Chapter 3 — The Herbalist and the Alpha

Dual (Skylar and Gregory)

The bell above the door to Skylar’s herbal shop jingled, its sharp chime slicing through the tranquil stillness of the dimly lit space. Skylar froze, one hand hovering above a jar of dried chamomile she’d been restocking. Her breath hitched, her body tensing as instinct flared to life. The late afternoon sun had already begun its descent, casting long amber shadows across the shelves. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

The muffled howl of the wind brushed against the shop’s walls, as if trying to force its way in, and the air seemed to press heavier on her chest. She turned toward the door, her fingers tightening around the jar for grounding.

The man who entered wasn’t one of the usual townsfolk. He was tall—so tall he seemed to fill the doorway—and broad-shouldered, his frame cutting a stark silhouette against the fading light behind him. His leather jacket, worn and fitted, absorbed the dim glow of the shop, accentuating the sharp planes of his face. Ice-blue eyes scanned the space with deliberate precision, lingering on every corner before locking onto her. They didn’t falter.

Skylar’s pulse quickened, a subtle but insistent rhythm. There was something about him—something deeply unsettling. It wasn’t just his appearance, though the raw physicality of him, his rugged handsomeness, was impossible to ignore. It was the way he carried himself, composed and commanding, like he could read the secrets written in the grains of the wooden floor. The intensity in his gaze pinned her, making her feel both exposed and inexplicably defiant.

“We’re closing soon,” she said, her voice clipped and carefully neutral. The practiced sharpness of her tone was a shield—a reflex she had honed over years of solitude.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the door swing shut behind him, the soft jingle of the bell the only sound. The tension in the room thickened with every heartbeat. When he finally moved, stepping further inside, his boots made barely a sound against the worn floorboards. Skylar felt a strange pull—an invisible tether she couldn’t explain—tightening with each deliberate step he took.

“I’ll be quick,” he said at last, his voice low, smooth, and edged with something unspoken. The faint rasp in his tone slid across her nerves like the whisper of a blade. His eyes flicked briefly over the shelves lined with jars, vials, and bundles of dried herbs before snapping back to her. “I need something for pain.”

Skylar tilted her head, her unease battling with a flicker of curiosity. She didn’t lower her guard. “What kind of pain?” she asked, her voice steady but firm, each word a subtle test of his intentions.

His jaw tightened—just a fraction—and the briefest hesitation passed before he answered. “For a friend.”

Her green eyes narrowed, not missing the slight hitch in his words. She set the jar of chamomile down, her fingers brushing the edge of the workbench behind her. “What kind of pain?” she pressed again, this time with more weight. She wasn’t in the habit of blindly doling out remedies, and this man—this stranger who made her senses hum with a strange intensity—wasn’t about to make her change her methods.

“Muscle strain,” he said finally, his tone even but his gaze unyielding. He gave nothing away, his expression unreadable. Yet there was something in his response—a hint of evasion beneath the calm exterior—that only deepened her suspicion.

Skylar turned to the shelf beside her, her movements deliberate. She kept her focus on the rows of jars, but her awareness of him never dimmed. His presence pressed against her senses in a way that was both grounding and disconcerting. The faint scent of leather and pine clung to the air around him, like the memory of a forest after rain.

“Comfrey salve,” she said briskly, pulling down a small, round tin. She moved to the counter, placing the tin between them. “It won’t work miracles, but it’ll help with soreness.”

The man stepped closer, bridging the space between them with a single stride, and Skylar tensed despite herself. The shift in proximity wasn’t overtly threatening, but it carried an intensity that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She resisted the urge to step back, holding her ground.

Her eyes flickered to his hands as he reached into his jacket pocket—broad, calloused hands that spoke of a life lived far from the quiet simplicity of Willow Falls. Then her gaze lowered, catching the faint glint of silver at her chest.

Her Moonstone Pendant.

His eyes followed hers, narrowing slightly as they landed on the pendant. The faint glow of the moonstone was barely perceptible, but it was unmistakable. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, and Skylar saw something flicker in his expression—something between recognition and wonder. It was gone in an instant, replaced by sharp precision, but it left her stomach twisting.

“It’s not for sale,” she said abruptly, her fingers brushing the pendant as she tucked it beneath her sweater. The warmth of the stone pulsed faintly against her skin, sharper than usual. It felt almost… alive.

“I wasn’t asking,” he replied, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. His ice-blue eyes met hers, and for an instant, they softened—just enough for her to catch a glimpse of something raw, something vulnerable. Then the moment passed, and his expression hardened once more.

The silence stretched taut between them, charged with an energy Skylar didn’t understand. Her instincts wavered, caught between the urge to shove him out the door and an inexplicable pull to unravel whatever secrets he carried. He didn’t belong here, not in her carefully constructed world. And yet…

Finally, he reached into his pocket again, pulling out a folded bill. He placed it on the counter beside the tin. “This should cover it.”

Skylar hesitated before taking the money, her fingers brushing the frayed edge of the bill. Her chest tightened, the tension refusing to ease. “If it doesn’t work, don’t bother coming back,” she said, slipping the bill into the register. Her tone was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t soften it.

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t been watching so closely, she might have missed it. “Noted,” he said, his voice laced with a faint trace of humor that only deepened her unease.

He turned without another word, the bell above the door jingling softly as it swung shut behind him. The shop felt colder in his absence, the stillness of the room pressing down on her like a weight.

Skylar exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing against the Moonstone Pendant beneath her sweater. Its warmth lingered, a stark contrast to the chill creeping into her skin. She stared at the door, her thoughts tangled in the wake of his presence. There was something about him—something that didn’t belong in the simplicity of her life. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen through her defenses, through the walls she had spent so long building.

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Gregory stepped into the cool evening air, sliding the tin of salve into his jacket pocket. The crisp scent of pine and woodsmoke clung to the town, but it was her scent—soft, herbal, with a hint of wildflower—that lingered in his senses. Skylar Thorn.

She was different. The pull that had gnawed at him since entering Willow Falls had tightened the moment he entered her shop. It wasn’t just her guarded beauty, though that was undeniable. It was her presence—the quiet, thrumming energy that radiated from her, like the forest before a storm. And the pendant. The faint glow of the Moonstone Pendant was burned into his mind, an unmistakable confirmation of what he had suspected.

Marisol leaned against the SUV, her arms crossed and her sharp gaze fixed on him. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with suspicion.

“She’s… interesting,” Gregory said, sliding into the driver’s seat. The word barely scratched the surface, but he wasn’t ready to explain more—not yet.

Marisol climbed in beside him, her gaze narrowing. “Interesting isn’t helpful. Did you learn anything useful?”

Gregory’s fingers brushed the worn edge of his Alpha Ring as he started the engine. “Not much,” he admitted, his thoughts lingering on the way her pendant had reacted to him. “But I will.”

Marisol’s expression hardened. “If she’s trouble, we need to know now. The last thing we need is another rogue slipping under the radar.”

Gregory said nothing, his eyes drifting to the faint glow of Skylar’s shop window as they pulled away. The pull in his chest hadn’t eased—it had only grown stronger. Skylar Thorn was no ordinary human. That much was clear.

What wasn’t clear was what she would mean for what lay ahead—for him, for his pack, and for the fragile balance he had worked so hard to protect. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t just another stranger.

Not to him. Not anymore.