James

The restless energy coiling in James’s gut had nothing to do with the paperwork scattered across his mahogany desk. His wolf was pacing, snarling, demanding answers about this Trishelle everyone seemed to be whispering about. The name alone made his hackles rise, though he couldn’t explain why. It was a low hum beneath his skin, an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"Fuck it," he muttered, shoving back his chair. The leather groaned in protest as he stood, stretching his shoulders. The moon would be full in three days, and his wolf was already riding him hard, its agitation bleeding into his own thoughts.

The backyard erupted in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds as he stepped outside. Balloons bobbed in the evening breeze while fairy lights twinkled from every available surface, casting a warm glow on the gathering. His pack members—his family—were already celebrating, their laughter and playful shouts weaving through the air like music. He’d sent a message to the patrollers earlier, arranging two-hour shifts so everyone could enjoy the festivities. Security was still priority, but tonight was about unity, about reminding them all what they fought for.

Pups, tiny balls of fur and excitement, darted between legs, their bodies vibrating with energy as they chased each other in circles. James navigated through them with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for the source of this strange obsession.

That’s when he saw her.

Time stopped.

She stood on a wobbly ladder, stringing lights along the pergola while one of the pregnant she-wolves—Maya—directed her from below. Every slight sway of the ladder sent a jolt of pure panic through James’s system. His protective instincts flared, hot and immediate, a visceral need to ensure her safety.

Then she turned.

The world tilted on its axis as her face came into view. Sun-kissed hair tumbled over her shoulders in wild waves, framing features that made his breath catch. But it was her smile—that brilliant, radiant smile that seemed to light up the growing twilight—that sent electricity coursing through his veins. For a dizzying moment, the sounds of the party faded into background noise, the laughter and music dissolving into meaningless static. There was only her, this perfect, messy-haired angel hanging decorations like she was born to be there, a part of this chaos, this life.

"Trishelle!"

The voice—male, familiar, entirely too warm—shattered the moment. James watched as her head whipped toward the sound, her smile somehow growing even brighter, a sight he hadn’t thought possible. She waved, and the ladder wobbled precariously, a silent scream building in his throat.

James lunged forward, his body moving on pure instinct, but she was already scrambling down, moving with an agility that defied the precariousness of her position. His gaze dropped to the gentle bounce of her breasts as she descended, and a raw, primal heat pooled low in his belly. She rushed past him in a blur of motion, and disappointment hit him like a physical blow, sharp and bitter.

He followed her path with his eyes and saw her launch herself into the arms of another male.

A growl ripped from James’s chest, raw and possessive, a sound of pure animalistic rage. His claws elongated, pressing painfully against his skin, threatening to break through. The urge to tear that male apart, to reclaim what was his, was overwhelming. Red tinged the edges of his vision, the beast within him snarling and clawing to be set free. The birthday party would be a bloodbath.

Before he could act, a small body collided with his legs. "Alpha James!" a pup squealed, looking up with wide, adoring eyes.

The sound of innocence pulled him back from the brink. James forced a smile, ruffling the child’s hair, the simple touch grounding him. "Having fun, little one?"

The pup nodded enthusiastically, and another joined them, tugging at his jeans. Their simple joy was a balm, tempering the rage still simmering beneath his surface. He needed answers. Now.

His gaze swept the crowd until it landed on the Gamma, Marcus, standing near the bar. If anyone knew who that male was, it would be him.

Trishelle

The familiar voice sent electricity skittering across Trishelle’s skin, a jolt of pure joy in the middle of a chaotic evening. Only one person aside from Rosie had ever called her by her real name. Carefully turning on the ladder, she spotted him—Sammy, her only real friend in this world.

For a dizzying moment, she wondered if today could be her birthday too. From the strange sense of belonging she’d felt all evening to now seeing Sammy... if she never lived another day, this would be her favorite memory, a perfect snapshot in time.

She scrambled down the ladder, her heart racing. Her cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she ran toward him, a feeling of lightness she hadn’t experienced in years. She didn’t realize she was crying until Sammy’s thumbs gently wiped away the tears, his touch achingly familiar.

"Hey Rosebud," he murmured, his voice warm as always. "How have you?"

Trishelle laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound that felt foreign even to her own ears. "It’s been years since you called me that." He’d nicknamed her Rosebud because she used to follow Rosie everywhere like a lost puppy, shadowing her mother’s every step.

