Page 4 of Fate, Interrupted

The bond didn’t break. He had never thought about what would happen if the inconceivable happened. Death didn’t close the door cleanly, swinging shut on fate. Instead, it thinned to a thread and held, open on his end, running into nothingness. He pulled her closer and pressed his face into her hair and stayed there.

He didn’t hear his brother Greer arrive. He barely felt his hand come down on his shoulder. There were no words, no questions. Greer was twenty-six years old, and he knew there was nothing that could be said or done to alleviate the agony his best friend was going through.

The tears rolled down his cheeks, creating a dark, wet circle on Audrey’s pale pink blouse. It was all he could give her now. Greer’s hand stayed on his shoulder.

He didn’t know yet what this night would make of him.

None of it was enough.

Nothing would ever be enough.

Chapter two

Norah

The first time I see Silas Coulter, my stomach does this annoying little clench. I blame the cold brew I had on an empty stomach this morning, as the alternative requires acknowledging things I’m not prepared to dig into on a beautiful July afternoon.

At least, that’s my story.

It starts like any other day. The bell above the door chimes—soft, a little worn. I don’t look up because it’s five-forty-five in the afternoon, fifteen minutes from closing time, and my perpetually last daily customer, Mr. Clancy, runs on a schedule that would make a Swiss watch feel approximate. I’m already reaching under the counter for his Grisham hold.

“Hey, Mr. Clancy,” I call, fingers closing around the spine. “I told you I’d save it. It’s the last copy, so I grabbed it for you. I even thought about putting your name on it in permanent marker, but that seems like tempting fate.”

I look up, and the sentence evaporates.

Not Mr. Clancy.

My brain attempts to reconcile this. It pulls up the image of the older man—stooped shoulders, canvas jacket, faint peppermint smell—and tries to map it against the man in my shop doorway. This attempt fails completely and immediately. Embarrassing for everyone involved, but mostly for my brain.

He steps inside the threshold and stops. His stillness feels deliberate—as though he’s already picked his spot, read the room, committed to the chair before the meeting even starts.

Wolf.

It hits without drama or negotiation, from the part of my brain that is older than manners and much less polite. I know wolves. Growing up next to pack territory, I sold books to them my entire career, and I know the focused attention they bring to a space they’ve entered.

There are three packs in this city. I know all of them by name.

He scans the shop, the shelves, the back wall, the ceiling, and when his gaze lands on me, it stays there.

His eyes are emerald-green. Not the gold, amber or hazel-leaning color humans erroneously believe most wolves have. But a proper, unreasonable green, layered and lit from somewhere behind the iris. Long black lashes that have absolutely no business existing on a man’s face frame them.

I set the Grisham down because suddenly it’s too heavy in my hand.

The rest of him is tall enough that the room rearranges itself around him. Broad through the shoulders, with a broken-in denim jacket doing nothing to minimize them. The white tee underneath confirms everything the jacket is suggesting. It fits closely enough across his chest that my eyes linger there before I catch myself, and the little clench in my stomach drops lower. Apparently, the cold brew is innocent.

I arrange my expression into one that communicates none of this. This takes more effort than it should.

“Sorry.” It comes out louder than intended. I clear my throat. “You’re not Mr. Clancy.”

“I’m not.” His voice is low and even, the kind that people listen to. “Never been much of a Grisham fan.”

A little literary humor falling flat. I give it the smile it earns—professional, noncommittal, and he stays where he is, reading the room, in no hurry about any of it.

“There’s more on this side. If you’re interested.”

That moves him. He steps in fully.

When the door swings shut behind him, it brings in the July humidity, leaving the city noise behind. The bell above the door tinkles when it closes behind him.