Page 5 of Talk Howly to Me

He produced another paper from his pocket, this one longer and written in Emerson's precise handwriting. Ronan accepted it with the resignation of someone who understood that lodge ownership meant constant battles against entropy. Running water required functioning pipes. Guest comfort demanded working heating systems. Safety regulations insisted on properly maintained fire suppression equipment.

However, time—the one resource more precious than money or territory—seemed perpetually in short supply. Between maintaining the lodge's reputation for excellence, ensuring pack stability and security, and handling the countless small crises that demanded Alpha attention, Ronan often felt like he was borrowing hours from tomorrow to handle today's emergencies.

He scanned the maintenance list, mentally calculating how these additional responsibilities would fit into a schedule already packed beyond reasonable capacity. "I'll get to these as soon as I can."

"I can help, you know." Kozue's voice carried patient persistence, the tone of someone who'd made this offer many times before. "I have the capability of carrying the load with you."

Ronan looked up from the paper, meeting his Beta's steady gaze. Kozue had already shouldered enormous responsibilities as assistant manager, handling day-to-day operations with the same dedication he'd shown since they were children getting into trouble together. Adding more to his plate felt like poor leadership rather than practical delegation.

"I know you do. But you already have enough on your plate. I don't want to add more to it."

"Give me the paper back."

The request came with quiet authority that made Ronan comply without thinking. Kozue accepted the maintenance list, tore it precisely in half, and handed back the top portion with a satisfied expression.

"There. Now you have half and I have half. Sound fair?"

Despite everything—the late hour, the financial pressures, the constant weight of responsibility—Ronan felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth. This was why their partnership worked. Where Ronan saw obstacles requiring personal sacrifice, Kozue saw problems requiring shared solutions.

"Yes, that sounds fair."

The moment of lightness stretched between them, a brief respite from the constant pressure of leadership. But then the front desk bell chimed with the bright clarity that announced new arrivals, cutting through the evening quiet like an alarm.

Ronan gave Kozue a puzzled look, his Alpha instincts immediately shifting to alert status. Late arrivals often meant problems—lost reservations, emergency situations, or complications requiring immediate attention.

"I thought we didn't have any late check-ins tonight."

"We didn't." Kozue's expression mirrored his confusion.

Both men rose from their chairs with synchronized precision, the sudden urgency cutting through the comfortable routine of their evening planning session. Ronan's body moved with the controlled efficiency that had kept his pack safe for twelve years and Kozue matched his pace as they crossed the threshold from office to lobby.

The front desk area opened before them in warm amber light, the familiar scent of cedar and pine creating an atmosphere of rustic hospitality that had welcomed thousands of guests over the years. But tonight, something felt different. The air itself seemed charged with an energy Ronan couldn't identify, making his wolf pace restlessly beneath his skin.

Two women stood near the front desk, their presence commanding attention despite the late hour. The first was petite, perhaps in her early sixties, with snow-white hair styled in an immaculate bob and wearing a designer pantsuit that looked more suited to boardrooms than wilderness lodges.

But it was the second woman who made Ronan's breath catch in his throat.

She stood with the fluid grace of a predator at rest, every line of her body suggesting coiled strength beneath feminine curves. Long brown hair fell past her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that managed to be both guarded and striking. Hazel eyes swept the lobby with the practiced assessment of someone who automatically cataloged exits and potential threats. And there was an exhaustion in her posture along with a thin cut on her left cheek that spoke of recent violence.

She carried herself like a fighter—not the recreational kind who sparred at gyms for fitness, but someone who understood that sometimes survival required decisive action.

Beautiful. Strong. Capable, his wolf whispered with sudden, fierce interest.

The thought hit him like a blow, so unexpected and intense that he nearly stumbled. His wolf had never shown particular interest in any woman, content to focus on pack responsibilities and territory protection. This immediate, visceral reaction felt foreign and overwhelming.

Ronan stepped behind the front desk with practiced professionalism, though his pulse hammered against his throat. "I'm sorry, were you on the guest list and we missed it?"

The older woman stepped forward with a smile that somehow managed to be both apologetic and completely unrepentant. "No, dear. And I'm really sorry for not calling and making a reservation. It's just that the situation was a bit urgent."

Every protective instinct Ronan possessed flared to life at the word "urgent."

"Is everything alright?"

"It will be if you'll let this lovely woman stay here for a while." The older woman's voice carried warmth and authority in equal measure. "See, she's in a bit of a pickle and needs a safe place to stay. Oh, and excuse my manners, I'm Gerri Wilder."

Yes, his wolf demanded with startling intensity. Let her stay. Keep her safe. Protect her.

The internal response shocked him with its intensity. He barely knew this woman, yet every instinct screamed that she belonged here, belonged with him. The rational part of his mind that had guided twelve years of careful leadership tried to assert control, but his wolf's certainty overwhelmed logical thought.