The sky had gone gray, clouds building from the north ridge, the water picking up chop from a wind that felt natural but heavier than it should be. On top of the mate bond revelation last night, on top of the anger she'd been carrying when he left her kitchen. She'd seen letters claiming he'd tracked her before he ever arrived. She'd seen her history from Ardenmere pinned to a public board. And now, it could look like nothing but straight manipulation by a woman who had earned the right to be suspicious.
The fury that moved through him wasn't the cold, strategic kind he'd used at the tavern with Malrick. This was hotter. His wolf was pressing against his skin so hard his vision narrowed and his hands shook, and it took everything he had to keep standing on the dock instead of going straight to the western path.
He wanted to go to her. Every instinct screamed it. Find her, explain, put his hands on her face and tell her the letter was a lie. But he knew what she'd see if he showed up right now. An alpha wolf chasing down a woman who'd just been given every reason to run from him. Cornering her with more words when the lastset of words he'd given her had already cracked the ground she was standing on.
She needed space. He hated it. His wolf hated it more. But charging into her cottage while she was processing forged evidence that he'd been hunting her since before he docked would confirm every fear Malrick had planted.
So instead of going west, he went hunting east.
"The courier," Rafe said. "I sent him packing. But Malrick's still got someone doing his paperwork with the same skilled hand. Someone local enough to access the notice board and the dock tavern between midnight and dawn."
"I've been thinking about that." Dex fell into step beside him as they walked the dock road. "Garren. The freight runner from Ardenmere you confronted at the tavern. He didn't leave after that conversation. He moved his barge to the north mooring, out of the main traffic pattern, but he's still here."
"You think Malrick turned him."
"I think Malrick offered him something better than what he had. Garren runs a marginal operation. Old barge, thin margins, no standing contracts. A man like that is one bad season from bankruptcy. Malrick offers him reliable work, a cut of whatever routes he takes from you, and suddenly Garren has a reason to stay in Hollow Oak doing what he's told."
The north mooring was a ten-minute walk past the main dock, around the curve of the eastern bank where the tree line came close to the water. Three vessels were tied there, two small fishing craft and Garren's heavy barge, its deck cluttered with loose equipment and coiled line.
Garren was on the barge and saw Rafe coming. His face went through three expressions in under two seconds ending with something that might have been fear if he'd had time to finish it.
Rafe stepped onto the barge without invitation. Garren backed up a step, then stopped because there was nowhere to go that didn't involve the water.
"Who posted the letters?" Rafe said.
"What letters?"
"The ones on the notice board in the square. The ones at the tavern. The ones with the same handwriting as every other piece of forged paperwork that's surfaced in this town since Malrick arrived." He stepped closer. "I'll ask once more and then I'll ask differently."
Garren's eyes darted to the dock. To Dex, who was standing at the mooring post with his arms crossed, blocking the gangway, then back to Rafe.
"It wasn't me," Garren said. "I didn't post anything."
"But you know who did."
"I don't know his name. Malrick has a man. Thin, dark hair, keeps his head down. Stays at the Hargrove place. He does the writing, the deliveries, the late-night errands. I've seen him twice."
"When?"
"Last night. He came to my barge around eleven. Told me to keep my head down today and stay away from the square until noon. He had a satchel with him, papers."
"And you didn't think to mention this to anyone."
"He also told me what would happen to my mooring contracts if I talked to you." Garren's voice had gone thin. "Sloane has three captains in his pocket on the Ardenmere run. If he wants me blacklisted, I'm done."
"So you let him use you."
"I let him scare me. The result looks the same either way."
Rafe grabbed the front of Garren's jacket and pulled him close twisting his shirt tight enough to choke him.
"What else do you know?" Rafe said, tightening his collar even more. "Everything. Right now."
"He's planning something. Something bigger than the letters." Garren's words came fast, tripping over themselves. "The thin man talked about timing. About the storms. About provoking a big one, big enough to cause real damage. He said Sloane wanted one more storm over the lake before the Ashvane left. Something dramatic. Something that would prove the stormcaller was a danger to every vessel on the river."
"Provoke how?"
"I don't know how. He didn't give me details. But he said Sloane had something from her past. Objects. Artifacts. Things connected to stormcaller magic that could trigger a reaction. He said if you push the right buttons on a fae like her, the weather does the rest."
