Dakota claps his hands together like this is the best news he’s heard all morning. “You know what we need?” He smiles wide, his bright brown eyes locking onto mine. “Whiskey.”
“What?” Knox asks, half-growl, half-laugh.
“I’ll get the curly straw.” Alex moves, opening the nearest drawer.
Dakota strolls to the fridge, grin widening as he wraps his hand around the handle. “Single or double, sweetheart?”
The tension in my chest breaks into a shaky smile. “Double,” I say. “Straight up.”
Knox is still frowning, confused when Dakota winks, pulling out the apple juice. “Coming right up.”
One Week Later
Knox
The first frostof the season glitters across the yard, catching in the branches and the fence posts and the curls of Skyla’s hair as she leans against the porch rail. She’s wrapped in one of my old flannels—blue, soft from a thousand washes—and the sleeves swallow her hands.
She doesn’t know I’m watching her from the kitchen window, but I don’t think she’d mind if she did.
Behind me, the house hums with quiet life. Tadeo’s voice drifts from the living room, coaxing Dakota into another round of cards. Alex is in the kitchen with me, shoulder brushing mine as he dries the last of the dishes. The sink gurgles once and then goes quiet.
It’s peaceful. Almost.
The bond between Skyla and me pulls soft and low, like a current under calm water.
She’s been off this week, which makes sense.
An alpha she loved at one time, one that she shared abond with, is dead. While I know she’s thankful he’s gone, I also understand her sadness.
Most of the time, she’s steady—light, sweet, full of that quiet laughter that used to feel impossible. But sometimes, late at night, her guilt still creeps into her dreams. I can feel it in my chest before I hear it—her heart clenching, the faint ripple of a dream that drags her under.
She doesn’t scream. She just makes small, broken sounds that she doesn’t remember in the morning.
We don’t tell her she makes them.
Alex sets the towel down, following my gaze. “She’s not cold out there?”
“She says the air helps her breathe,” I murmur, drying my hands on my sweats.
He hums, thoughtful, and then adds quietly, “You should go to her.”
I nod, already planning on doing that.
Outside, the boards creak under my weight, but Skyla doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s me.
“Couldn’t sleep again?” I ask.
She shakes her head, eyes still on the frost-bitten yard. “Dreams.”
I step in behind her, close enough to let my warmth bleed through the flannel. “Bad ones?” I wrap my arms around her middle.
Her shoulders lift, then fall. “Not…bad. Just heavy.” Her voice is quiet, tired around the edges. “Sometimes I think I can still smell him. Isn’t that stupid?”
I rest my chin against the crown of her head. “It's not stupid,” I tell her. “Ghosts like to linger. But they eventually fade.” I kiss the top of her head. “You should come inside, sweetheart. It’s cold out here.”
Her hands twist in the fabric at her wrists. “I just don’t want to bring everyone down.”
“Not possible,” I say softly. “We’re all hopelessly in love with you, Sky. Doesn’t matter how sad, angry, or off you feel—you light up the room just by walking into it.”
