Page 6 of Rocky Top

Rocky

A Month Earlier

Ain’t nothin’ quite like the Tennessee mountains after dark, quiet as a graveyard, with a scent of pine and secrets hangin’ heavy in the air. I cracked the throttle on my Harley and let the engine growl up the pass, the wind slicing through my cut, sharp and familiar like an old scar.

We’d had church earlier that night, Royal Bastards’ business, and I was still burnin' from it. Knox, our president, was dead set on keepin’ the supernatural side of our club locked tighter than a virgin in Bible school. Not that I blamed him, but hell if that ain’t gettin’ harder by the day to keep it from the whole damn club.

After what went down with Mark, the fucker fakin' his death and kidnapping Eliza and Emma, brothers had started askin' questions. And with Eliza likely bein’ knocked up with Knox’s fox-shifter baby now, and him planning to ask her to marry him, share our secret with her, well… the days of keepin’ shit quiet were numbered.

Me? I kept my wolf on a tight leash. I had to. One wrong shift, one slip of the tongue, and everything we built would go up in smoke.

That’s why I was ridin’ solo tonight. Clearin’ my head. Givin’ my wolf some room to breathe without lettin’ him loose.

I pulled off the main trail, tires crunchin’ over gravel as I coasted into a clearing near the overlook, Sharp’s Ridge, high up above Knoxville, where the moon hung full and fat over the hills like it was watchin’ me real close. I killed the engine and listened.

Something felt… off.

I stepped off the bike and let my senses stretch. My boots were silent in the soft pine needles as I moved through the woods. It was late enough that most folks were home, tucked safe in bed. But not tonight.

I caught a scent. Smoke. A hint of perfume, sweet, citrusy, familiar. My brow furrowed. That smell…

Birdie.

Eliza’s best friend. Blonde, bubbly, loud as a summer creek and about as unpredictable. Last I heard, she’d said somethin’ about gettin’ away for the weekend. But out here? Alone?

I followed the scent like a bloodhound, my wolf pricking up inside me. Didn’t take long before I saw the flicker of a campfire through the trees, a small flame cracklin’ in the middle of a makeshift ring. And there she was, sittin’ on a foldout camp chair with a book in her lap and one of those tiny flashlights clamped between her teeth.

“Jesus, Birdie,” I muttered under my breath. “What the hell are you doin’ out here alone?”

My wolf stirred the second I caught her scent. Campfire smoke and somethin’ citrusy, like oranges and sin. It clawed at my chest, restless, curious. Birdie wasn’t supposed to be out there in the woods. Some marketing manager, she was supposed to be on a patiosomewhere with a mimosa, talkin’ about hashtags and brand deals. Not huddled by a cracklin’ fire with dirt on her sneakers.

Made me wonder what else I didn’t know about her.

She hadn’t seen me yet. Her back was to the fire, hair pulled up in a messy knot, legs kicked out under her oversized hoodie. Girl looked like she hadn’t a care in the world.

But I did. I had plenty.

I stayed hidden, not wantin’ to spook her. I’d just turn around, keep ridin', check on her later.

Then I heard it. Low, guttural, wrong.

A growl.

Not mine.

Shit.

I dropped low, instincts kickin’ in hard. My eyes scanned the tree line and I saw it. A shadow movin’ too fast, too silent to be a bear or some regular critter. I’d smelled somethin’ off at the club lately. Something sour. Thought it might’ve been my nerves. Now I knew better.

Birdie stood, flashlight droppin’ from her mouth.

“Hello?” she called out, squintin’ into the trees. “Is someone there?”

Hell.

She tooka step toward the sound, like she ain’t never seen a horror movie in her damn life. And that thing, a rogue, maybe a twisted shifter gone feral, came right for her in an unrecognizable blur.

I didn’t think.

---