WELCOMETO SILVER RIDGE
1473 Words
LENA'S POV
The plane touched down in Montana at 7:32 AM, and I immediately understood why Logan Blackwood had chosen this place to hide. Silver Ridge was the kind of town that existed in the spaces between major highways, where cell service was spotty, and the nearest Starbucks was a three-hour drive away.
The rental car's GPS lost signal twice on the winding mountain road into town. Dense pine forests pressed against both sides of the asphalt, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching from between the trees.
"Welcome to Silver Ridge," I muttered, passing a weathered sign that proclaimed the population as 3,847.
The town itself was picture-perfect small-town America. Main Street is lined with brick buildings, American flags hanging from lampposts, and a diner that probably hadn't changed its menu since 1985. But there was something else, something I couldn't quite name. The people I passed on the sidewalk moved differently. Their eyes tracked my rental car with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
I found the Silver Ridge Wolves' headquarters easily enough a modern sports complex that looked wildly out of place among the rustic storefronts. The parking lot was nearly empty despite the early hour, and I noticed several news vans parked across the street, their satellite dishes pointed skyward like mechanical flowers.
The receptionist, a woman in her fifties with premature gray hair, looked up as I entered.
"You must be Mrs Carter," she said. "I'm Dorothy." Coach Grizzwald is waiting for you in his office.
"Thank you." I followed her down a hallway lined with team photos and championship banners. "Has it been crazy here since the interview?"
Dorothy's smile was tired. Honey, you have no idea. The phone's been ringing off the hook. Reporters camping out in the parking lot. "Half the town thinks Logan's lost his mind, and the other half..." She paused. "Well, the other half ain't saying much."
She knocked on a door marked "Head Coach" and pushed it open.
"Coach? Ms. Carter's here."
The man who stood to greet me was exactly what I'd expected from a hockey coach's barrel-chested, graying beard, and hands that looked like they could crush walnuts. But his eyes held a sharpness that spoke of intelligence and something else. Caution.
"Ms. Carter. "Thank you for coming." His handshake was firm but not crushing. "I'm Thomas Grizzwald. Everyone calls me Grizz."
"Lena, please." I settled into the chair across from his desk, noting the way he positioned himself between me and the door. "I have to ask, how are you handling all this?"
Grizz's expression darkened. "Honestly? We're in full damage control mode. Half my players are afraid to leave their houses. The other half are getting death threats."
"Death threats?"
"Logan's not the only one people are suspicious of now." He leaned forward. "You have to understand, Ms. Carter. This town has been Logan's refuge for six years. He's not just our star player, he's family. And right now, he's scared and angry and doesn't trust anyone."
"That's why I'm here."
"Is it?" Grizz's eyes narrowed. Because I've had three calls this morning from reporters offering money for inside information. "Everyone wants to get close to Logan now, and most of them don't have his best interests at heart."
I met his gaze steadily. "I'm not most people, Coach. I'm here to help him, not exploit him."
"We'll see," he stood. "He's in the training facility. Fair warning, he's not in a talking mood."
The training facility was a cavern of ice and steel, empty except for one figure gliding across the rink with deadly grace. Logan Blackwood was even more imposing in person than he'd appeared on television. Six-foot-three of lean muscle, moving with a fluid precision that seemed almost inhuman.
He spotted us immediately, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. He skated over to the boards, stopping with a spray of ice shavings.
"So you're the miracle worker," he said. His voice was rougher than I'd expected, edged with barely controlled hostility. "Come to fix the big bad wolf?"
"I'm here to help you salvage your career," I replied evenly. "If you want it salvaged."
Logan laughed, but there was no humor in it. "My career? Lady, my career died the moment I opened my mouth in that interview. What I want to know is why you're really here."
"Because someone needs to tell your side of the story."
"My side?" He vaulted over the boards with easy grace, landing inches from me. This close, I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, could smell something wild and clean, like pine needles and cold air. "My side is that I'm a monster who's been lying to everyone for sixteen years. How exactly do you plan to spin that?"
"You're not a monster."
"You don't know what I am." His voice dropped to a growl. You don't know what I've done. What I'm capable of."
"Then tell me."
"Why? "So you can package it up in a pretty press release?" He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair. "Three PR firms have already turned me down. "What makes you think you're different?"
"Because I don't run from impossible cases."
"This isn't impossible, sweetheart. "This is suicide. Logan's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "You want to know the truth? I've been hiding my whole life. Pretending to be human, pretending to be normal. And now that the world knows what I really am, there's no going back."
"There's always a way back."
"Not from this." He grabbed a towel from the bench, his movements sharp with anger. "You want to help me? Go back to New York. Pretend you never heard my name. Because everyone who gets close to me ends up dead."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean my pack was slaughtered because someone found out what we were. I mean, I've spent sixteen years moving from town to town, changing identities, because hunters don't give up." His voice was deadly quiet. "And now I've painted a target on everyone I care about."
"Logan…"
"No." He was already walking toward the exit. "I don't need your help." I don't need anyone's help. I just need everyone to stay away from me.
"Running away won't solve anything!"
He stopped at the door, his hand on the handle. "Maybe not. But it'll keep you alive."
"I'm not afraid of you."
Logan turned back, and for a moment, his amber eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the corridor. "You should be."
The door slammed behind him with enough force to rattle the walls. I stood there for a moment, heart pounding, trying to process what had just happened.
"Well," Grizz said quietly. "That went better than expected."
"Better?"
"He didn't shift." The coach's expression was serious. "When Logan's furious, things get... complicated."
I followed him back toward the main building, my mind racing. Logan's hostility was expected, but there was something else. The way he moved, the intensity in his eyes, the barely leashed power in his voice, it was like standing next to a caged predator.
"Coach," I said as we reached the lobby. "What exactly happened to his pack?"
Grizz's face went pale. "That's not my story to tell."
"But you know."
"I know enough." He paused at the reception desk. "Ms. Carter, I'm going to give you some advice. Logan's been hurt by people who claimed they wanted to help him. If you're serious about this, you need to prove you're different. And that's going to take time."
"How much time do we have?"
"The NHL board meets tomorrow. If they vote to ban him permanently..."
"They won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "I won't let them."
I left the sports complex as the sun was setting, painting the mountains in shades of gold and crimson. The parking lot was empty except for my rental car, and the reporters had finally given up for the day. The town felt eerily quiet, like it was holding its breath.
I was halfway to my car when I heard it, a sound that made every hair on my arms stand up. It was a howl, deep and mournful, echoing through the mountains like a cry of pain. It lasted for nearly ten seconds, rising and falling with an otherworldly beauty that sent shivers down my spine.
I stood frozen in the parking lot, keys in my hand, staring up at the darkening forest. The howl came again, closer this time, and I could swear I saw a pair of amber eyes watching me from the tree line.
Then everything went silent, and I was alone with the growing certainty that nothing in Silver Ridge was what it seemed.
- Writer
