CHAPTER 5

"You're not leaving, Grayson."

I clamped my fingers around his wrist. If I had to throw my entire weight against him or tackle his legs to keep him from bolting back into the treeline, I would. I had a mission to save this boy, and he was being damn difficult about it.

"I have something for you," I said, my voice cutting through the humid air of the High Meadow.

"What?" He tried to jerk away, but I held on. His skin was scorching, a furnace of heat that hummed against my palm. Solid. Real.

"I brought the scrolls," I said. "From my library."

I saw the hunger in his eyes before he could mask it with that cold, iron stare. He was a Cole; he was used to being treated like a rabid animal, not a guest. "I don't take handouts, Reed."

"It’s not a handout. It’s a trade. Consider it a loan, like the High Priest’s archives. Besides, I’ve already memorized them. They’re just rotting on my shelf."

It was a lie, and I hoped the Moon Mother wasn't listening. I had spent two hours agonizing over which ones to bring before settling on the Chronicles of the Elder Moon—the most sacred history we had. I didn't care if he was a 'scrapper.' I knew he’d understand the weight of the words.

Grayson hesitated, his silver eyes darting toward the pack families gathering around the roasting pits. I could read the tension in his shoulders. He felt like an intruder.

"Vanessa said you have to stay," I pushed, using the velvet-edged diplomacy my mother had perfected. "She’s been prepping the elk for three days. Her pride will be shredded if you don't eat at our table."

"You told her?" His voice dropped, losing its jagged edge for a second.

"Yeah. And she said you’re welcome in the Reed halls whenever you want."

"You lying to me, Peewee?" He looked down at me, his gaze softening just enough to make my heart skip.

"I don't lie. Liars get their tongues cut out in the old stories." I kept my other hand behind my back, fingers tightly crossed. "The Alpha said it was fine, too."

He braced himself like he was heading into a firing squad, then gave a sharp nod.

The second I stepped out of the shadows, dragging Grayson Cole behind me, the Meadow went silent. Every pup stopped wrestling. Every warrior stopped drinking. My reputation was either hitting a new peak or cratering into the dirt, but I didn't give a damn. Grayson’s grip on my hand tightened until it almost bruised, his palm slick with sweat. He was waiting for someone to scream 'traitor.'

I led him straight to my mother.

"See, Mama? He stayed."

"So he did." Vanessa Whitmore smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through a storm. "Grayson, I’m glad you’re here. Our table is the one with the blue cloth. Sit. Eat. That’s an order."

"Yes, ma'am." Grayson looked at her like she was a goddess descended from the peaks.

Behind her, Vanessa Whitmore—the other Vanessa, the Beta’s mate—thinned her lips. She traded a look of pure venom with the Councilman’s wife. I ignored them. They were the 'High Society' of the valley, families who owned the silver mines and the lumber mills.

Hugh Morgan, the Alpha’s nephew, was standing nearby. We’d been forced to play together since we were cubs. He was always baiting me, challenging me to jump off cliffs or wrestle older boys. Most of the scars on my knees were from dares he’d set. He wasn't evil, just a bored wolf.

But Peggy Treece was a different story. The Mayor’s daughter was a spoiled brat with a heart made of sour milk. She was smirking at me now, her hands on her hips. I turned my back on her and pulled Grayson toward our table.

"Where are the scrolls, Mama?"

"In the wicker chest, Savannah."

I dragged him over. "Wait until you see these."

I handed them over one by one. I explained the lore of the First Shifters, the ones who could hold the moon in their hands. Grayson handled the parchment like it was made of thin ice.

"You’ve actually read these?" He looked at the heavy ink, then at me.

"Twice. I have hundreds more. When you’re done, bring them back and I’ll give you the maps of the Northern Wilds."

"Why?" He traced the embossed silver on the leather casing. "Why give them to me?"

"Because stories are meant to be told," I said. "And you look like you need a different story than the one you’re living."

He didn't answer. He just clutched the scrolls to his chest.

The feast began. It was a blur of meat, ale, and loud laughter. Grayson sat at the end of the bench, eating slowly, watching everything. After the meal, the mood shifted. The ale had been flowing, and the sun was setting.

"I need to go," Grayson whispered, the tension returning to his frame.

