Page 38 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
“I heard you the first time.”
I’m trying to stay calm, but the heat between us is impossible to ignore.
“I know you can handle yourself against humans,” I murmur, “but this… this isn’t that. And in case you haven’t noticed, they’re accelerating. This time they didn’t even bother to burn the evidence.”
Lightning cracks outside, illuminating her eyes in a sudden flash.
That’s when it hits.
A ripple of power. Searing. Real.
I see us—by the lake. A glowing circle surrounding us. Blood on the rocks. Her hand in mine. A pull so fierce it aches in my chest.
The vision vanishes just as quickly, leaving us both rattled.
She blinks, stunned.
I pull back, pulse hammering in my ears. “What the hell?”
Neither of us speaks.
But the bond—whatever it is—is undeniable now.
And it's getting stronger with each passing day.
Three days later, the crew stands outside at the Lolo Cemetery. The wind picks up, slicing through the pines that ring the cemetery like silent sentinels. It smells faintly of snow and smoke. The mountains loom above us, and beyond them, anearly fall storm brews. The kind that passes through quickly and without warning.
Nicole’s casket sits at the front, draped in the station flag. A helmet rests on top, polished until it gleams. Flowers—white lilies and red carnations—surround the grave like offerings.
I stand at the back, arms crossed. This is not my show. I will let others take the lead for once. After all, what right have I to speak? She was slaughtered on my watch.
Sera stands nearby, stiff in her borrowed black dress, eyes fixed on the trees beyond the clearing. Tori, Rivas, Captain Greene—everyone is here. No one talks. We all have our suspicions.
Not an accident.
Not wildlife.
A personal attack for someone here.
A message.
But no one dares say it. The truth doesn’t belong here. Not yet. Today is for Nicole.
Marcus steps up to the podium. His usual swagger gone. He wears a tie that doesn’t quite fit, sleeves rolled once at the wrist like he couldn’t stand the formality. When he starts speaking, his voice is rough, broken.
“Nicole wasn’t supposed to be here long,” he says. “She told me her goal was six months. Just enough time to clock her hours and get back to Missoula. Big city girl. She hated the quiet. Said the trees made her feel like she was being watched.”
He swallows hard, looking down.
“But then she started laughing louder. Showing up early. Staying after shifts. Said the town was growing on her. Said maybe she’d stick around. Start a garden. Try hiking—God help her.”
A soft ripple of chuckles escapes, like air being released from a balloon.
“She was kind. She was clever. And she could call me on my bullshit faster than anyone I’ve ever met. I told myself she was just another flame. But she wasn’t. Not even close.”
His voice cracks. He doesn’t apologize for it.
“I should’ve told her.”
