POV Cassidy
I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a freight train. Every muscle aches, my head pounds, and yesterday crashes over me in waves—werewolves, mate bonds, pack politics.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Three missed texts from Theo:
Are you okay?
Call me when you wake up.
I know you need space but I'm worried. Please just let me know you're alive.
I turn the phone face down and drag myself to the kitchen.
The fridge door swings open to reveal absolutely nothing—not even expired milk. Right. I never made it to the grocery store after discovering I’m apparently a werewolf whose mother died to give me a human childhood.
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in Moon Hollow Diner, grateful for the familiar normalcy of worn vinyl booths and the smell of bacon grease. A woman in her forties approaches with coffee and a smile that immediately puts me at ease.
"You look like you need this more than most," she says, filling my cup. Her brown hair catches the morning light, and there's something genuinely kind about her eyes that makes me want to trust her. "I'm June Morales. I own this place."
"Cassidy Whitaker. And you're absolutely right about the coffee."
June slides a plate of homemade biscuits across the table. "These are on the house. You look like you've had a rough night."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Honey, I've been serving coffee to troubled souls for fifteen years. You've got that look." June glances around the nearly empty diner, then sits across from me. "Mind if I take a break? Mornings are usually quiet."
"Please."
We sit in comfortable silence while I devour the biscuits. June refills my coffee without being asked again, and something about her easy presence makes the knot in my chest loosen slightly.
"So," she says carefully, "I heard there was some excitement at the festival yesterday."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "Excitement?"
"Word travels fast in a small town. Something about you having a spell in the middle of everything."
"A spell?"
"That's what folks are calling it." June's voice drops to a whisper. "But between you and me, some of us know it might have been something else entirely."
The biscuit turns dry as chalk in my mouth. "Something else?"
June looks around the diner again, then leans closer. "Are you like us, honey? A wolf?"
The question hits me like a physical blow. I set down my fork with shaking hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's okay," June says gently. "This is a safe place. I've been part of this community my whole life. I know the signs."
"The signs?"
"The way you're sitting right now—alert, aware of every exit. The way you've been checking the windows every few minutes. The way you carry yourself like you're ready to run at any second."
Tears threaten to spill over. "I found out yesterday that nothing I believed about myself is true."
"Oh, sweetheart." June reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "That's a lot to process."
"My parents were werewolves. My mother died to hide what I am so I could grow up human. And now I'm apparently bonded to not one but two brothers who are about to go to war over pack leadership."
The words pour out before I can stop them. June listens without judgment, occasionally nodding or making soft sounds of understanding.
"The Muray boys," she says when I finally run out of words. "That explains a lot."
"You know about them?"
"Honey, everyone knows about them. Theo's the town favorite, Xander's the black sheep who ran off with his brother's girl. And now they're both here, competing for Alpha."
"It's more complicated than that."
"It always is." June refills my coffee again. "What's your heart telling you?"
"That I'm in way over my head. That I should pack up and leave Moon Hollow before I get caught in the crossfire of their family war."
"But you're not going to."
"No. I don't think I can." I meet her eyes. "Is that crazy?"
"Maybe. But sometimes crazy is exactly what the heart needs." She adds, almost casually, "Practical tip? If two alphas start speaking softer instead of louder, don’t stand between them."
We talk for two more hours. June shares stories about pack dynamics and the complex histories that shape Moon Hollow's supernatural community. She offers practical advice about navigating werewolf politics while providing the emotional support I desperately need.
When I finally leave the diner, I feel steadier. Not whole, but functional enough to handle grocery shopping.
The store is busier than I expected. Conversations halt when I pass, then resume in urgent whispers. At the checkout, the teenage cashier looks at me with obvious curiosity.
"You feeling better after yesterday?" she asks, scanning my groceries.
"Much better, thanks. Must’ve been low blood sugar—I skipped lunch like a genius"
"That's good. People were worried."
I'm digging for my wallet when a familiar voice cuts through the store noise.
"Cassidy."
Every nerve in my body ignites. Xander approaches with that coiled grace, and my heart thrashes against my ribs.
"Theo's been trying to reach you," he says, voice carefully neutral. "He's worried."
"I needed space to think."
"Understandable." Xander's eyes hold mine with uncomfortable intensity. "Mind if I get your number? In case of emergencies."
The request should be simple to refuse. Instead, I find myself rattling off my digits while he types them into his phone.
"Thank you." He pockets the device. "I want to talk about everything, but I’ll wait."
I pay for my groceries and head outside, but Xander follows.
"Let me help with those." He reaches for the bags, waiting. I let him take one, then another—my choice—his fingers brushing mine in the transfer.
Sparks. Actual electric sparks that race up my arms and make my breathing shallow.
"I've got it," I manage.
"I know you do." He loads the bags into my car with efficient movements, standing close enough that his scent overwhelms me—something wild that makes my body respond in ways that should terrify me. "But accepting help doesn't make you weak."
His proximity makes thinking impossible. When he closes the trunk and turns to face me, we're standing inches apart. The air between us crackles with dangerous energy.
"Cassidy," he says, voice rough.
"I should go."
"You should."
But neither of us moves. His eyes drop to my mouth, and for a terrifying second, I think he might kiss me. Worse, I think I might let him.
Then a car honks in the parking lot, breaking whatever spell was weaving around us. I stumble backward.
"I need time," I say.
"I know."
I practically throw myself into the driver's seat and start the engine with shaking hands. Through the windshield, I watch Xander step back onto the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
The drive home passes in a blur. Inside my cottage, I put away groceries with mechanical precision, trying not to think about the way Xander's touch made me feel. Trying not to question why I'm drawn to him when I have feelings for Theo.
That evening, I make myself a quiet dinner and grade papers at the kitchen table. The mundane tasks help center me after yesterday's chaos. When my phone rings and Theo's name appears on the screen, I let it go to voicemail.
I'm not ready to face either brother yet. Not when I can't even face the truth about what I'm becoming—or who I'm becoming it for.