Sammy was an orphan like her, technically an omega though he defied the classification. His father was human, his mother werewolf, but he’d never shifted. Still, he possessed enhanced abilities—faster and stronger than any human or omega she’d ever met. His intelligence had caught the Gamma’s attention, who’d trained him to help with pack business in the city. Sammy rarely visited, and it had been two years since they’d last seen each other—before that, at Rosie’s funeral, a day that felt like a lifetime ago.

She pulled back to really look at him. He’d always been taller, but now they stood eye to eye. And he’d filled out, his arms corded with muscle she couldn’t resist squeezing.

"But Grandma, what big arms you have!" she teased, referencing their favorite childhood story, a shared secret from a past that felt both distant and precious.

Sammy laughed, the sound rich and familiar, a balm to her soul. "The better to hug you with my dear."

"And Grandma, what big hands you have?"

"The better to tickle you with my dear." His fingers found her ribs, and Trishelle dissolved into helpless laughter, squirming away from his playful assault. Their mingled laughter drew attention—she could feel eyes on them, could practically hear the mind link buzzing with curiosity. The pack had never seen her like this, so alive, so full of joy.

"All right, all right, I give up!" she gasped, holding her sides as giggles shook her body.

Sammy wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. "Let me just grab my bags and give you guys a hand." He retrieved the luggage he’d dropped when he first spotted her, and they walked back toward the pack house together.

The party was in full swing by the time they returned. Sammy threw himself into preparations, taking over the bar with an efficiency that impressed even the Gamma. Trishelle, familiar with the kitchen, helped serve food despite the buffet setup, finding a strange comfort in the familiar routine.

Nearly two hours later, Sammy grabbed her hand. "Come eat, Rosebud. You’ve been working all day."

He led her to the start of the food tables, loading plates for both of them. As they ate, Sammy’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze thoughtful.

"I’ve noticed something," he said, his voice low. "Everyone calls you Trishelle now."

Trishelle shrugged, focusing on her plate. "It’s just what they call me."

Sammy’s expression tightened. "The only reason for that would be if the Alpha ordered it." His gaze drifted to the birthday boy’s table where James sat. "Speaking of which..."

He didn’t need to finish. Trishelle could feel the weight of James’s stare even without looking. It had been like that all evening—a constant, heavy presence that made her skin prickle with awareness, a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

"Something’s going on here," Sammy murmured, leaning closer. "And I’m going to figure out what."

James

James found Marcus near the bar, expertly mixing drinks for a line of pack members. He waited, his patience wearing thin, until the Gamma had a moment.

"Who is he?" The question came out as a low growl, barely recognizable as human. James cornered him by the bar, his body coiled with a tension he couldn’t hide.

The Gamma, a wolf who’d seen decades of pack politics, didn’t so much as flinch. He slowly wiped down a glass, his movements deliberate. "That would be Sammy. He works for me in the city."

James’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking back to where Sammy now had a possessive arm draped around Trishelle’s shoulders. "Works for you?" The possessiveness surging through him was irrational, undeniable. "What exactly does he do for you?"

"Surveillance mostly." Marcus set the glass down with a soft click. "He’s got no wolf, but his senses are sharper than most. Half-human, half-wolf. Smart as a whip. I took him in after his parents passed."

The explanation did nothing to soothe the beast inside James. "And Trishelle? What’s their history?"

Marcus finally met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "They grew up together. Orphans. Sammy’s the closest thing to family she’s had since Rosie died."

The name hit James like a physical blow. Rosie. Trishelle’s mother, the pack’s former healer, taken by cancer three years ago. He remembered the funeral, remembered the shell-shocked girl who’d stood at the graveside, her face pale and streaked with tears. He’d been Alpha then too, but he’d been dealing with border disputes and hadn’t paid her the attention she deserved.

Across the yard, Sammy leaned in close to Trishelle, his face near her ear. James’s hands clenched into fists, his claws pricking his palms. The urge to march over there, to stake his claim in the most primitive way possible, was overwhelming.

"Easy, Alpha," Marcus murmured, his voice low enough that only James could hear. "You’re about to shift in the middle of a birthday party."

James forced himself to breathe, to unclench his jaw. "Why is she called Trishelle now?" The question had been nagging at him since he’d first heard the name whispered through the pack.

Marcus sighed, setting aside the glass he was polishing. "That was your order, if you recall."

James blinked. "My order?" He searched his memory, but the last few years blurred together in a haze of pack business and border disputes. "I don’t remember..."