"Not yet. One more thing."

I led him away from the main fire, toward the old stone storehouse. It was cool inside, smelling of grain and dried herbs.

"Savannah, what are we doing?"

I didn't answer. I just pushed the door shut. The moonlight filtered through the high rafters, casting long stripes across his chest.

"I want to know," I said, my voice trembling. "If you feel it too."

"Feel what?"

"The pull."

Grayson growled, a low, tectonic sound. He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of my head, pinning me. "You have no idea what you're playing with, Reed. I’m a Cole. We’re monsters."

"Then show me," I challenged.

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed my waist, his large hands nearly meeting around my middle, and hoisted me onto a stack of grain sacks. My breath hitched. He was right there, his heat radiating off him in waves.

He kissed me—not a sweet kiss, but a claim. His mouth was hot, tasting of cider and salt. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer until there wasn't a breath of air between us.

He ripped my tunic open, the ties snapping. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my thighs, my hair. He dropped his head, his tongue lashing against my throat before he moved lower. He took my nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

"Grayson!" I screamed, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh," he rasped.

He worked my leggings down, his fingers finding my center. I was soaking, my body betraying me the second he touched me. He slid a finger inside, then two, his thumb grinding against my clit with a rhythm that made my vision blur.

"Please," I begged.

He stripped his trousers, his cock springing free—heavy, dark, and pulsing with a life of its own. He positioned himself at my entrance, the broad head of him stretching me open.

"Look at me, Savannah," he commanded.

I opened my eyes. His were silver, the wolf swirling just beneath the surface.

He lunged forward, burying himself deep in one go. I cried out, my head hitting the grain sacks. He was so big, so thick. I felt my internal walls stretching, molding to his shape. He stayed still for a heartbeat, his face contorted in a mask of beautiful agony.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned.

He started to move. It was messy, primal. Our bodies slid together, the salt of our sweat mixing as he pounded into me. Each thrust hit my womb, a blunt-force pleasure that made my toes curl. I wrapped my arms around his neck, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming again.

He shifted my legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he could go deeper. The angle was perfect. He was hitting a spot inside me that made my world tilt. I was coming, the waves starting at my toes and crashing upward.

"Grayson, now! Now!"

He let out a guttural roar, his body tensing as he gave three final, violent thrusts. I felt the hot explosion of his seed filling me, a searing warmth that seemed to reach my very soul. My own walls clamped around him, milking him dry as I shattered into a thousand pieces.

He collapsed on top of me, his full weight pressing me into the sacks. He was heavy—a solid, grounded weight that made the world feel real again. We stayed like that, limbs tangled, skin stinging from the friction, breathing in the scent of sex and dust.

The hangover of the pleasure left my limbs shaking. I reached up, stroking his hair.

"Don't leave," I whispered.

He pulled back, his eyes clearing. He looked at the ruined scrolls on the floor, then back at me. "I have to. But I’m taking these with me."

He stood up, adjusting his clothes. He looked like the boy from the salvage yard again, but the fire in his eyes was different.

"Thank you for the stories, Peewee."

He slipped out the door before I could find my voice.

I walked back to the feast an hour later, my skin still glowing, my heart a heavy stone in my chest. I found the table, but something was wrong.

Aunt Eleanor was standing there, holding a shredded piece of parchment. Her face was a mask of fury.

"Where is it, Savannah?"

"Where is what?"

"The Chronicles! The sacred scrolls are missing from the chest!"

The music stopped. The Alpha stood up.

"Savannah," Mason’s voice was a low warning. "Did you give the scrolls to that Cole boy?"

I looked at the crowd. I looked at the gate where Grayson had disappeared.

"I loaned them to him," I said, my voice steady.

A collective gasp went through the pack.

"You gave our history to a scrapper?" Trent Maddox stepped forward, his eyes gleaming. "He’s probably halfway to the border by now, ready to sell them to the rogues."

"He wouldn't!"

"He’s a Cole!" Trent shouted. "They steal, they break, they destroy. And you just gave him the keys to our ancestors' secrets."

Mason stepped toward me, his shadow falling over my face. "Find him. Now. If those scrolls aren't back by sunrise, the boy hangs."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I had tried to save him, but I might have just signed his death warrant.