In the Arms of the Rogue

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

I push open the creaky kitchen door, a wave of onion-scented steam hitting me. I tie my apron hastily, joining the flurry of activity as we chop and stir with what little we have. The counters are cluttered with root vegetables and the remnants of last season's preserves. It’s a humble offering, but it’s ours.

"Did you hear Jake used to run with the east Texas pack?" Mira, one of the younger pack members, asks without looking up from her task of peeling potatoes.

"Jake? No way," another chimes in, his knife rhythmically hitting the chopping board.

"Yep," Mira confirms. “He was their strongest fighter.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Rumors spread faster here than any fire set by rival packs trying to drive us out.

Still. Jake’s name alone sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. His image is clear in my mind—tall, with eyes like liquid amber and a certain wildness that clings to him like morning mist to grass. My hands tremble slightly as I begin slicing through a tough carrot. Focus, Lily.

"Careful there," Gina says, nudging my elbow gently. Her voice is a grounding force. "You'll cut yourself if you keep daydreaming about our new arrival."

"I'm not—" I start, but the look she gives me needs no psychic abilities to interpret.

"Look, I get it, he's charming and all that, but don't forget your duties here. Ryan depends on you, we all do." Gina's words are stern but caring.

I nod, trying to mask the flutter in my chest. She's right. As beta, my commitment is to the pack, to Ryan. But Jake's presence stirs something within me—a longing for something more than duty, something dangerous and tempting.

"Promise me, Lily," Gina pleads, her eyes imploring as she pauses from stirring the pot. "Tell me you won't let him mess with your head."

I halt mid-chop, setting the knife down with a clatter that seems too loud in the suddenly still room. Everyone's attention is on Gina and me now. I can feel their curiosity prickling at my skin like a winter chill. Swallowing hard, I look into Gina's earnest gaze, willing myself to find conviction.

"Of course," I say, my voice steady despite the storm within. "The pack always comes first. Always."

She searches my face for a hint of falsehood, her brow furrowed with concern. But I offer only sincerity, hoping it masks the turmoil beneath. She nods slowly, relief washing over her features as she turns back to the pot.

"Good. That's what I needed to hear." Gina smiles softly before adding under her breath, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always am," I reply, picking up the knife again. But the word 'careful' churns inside me, a mocking whisper in the growing dusk.

We work in silence then, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. There's a tension building, a prelude to a storm that's been brewing since Jake arrived. I can almost taste the electricity on my tongue, the anticipation mingling with the rich scent of stew simmering on the stove.

As night falls and the kitchen grows dim, the others carry dinner out to the dining hall, leaving Gina and me alone with the last of the cleaning. The water runs cold over our hands as we scrub pots and pans, the sound a soft symphony in the darkening space.

"Thanks for understanding, Lily," Gina says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Anything for the pack," I murmur back, though my heart betrays me with its erratic drumming, a wild rhythm that syncs with thoughts of Jake.

We finish in silence, the weight of the evening settling around us like a thick cloak.

“Let’s go grab dinner.” Gina takes off her apron.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I say. I need a moment alone to breathe, to process everything that happened today.

“Don’t be too long,” she calls as she heads out the door. “There might not be any left.”

She’s not gone more than a minute when the door creaks open, and a shadow looms large in the doorway.

"Mind if I join you?" a deep voice asks, sending shivers down my spine.

It's Jake, his silhouette framed by the moonlight filtering through the entrance, his eyes glinting like silver coins. He steps closer, and I can feel the pull of his presence like a physical force.

"Kitchen's closed," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel.

"Is it?" he challenges, a half-smile playing on his lips as he takes another step toward me. "Or is it just opening for something other than food?"

"Jake..." I start, but I'm cut off by the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken promise hanging in the air like a spell.

"Tell me, Lily," he whispers, moving so close I can feel the heat of his body, "does the pack always come first?"

"Always," I say, but it's a plea, a question, a prayer all rolled into one.

"Good," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek. And then he's gone, leaving me standing there, breathless and wanting, the ghost of his touch lingering like a brand on my skin.

What was that about? Was he just teasing me? Testing me to see if I would give in?

And what does he even care? He’s a stranger to this pack. What we do shouldn’t matter to him.

And in the quiet of the empty kitchen, a single thought rings clear: this is the beginning of something dangerous. Something inevitable. Something that could change everything.

Suddenly, there’s a clang behind me. A pot falls to the linoleum, and my breath catches in my throat. Spinning around, I find a figure emerging from the shadows—a figure jumping right at me.