"After Rosie died," Marcus reminded him gently. "The girl was... broken. She kept hearing her mother’s voice, answering to ’Rosie’ when no one had called her that. You said she needed a fresh start, that answering to her mother’s name was holding her back. So you decreed she would be known only as Trishelle from then on."

The memory returned in fragments—the council meeting, the recommendation from the pack therapist, his own decision made in the name of healing. He’d been trying to help, but now... now it felt like he’d erased a part of her.

"Fuck," James breathed, running a hand through his hair. "I’d forgotten."

Across the yard, Sammy threw his head back and laughed at something Trishelle said. The sight sent another wave of possessiveness crashing over James. He needed to get closer, to hear what they were saying, to understand this connection between them.

"Excuse me," he muttered to Marcus, already moving.

Trishelle

"What’s that look for?" Trishelle asked, nudging Sammy with her elbow. He’d been staring at Alpha James for a solid minute, his expression thoughtful and intense.

Sammy’s gaze shifted back to her, his eyes darkening slightly. "Just wondering why the Alpha is watching you like you’re the last steak on earth and he’s starving."

Heat flooded Trishelle’s cheeks. She’d felt James’s attention all evening—a heavy, suffocating weight that made her skin prickle with awareness and a strange, unsettling warmth. "He’s not watching me."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "Rosebud, I make my living observing people. Trust me, he’s watching you." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Question is, why?"

Trishelle shrugged, focusing on her plate. "Probably making sure I don’t break anything."

"Or maybe he’s finally noticing what’s been right under his nose all along." Sammy’s expression was serious now. "You’ve changed since I was gone. Filled out in all the right places." His gaze swept over her body, appreciative but brotherly. "The unmated males have certainly noticed."

The thought made Trishelle uncomfortable. She’d spent years being invisible, cultivating plainness as a shield against the world, against the pain of wanting what she could never have. "I’m the same person I’ve always been."

"No," Sammy disagreed softly. "You’re not. And neither is he." He nodded toward James, who was making his way through the crowd with predatory grace, his eyes locked on them. "Something’s shifted in the pack since I left. And I think you’re at the center of it."

Before Trishelle could respond, James was upon them, his presence overwhelming even without him touching her. The air crackled with tension, with something primal and dangerous that made her wolf stir restlessly inside, a low whine of need and fear.

"Sammy," James acknowledged, his voice low and rough. His gaze fixed on Trishelle, intense and unreadable. "I didn’t realize you were back."

"Just got in," Sammy replied easily, though Trishelle could feel the tension coiling in his frame. "Came back for the birthday celebration."

James’s eyes never left hers. "It’s good to have you home." The words were for Sammy, but his gaze was all for Trishelle. "Trishelle, could I speak with you for a moment?"

The sound of her name in his voice sent shivers down her spine. Sammy’s arm tightened around her waist almost imperceptibly, a silent warning.

"Actually," Sammy said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, "we were just catching up. Maybe it could wait?"

James’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "I’m afraid it can’t."

The power dynamic shifted so suddenly Trishelle felt dizzy. This was the Alpha, the leader of their pack, and he was making it clear that Sammy’s presence was an inconvenience, his request a challenge.

"I’ll be right back," Trishelle murmured to Sammy, extracting herself from his hold with a reluctance that felt like a betrayal.

As she followed James toward the pack house, she could feel dozens of eyes on them. The mind link buzzed with speculation, with whispers that would keep the pack gossip mill running for weeks. Each step felt heavier than the last, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.

James led her into the empty kitchen, closing the door behind them. The sudden silence was deafening after the noise of the party, amplifying the sound of her own ragged breathing.

"Are you happy here?" he asked, his voice softer than she expected, a stark contrast to the hardness in his eyes.

Trishelle blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I... yes. Of course."

"Really?" James stepped closer, his scent—pine and wilderness and something uniquely him—flooding her senses, making her head spin. "Because from what I’ve seen tonight, you come alive around Sammy. You laugh. You smile." He raised a hand, his fingers hovering just inches from her cheek, the heat of them a brand against her skin. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that."

Trishelle’s breath hitched. "He’s my friend."

"Is that all?" James’s eyes burned into hers, intense and searching. "Because the way he looks at you... the way he touches you..." His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "It’s not friendly."

"He’s like a brother to me," Trishelle insisted, though her heart raced with a confusing mix of fear and a dangerous, thrilling excitement.

James’s thumb finally brushed her cheek, sending electricity skittering across her skin, a direct line to the ache building low in her belly. "Good," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that was a caress in itself. "Because I don’t share."