"We're part of Station Fahrenheit's core crew. Mostly lone Alphas except for our pack, since we've maintained our bond despite geographic relocations. Aidric's positioned to become the next chief once Tom Rodriguez officially retires, assuming politics don't interfere."
I pause, letting implications settle before continuing.
"If you need temporary pack affiliation…three months to satisfy legal requirements and move your case forward…wecould provide that. You'd stay at the firehouse, which makes logical sense given your professional background. Continue managing the ranch you're helping with, and all three of us actually have ranch experience from childhood, so we could assist with heavy labor while remaining on-call for these suspicious fires."
The proposal gains momentum as I articulate it, logic overriding hesitation.
"It addresses multiple problems simultaneously. Gives you the pack backing that Hazel says your case requires. Provides security against whoever's targeting you. Keeps you close to Station Fahrenheit so we can respond immediately if another 'accident' occurs. Plus, having a former LA Fire Chief consulting on our operations wouldn't hurt our reputation or effectiveness."
I lean forward slightly, holding her gaze while delivering the final point.
"And if all that results in putting those laughing bastards in jail where they belong, even better."
Wendolyn's expression shifts through multiple emotions too quickly for me to track—surprise, consideration, hope, fear, calculation.Her teeth catch her bottom lip, worrying the flesh while she processes.
"But I'm problematic," she finally says, voice carrying genuine concern beneath the self-deprecating humor. "Annoying. A control freak who spent fifteen years commanding her own crews and won't adjust easily to following someone else's authority."
The admission is endearing in its honesty, revealing insecurity beneath confidence.
I grin, unable to suppress the genuine amusement bubbling up.
"Oh, a change of scenery. We'd love that."
Her answering smile is radiant, transforming her entire face in ways that make my chest feel tight.
Dangerous territory, Calloway.
Extremely dangerous territory.
But I'm already standing, already extending my hand toward her like this is settled, like we're sealing an agreement rather than proposing something that could explode spectacularly in all our faces.
"What do you say, Chief?" The title emerges naturally, acknowledgment of who she was, who she could be again. "Up for the three-month challenge of dealing with a bunch of cocky Alpha firefighters?"
Her laugh is genuine, bright with the kind of reckless optimism that probably got her into firefighting in the first place—that belief that impossible odds are just invitations to prove everyone wrong.
She places her hand in mine—small, delicate-looking despite calluses that speak of hard work, warm in ways that have nothing to do with ambient temperature.
"Why not?" The words carry grin-edged defiance. "I need some fun and chaos in my life. Need to feel like I'm actually living instead of just surviving."
The sentiment resonates deeper than she probably intends, speaks to philosophy I've carried since leaving small-town constraints—that life requires active participation, conscious choice to engage rather than simply exist.
I turn her hand over in mine, lifting it with deliberate slowness that gives her ample opportunity to withdraw. When she doesn't—when those green eyes remain locked on mine, curiosity evident—I lower my lips to press against the back of her hand.
The kiss is chaste, traditional, and completely undermined by the way her entire body shivers at the contact.
She feels it too.
The chemistry, the potential, whatever inexplicable force is currently making my instincts scream claims I have absolutely no right to make.
Our eyes remain locked, the moment stretching like taffy pulled too thin. I can see hunger flickering in her gaze—quickly suppressed but unmistakably present—mirroring whatever she's probably reading in my own expression.
I wink, injecting levity before this gets too intense to walk back.
"Try not to fall in love with my charm."
Her laugh is confident, assured, carrying a challenge that makes every competitive instinct I possess stand at attention.
"No promises," she counters, smirk devastating in its confidence. "But I think you'll be falling for my charm first."
