"Hard to say. Could be days. Could be weeks. Vera's adjustment period lasted about three months, but she was particularly stubborn about accepting help."
Lyra dropped her forehead to the kitchen table with a thunk. "I'm doomed."
"You're dramatic," Junie corrected. "There's a difference. Now come down to the café and get some breakfast. I'll call Cade and let him know about the situation."
"Junie, no?—"
But the line had already gone dead.
Forty-five minutes later, Lyra was halfway through a stack of pancakes that tasted like comfort and resignation when Cade walked into The Spellbound Sip. He was wearing work clothes—faded jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up—and he moved with the easy confidence of someone who belonged wherever he happened to be standing.
"Morning, Sunshine," he said, settling into the chair across from her without being invited. "I hear you're having some technical difficulties."
"Junie called you." It wasn't a question.
"Junie called me," Cade confirmed. "Along with half the pack. Apparently your magical tantrums are causing interference with electronics all over town."
Lyra set down her fork with more force than necessary. "They're not tantrums. They're... adjustments."
"Uh-huh." Cade's green eyes held a hint of amusement that made her want to throw something at him. "What kind of adjustments involve shorting out the traffic light on Main Street?"
"That wasn't me."
"The traffic light that started working again the moment I got within three blocks of the inn?"
Lyra glared at him. "Coincidence."
"Right." Cade flagged down Junie and ordered coffee, black. "So here's the deal. Your magic thinks you need a babysitter, and apparently I'm the lucky volunteer. We can either fight it for the next however many weeks and deal with constant magical chaos, or we can work together and minimize the damage."
"Option three," Lyra said sweetly. "I lock myself in the inn and you stay far, far away."
"Already tried that, remember? You nearly burned down the bathroom."
"I didn't burn anything. I just... energized the plumbing."
Cade's mouth twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Energized the plumbing. Is that what we're calling it?"
"Look, Alpha boy, I don't like this any more than you do. But I'm not going to apologize for having magic that doesn't come with an instruction manual."
"I'm not asking you to apologize," Cade said, accepting his coffee from Junie with a nod of thanks. "I'm asking you to be practical. Your magic is tied to mine now, whether we like it or not. Fighting it is just going to make things worse for both of us."
Lyra studied his face, looking for any sign that he was enjoying this turn of events. But his expression was carefully neutral, professional in the way that suggested he was treating this like any other pack responsibility.
"Fine," she said finally. "But we're setting ground rules."
"Such as?"
"Such as this is temporary. Such as you don't get to boss me around just because you're proximity support. And such as we keep things strictly business."
"Agreed," Cade said without hesitation. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. You're helping me fix the inn. If you're going to be hanging around anyway, you might as well make yourself useful."
Something shifted in Cade's expression—a hint of satisfaction that suggested he'd been hoping she'd say exactly that. "Deal."
Two hours later, Lyra was beginning to understand why half the women in Mistwhisper Falls probably had crushes on their local alpha.
Cade had arrived at the inn with a truck full of lumber and the kind of easy competence that made difficult repairs look effortless. He'd taken one look at the sagging front porch, made a sound of professional disapproval, and immediately started diagnosing structural problems with the focused intensity of someone who actually knew what he was doing.
