
“It’s been a long few days,” Fred said.
“Three,” I added softly, my voice barely audible.
Ruth gestured for us to follow her. “Come along. We’ve got a spare room.”
The hallways were narrow and lined with old portraits, wolves, families, and hunters. Some were faded, others cracked with age. I wondered how many of the people in those frames were still alive.
When Ruth opened the door to our room, I stopped short. The room was small, barely enough space for the single bed in the center and a dresser by the wall. A small oil lamp flickered on the nightstand, casting long shadows on the wooden floor.
There must be a mistake I thought to myself.
Ruth frowned. “You’re mates, aren’t you?”
Fred and I froze.
Before I could speak, Fred cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said quickly. “We are.”
My head snapped toward him.
He didn’t give me a chance to speak. He turned, cupped my face, and kissed me.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was enough to send a shock through me. My lips parted in surprise, my body stiff at first, and then something deep inside me softened, a warmth spreading through my chest that I wasn’t ready for. When he pulled away, his eyes lingered on mine.
Ruth gave a satisfied nod. “Good. Then you’ll manage. Get some rest.”
She left, closing the door behind her.
I stood there, staring at Fred, my heart pounding. “What was that?”
He gave a small, sheepish grin. “Convincing performance?”
“Convincing,” I muttered, touching my lips. They still tingled from his kiss.
Fred sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “Sorry. It was the only way to make it believable. If she thought we weren’t mates, she’d probably make us sleep in separate rooms. And I’m not leaving you alone here, not with those guys downstairs looking at you the way they were.”
I sank down beside him. “I noticed.”
He turned to me, his expression serious. “I’ll keep watch while you take a shower. Just in case.”
“Fred—”
“I mean it, Lyra. Some of them didn’t look friendly. And Ruth said you’re the only other female here besides her. That doesn’t make me comfortable.”
That made two of us.
I hesitated but finally nodded. “Fine. I won’t take long.”
The bathroom was old but clean. The mirror was cracked, the tiles worn, but there was hot water, thank the goddess, and I stripped off my clothes, letting the steam fog the glass.
I sighed softly and then smiled. The shock of it grounded me, cut through the exhaustion. My body ached everywhere, the tension of the past three days settling deep into my muscles. As the hot water poured over me, I leaned against the wall and let my thoughts drift.
Darius.
His name slithered into my mind like a curse. I hated him. I hated everything about him, the way he owned me with a single look, the way his voice could command my heartbeat, the way the bond between us pulsed even now, faint but alive.
But hating him didn’t make the bond disappear.
I could still feel it, the faint ache in my chest, the pull beneath my ribs, the invisible thread connecting me to him. Somewhere out there, he would feel it too. My absence. My distance. My defiance.
The water ran colder.
I tilted my head back and let it hit my face.
When I finished, I wrapped a towel around myself and stared at my reflection. My skin looked pale in the dim light, bruised beneath the eyes. I looked like someone who had lived a hundred lives and carried the weight of all of them.
Fred was waiting outside the bathroom door when I stepped out. His hand was on the wall, his eyes scanning the corridor.
“All good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Cold at the end, but good.”
He smiled faintly. “Better cold than swampy.”
“Charming,” I muttered.
He escorted me back to our room, his gaze flicking around as we passed a few wolves lingering in the hall. Their eyes followed me. Predatory. Curious. But none dared say a word.
When we reached the door, Fred turned to me. “Lock it once I’m gone, okay? And don’t open it unless you hear our signal.”
“Signal?”
He grinned slightly. “Two knocks, pause, then one. Got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.”
He squeezed my shoulder, then left for his own shower.
Once I was alone, I sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying my hair. The sound of the wind outside rattled the windowpane, and the floor creaked beneath the old boards. It was strange how quiet it was after days of running, buses, and the constant hum of danger.
Too quiet.
My eyes fell to my bag by the bedside table. I reached inside and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. Inside were two photographs, one of my father, one of my mother.
My chest tightened as I ran a finger over the images. My father’s smile was the same as I remembered, kind, tired, loving. My mother’s face was softer, her eyes full of the same haunted sadness she carried all the time.
“I’m still running,” I whispered. “But I’m alive.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I brushed it away quickly.
When the door knocked twice, paused, then once, I felt a wave of relief.
Fred.
He came in, hair damp, wearing a clean shirt that hung loose on his shoulders. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes softening when he saw the photo in my hands.
“Your family?”
I nodded. “What’s left of it.”
He didn’t say anything, just sat beside me, close enough for his warmth to seep into my skin.
Neither of us spoke for a while. The exhaustion finally caught up, dragging us both down. The bed was small, but neither of us cared. We collapsed side by side, too tired to think.
As my eyes drifted shut, I heard Fred’s voice, soft and almost a whisper.
“We’ll figure this out, Lyra. Somehow.”