"Why?" I step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "And don't give me some bullshit about civic duty or keeping the peace. You've been avoiding me for days, treating me like I'm radioactive, and suddenly you're my personal bodyguard?"
His mouth opens, then closes. For a man who wields authority like a second skin, he looks remarkably lost.
"The woods can be dangerous at night."
"For tourists, maybe. But I'm not some Instagram influencer looking for the perfect autumn selfie." I gesture toward where the presence vanished. "Whatever that was, it wasn't natural. And you knew it would be here."
The silence stretches between us, filled with the sound of wind through bare branches and my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Caleb's hands flex at his sides, and I catch a glimpse of something raw in his expression before he locks it down again.
"You should go back to town."
"That's not an answer." I plant my feet, channeling every ounce of stubborn determination that's gotten me through hostile interviews and evasive politicians. "I've spent my entire career getting people to tell me things they don't want to admit. You think I'm going to fold because you give me the sheriff stare?"
14
CALEB
The sheriff stare.
Right.
You know you’d find that hilarious if you weren’t so freaked out right now.
I clear my throat and straighten, falling back on the protocols that have kept this town safe for longer than she knows.
"Standard patrol routes include this section of forest, especially during hunting season." My voice finds its professional cadence, the one that's ended a thousand conversations before they could begin. "We've had reports of unusual animal behavior in recent weeks. Increased aggression, territorial disputes. When I saw your vehicle parked at the trailhead after dark, protocol required a welfare check."
She doesn't buy it. I can see the skepticism written across her face in the pale glow of her flashlight.
"The timing was fortunate," I continue, keeping my tone measured. "These woods have a history of incidents. Missing hikers, unexplained accidents. As the local sheriff, I have a responsibility to ensure civilian safety."
"Civilian safety." She repeats the words like they taste bitter. "How very thorough of you."
The bond chooses that moment to flare, a sudden rush of awareness that makes my skin feel too tight. She's close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo beneath the pine and damp earth—something clean and uncomplicated that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my ribs.
"Your patrol route just happened to bring you to this exact spot at this exact time." Her eyes narrow. "What are the odds?"
"Better than you'd think. I know this forest." The lie comes easier than it should. "I know when something doesn't belong."
"Something like me?"
The question hits harder than it should, carrying an undercurrent of hurt that makes my chest tighten. She thinks I'm talking about her. That she's the thing that doesn't belong.
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" She takes a step closer, and the bond responds like a live wire. My hands twitch with the urge to reach for her, to close the distance she's creating. "You've made it pretty clear since I arrived that I'm not welcome here. Too many questions, too much interest in things that should stay buried."
The accuracy of her assessment stings because it's true and completely wrong at the same time. She doesn't belong here—not because she's unwelcome, but because being here puts her in danger I can't explain without revealing everything.
"The forest is unpredictable at night," I manage, fighting to keep my voice level as she moves closer still. "Wild animals, unstable terrain, easy to get lost."
"Stop." The word cuts through my carefully constructed explanation. "Just stop with the tourism board warnings and the procedural bullshit. You didn't follow me here because of animal behavior reports."
Her flashlight wavers between us, casting shifting shadows that make it harder to maintain the neutral expression I've perfected. The mate bond surges again, stronger this time, demanding I acknowledge what's happening between us even as every instinct I've honed as Alpha screams at me to maintain distance.
"You appeared the moment something was about to happen to me," she continues. "Not five minutes later, not after I screamed for help. The exact moment. That's not coincidence, Sheriff Hart. That's surveillance."
The mate bond claws at my chest, demanding I tell her everything—about the pack, about what hunts these woods, about the way her scent calls to every protective instinct I've spent decades learning to control. Instead, I lock my jaw and keep my voice level.