Page 18 of Mystery in the Mountains

Chapter

Eight

ASHER

Asher made it back to the shop. When he was shifted, the pull to Sunny was too hard to ignore. His wolf had already forgiven her and was ready to have his head in her lap again, but he wasn’t there yet.

She’d left. She’d left him and their whole community. She wasn’t the only one lost in grief, but she was the only one who could leave.

There had been times where what he wanted and his wolf wanted were at odds, but it had never felt like this. He remembered when he had gone on a trip to Gatlenburg with a friend when he was twelve.

Asher, the boy, was happy as a clam, exploring the world, while his wolf wanted to get back to the mountain. It could be described as something akin to homesickness. But it was nothing compared to the rift between the two when it came to Sunny’s return.

It would seem his wolf was ready to repair and forget everything she’d done. She was here now to protect and take care of. It was that simple to his wolf. The wolf didn’t understand the complexity of the feelings Asher was going through. Having these two warring factions felt like a form of self-hatred, which made him even more angry. He had no control over his wolf’s wants and desires. He had no control of Sunny; she could bolt again. The bone-deep exhaustion of this inner turmoil was wearing him down.

He shifted as he made his way into the shop and put his clothes back on. Making his way further in, he wasn’t surprised that Abe wasn’t there. After Julie, he never worked late anymore.

Good, he thought, a quiet shop to work on some art . . .

Only he couldn’t bring himself to paint ever since Sunny came back. All his painting turned into something that reminded him of her.

As he made his way to get a canvas out, he found a note on his work bench.

Come to dinner. We need to talk.

It was in his brother’s handwriting. He knew what this was about, and while he didn’t want to hear it, running from his brother was as pointless as running from the mountain itself. Plus, he was hungry . . . so he headed over to his brother’s cabin.

As he made his way, he didn’t see Abe’s truck, but he could smell Julie’s cooking. It smells like—he took a good whiff—herb-roasted chicken with potatoes and carrots, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.

He stepped up onto the porch and walked in to find Julie struggling with the oven door and the big roasting pan.

“Let me help,” he said.

He instantly took the oven mitts out of her hand and pulled it out. “Thank you.” She wiped her brow. “Abe should be back in a few minutes. He went to pick something up in town.”

“No problem. It smells delicious in here.”

“Good, I’m glad. When Abe told me you were coming for dinner, I decided to make your favorite.”

“Thank you,” he said as she walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

“How have you been lately? I haven’t really had much of a chance to chat with you lately.” She slid a tray of biscuits into the oven. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” she said, resting her hip on the counter. “You just seem . . . different.”

He shrugged.

“Doesn’t this have anything to do with the new girl in town . . . or I guess she’s not new, is she?”

“No, she’s not new . . . She’s my mate.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, eyes wide, still shaking her head. “Where has she been?”

“She left.”

“What do you mean she left?”

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