"Shut up," Cade muttered under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair. The last thing he needed was his wolf deciding to make life decisions for both of them.
Lyra stirred, her amber eyes fluttering open and immediately focusing on his face with startling clarity. For a moment, they simply stared at each other—him frozen in place by the weight of recognition, her blinking in apparent confusion.
Then her gaze sharpened, taking in his unfamiliar face, the fact that she was no longer in the cellar, and the way he was standing way too close to her personal space.
"Okay," she said, her voice surprisingly steady for someone who'd just been magically knocked unconscious. "So either I'm having the weirdest fever dream of my life, or there's a strange man in my kitchen." She paused, tilting her head. "Please tell me you're the fever dream, because the alternative means I need to find a weapon."
Cade took a careful step back, raising his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. "You're not dreaming. I'm Cade Halloway. I felt the magical surge and came to investigate."
"Felt it?" Lyra's eyebrows rose as she pushed herself upright in the chair. "From where, exactly?"
"The forest preserve, about fifteen miles northeast of here." He watched her process that information, saw the moment she realized the implications. "That was a hell of a light show you put on down there."
"I didn't put on anything," Lyra said, though her defensive tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "I just touched the stone and then—" She looked down at her palm, where a faint silvery mark now gleamed against her skin. "Oh. That's new."
Before Cade could respond, Lyra was on her feet and moving toward the kitchen drawers with purpose. She yanked one open, rummaged around for a moment, then turned back to face him with a butter knife clutched in her fist.
"Right," she said, pointing the dull blade in his general direction. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to explain who you are, how you got into my inn, and why you were touching me while I was unconscious. And you're going to do it from over there." She gestured with the knife toward the far side of the kitchen.
Cade stared at her for a moment, then felt his mouth twitch despite himself. "You're threatening me with a butter knife."
"It's what was available," Lyra said matter-of-factly. "And I'm very creative with kitchen utensils when properly motivated."
His wolf found her bravado absolutely delightful, which was both inconvenient and completely inappropriate given the circumstances. Cade forced himself to focus on the practical issues. "Your front door was open. I could smell magic from the street, and when no one answered..." He shrugged. "I followed the trail to the cellar and found you unconscious on the floor."
"Following mysterious magical trails is just a normal Tuesday for you?"
"In this town? Pretty much." Cade crossed his arms, trying to ignore the way her scent was making it difficult to think clearly. "You're Vera's granddaughter. Lyra."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "And you're...?"
"Pack alpha for this territory. Which makes your little light show my responsibility."
Lyra lowered the butter knife slightly. "Pack alpha. As in werewolf pack alpha?"
"Wolf shifter," Cade corrected automatically. "And before you ask, yes, we're integrated with the human community. No,we don't go around biting people. And yes, what you just did downstairs is going to cause problems."
"What kind of problems?"
Cade opened his mouth to explain about founder's runes and ancient seals and the delicate magical balance that kept Mistwhisper Falls hidden from the outside world, then stopped. How did you explain centuries of supernatural politics to someone who'd clearly been kept in the dark about her own heritage?
"The kind that require a town council meeting and probably several very uncomfortable conversations," he said finally. "That stone you touched—it's been dormant for over a century. Whatever you did to wake it up, it's going to have consequences."
"I didn't do anything," Lyra said, but her voice lacked conviction. "I just touched it. People touch things all the time without causing magical explosions."
"People, yes. Chaos witches with founder bloodlines, apparently not so much."
Lyra set the butter knife down on the counter with a decisive click. "Okay, that's the second time someone's mentioned founder bloodlines to me in two days. What does that even mean?"
Before Cade could answer, the front door chimed and footsteps echoed through the inn. "Lyra? Are you decent? Because I come bearing caffeine and answers to questions you didn't know you had."
"In here," Lyra called, then shot Cade a look that clearly said this conversation wasn't over.
A man appeared in the kitchen doorway carrying a cardboard tray with three coffee cups and wearing the kind of smile that suggested he knew exactly how much chaos he was walking into. He was tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones and pale eyes that seemed to catch light like water. His dark hair was perfectlytousled in a way that probably took effort, and he moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd never been clumsy in his life.
"Nico Beaumont," he said, setting the coffee tray on the table and extending a hand to Lyra. "I run The Gossamer Grimoire. And you, my dear, have had quite the exciting afternoon."
Lyra shook his hand, then immediately pulled away with a small frown. "You're cold."
