Carolina Moon

The Waking World: Tess

I woke up to the sound of a distant woodpecker and comfortable silence. The sheets under me were as soft as could be, but the bed itself was firm. Something I hadn’t noticed in my exhaustion this morning. The room smelled like him — sandalwood and rain. The faint scent of the bath salts clung to my skin and the sheets.

I turned over to see K.C. beside me, still asleep. I let out a long sigh that I felt like I’d been holding ever since Leon showed up on my porch.

His face was smoothed out. The hard lines of the Alpha had been replaced by the soft features of the man I first fell for. I stayed perfectly still, just watching him, realizing that this quiet sun-drenched room was what we were fighting for.

Eventually, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. My body felt heavy, and my muscles ached from the trek through the marsh. I walked to the window, and lifted my hand to rest on the glass.

The creek was a ribbon of silver under the high sun. There was a flash of movement in the trees — a reminder that while we slept, the world was still turning. Stroud was still hunting. I looked at my hand on the glass. I wasn’t shaking anymore. The bath and the sleep had cauterized the leftover panic from the water treatment facility.

I wandered into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. While it brewed, I had to resist the urge to pull out my laptop. I wanted to put off rejoining the real world for as long as possible. I slid my hand over the surface of the walnut counter. It was smooth and warm from the sunlight streaming through the window.

K.C. appeared in the doorway as I was pouring coffee into a mug. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of low-slung grey lounge pants. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were still filled with sleep, but he smiled when he saw me. It wasn’t the predatory smile of a wolf. It was just K.C.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over, took the mug I offered, and pulled me against him. We stood there silent in the middle of his wood-built kitchen for a long time, letting the sunlight warm our backs.

“We have you look at the data mirror, K.C.,” I finally broke the peace, taking a step back. “I have to see what all is there.”

He nodded, the Alpha mask slipping back into place, but it looked gentler now. “After breakfast,” he countered softly. “I’m going to make you pancakes, and you’re not going touch anything that’s even remotely work-like until after you’ve eaten.”

I nodded, the smallest hint of a smile curling my lips. “Okay.” We’d waited this long, another hour wasn’t going to bring the end of the world.

I sat at the island with my coffee, and watched him move around the kitchen. He was efficient, grounded, and completely in his element. He moved with a deliberate grace, the muscles rippling under his skin as he reached for the griddle. He didn’t seem like a wolf, or even an Alpha. He was just a man who hummed softly while he flipped pancakes.

The smell of the batter hitting the hot, oiled surface — sweet and vanilla-laced — filled the kitchen. We were in a domestic bubble, fragile but real, and I didn’t want it to pop. While K.C. flipped the pancakes, we didn’t talk about Stroud, Kingsport, or the grid. Instead, we talked about the garden, and the seeds he had in a mason jar for the heirloom tomatoes and peppers.

“I want to put the beds on the south side of the creek,” he explained. “The soil is rich there, and the drainage is perfect.”

I leaned my chin against my hand watching him while we ate. The moment the plates were cleared, I felt the weight of the world creeping back in. It settled on my shoulders like a familiar coat that didn’t fit right anymore.

K.C. got up to clean the aftermath of breakfast and I retrieved my laptop bag. The sharp, analytical focus returned, and the screen’s glow was a stark contrast to the natural light of the cabin.

While K.C. washed the dishes, I navigated through the mirrored data. It was a mess of encrypted files and system logs, but I found a communication thread. “They’ve been ‘test running’ the static in different areas,” I whispered as K.C. sat down next to me, his shoulder brushing mine.

My stomach started to tie itself in knots as the lines of code began to make sense.

“K.C., look at this,” I murmured, scrolling through a directory labeled Integration. “The waste plant was just a node. They’re mapping the biological responses of every pack member in the region to find a specific frequency. A… a ‘tether.’”

I found a sub-folder titled Asset 01: Stress Thresholds. It contained biometric data from the night at the smelting plant. They weren’t just trying to hurt him, they were recording him. They wanted to see exactly how much pressure it took to break an Alpha’s control. It had been more than just a trap. It was a field test. The pancakes and coffee in my stomach started to feel like a lead weight. Kidnapping Darian and starting the static there in Kingsport had been an attempt to lure us out, and it had worked.

As we looked through the images and the data from the smelting plant, the burner phone started to buzz. K.C. pulled it across the counter towards us, and I seen a local number on the screen.

K.C. answered and put it on speaker. Sheriff Grady’s voice filtered through, “I’ve been fielding phone calls all morning from a “Graham Whitlock and his lawyers, claiming he owns the water treatment facility and wants to know what happened last night. I also got an alleged federal agent ‘Starling’ calling me.”

“Starling?” Leon. “Starling might be one of mine,” K.C. admitted cautiously. “Be careful with him until I make contact though.”