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“I think she took a wrong turn,” the man says. “Her house is back that way.”

I don’t bother explaining that she chose this gate. My arms fold across my chest and I wait.

The second man touches his friend’s arm. He has more sense, or less interest in testing how much patience I have. “Come on.”

The younger alpha keeps looking through the bars. “You good, Pepper?”

So that’s her name.

She steps closer to my back without touching me. “I’m good. Thank you.” Her voice carries a bright edge that doesn’t match the way her breath catches.

The men retreat toward town. I wait until their footsteps disappear beneath the cicadas before turning around.

Pepper stands three feet away, watching me with wide brown eyes. Up close, she is softer than her scent suggested. Rosy color spreads over pale cheeks. Her curls fall past her shoulders in a humid tangle, and one spiral has caught against the glitter on her chest. She is small beside me, though nothing about her feels fragile. Energy moves through her even while she fights for breath, quick and vivid, like a bird held gently between two palms.

My alpha wants to gather her against my body, bury my face beneath her curls, and purr until every panicked note leaves her perfume.

I plant my boots in the dirt. Wanting is instinct. What I do with it is my choice. “You’re safe here. Gate is locked,” I tell her. “No one comes in unless I open it.”

Her shoulders ease by a fraction.

“That’s an excellent gate.” She looks back at it. “Very sturdy. Tall. Difficult to scale without equipment or terrible judgment.” She glances my way and her eyes widen. It results in a failed nervous giggle that produces a snort.

“What?” My lips try to curve. She’s adorable, and something has her tickled.

“You’re very biologically interesting.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t mean to say that aloud. These hormones are no joke.”

Her nervous giggle warms the air between us. Her gaze returns to my face, then drops over my faded black tank, work pants, boots, and tattooed arms. She doesn’t hide the inspection. Heat brightens her cheeks when she realizes I noticed.

“You’re Theo Heron.”

I nod.

“The person who takes care of the cemetery.”

Another nod.

“And town recluse.”

“That one isn’t on the payroll.”

Her mouth curves. “Good. The benefits package sounded weak.”

Her perfume sweetens. The vanilla rolls through me, rich and warm, before rosemary cuts across it with another anxious flare. She shifts her water bottle from one hand to the other. The motion is clumsy, and the bottle slips. I catch it before it hits the ground.

Her eyes widen. “You’re fast.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m having a biologically eventful afternoon.”

The bottle is cool against my palm. Stickers overlap across the metal, worn from years of use. Springs, trails, parks. A cartoon manatee near the lid has lost half its tail.

I hold it out rather than stepping closer. She takes it carefully. Our fingers brush. The contact moves through me like warm water over cold hands.

Pepper inhales. Her pupils widen, and her scent opens around us, peppermint bright enough to taste. My alpha presses forward again, drawn to the delicate skin beneath her ear and the frantic beat visible at her throat.

I curl my hand into a fist at my side. “You can stay here until the road clears.”