Page 58 of Talk Howly to Me

As the song wound down, both women dissolved into laughter. Emerson wiped tears from her eyes, her earlier nervousness replaced by the same infectious joy that bubbled through Sloane.

"God, I love having a best friend," Sloane said, the words slipping out.

Emerson's smile went soft and warm. "Me too. I never thought... I mean, I hoped, but I didn't know if you'd ever let me in."

"You didn't give me much choice," Sloane replied, but there was no complaint in her voice. "You just kept showing up."

"That's what friends do."

The simple statement carried weight that settled deep in Sloane's bones. Friends showed up. They kept promises. They earned trust through consistency, not grand gestures or empty words.

Just like her mates had done. Just like this entire pack had done.

Through the bond, she felt Ronan's steady presence—that unshakeable foundation of strength and protection that had become her anchor. Kozue's warmth wrapped around her like a favorite blanket, playful and comforting and utterly devoted. Whatever they'd planned for tonight, it came from the same place as every other gesture they'd made—a desire to show her she was cherished, that she belonged, that she was home.

The truck crested the final hill, and Hale Lodge came into view below them, nestled among the pines like something out of a dream. Smoke curled from the massive stone chimney, and warm light glowed in the windows.

Her sanctuary. Her future. Her family.

The oak doors of Hale Lodge swung open with their familiar creak, and Sloane stepped across the threshold carrying two paper bags filled with supplies from the general store. The lodge's usual afternoon bustle was nowhere to be found—no guests chatting by the stone fireplaces, no children racing through the corridors, no sounds of laughter drifting from the dining area.

Too quiet.

Sloane's instincts, honed by years of survival, prickled at the unnatural stillness. She shifted the bags in her arms and glanced sideways at Emerson, whose nervous energy had only intensified since they'd entered the building. Her friend practically vibrated with barely contained excitement, her green eyes darting toward the main corridor like she was expecting something momentous to happen.

"Where is everyone?" Sloane asked, setting down her bags.

"Oh, you know." Emerson's voice pitched higher than usual, a sure sign she was hiding something. "Probably just... around. Doing lodge things."

Before Sloane could respond, Jared emerged, his teenage frame filling out more each month as he grew into his wolf shifter heritage. The kid had been working front desk duties under Emerson's watchful eye, learning the hospitality business from the ground up.

"Perfect timing," Emerson said, waving him over with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Jared, could you take these supplies and put them away?"

Sloane moved to intercept, reaching for the bags. "No, I can manage this myself."

"Absolutely not." Emerson stepped between Sloane and the supplies with the determination of someone on a mission. "You need to come with me for a minute. There's something... urgent that requires your attention."

The word 'urgent' sent a spike of alarm through Sloane's system, but the emotions flowing through the completed bond remained steady. Whatever was happening, her mates weren't in distress. If anything, the anticipation she felt from Kozue had intensified to an almost giddy level.

Sloane studied Emerson's face, noting the flush in her cheeks and the way she kept glancing toward the main corridor. "You're up to something."

"Me? Up to something?" Emerson's attempt at innocence fell flat. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Fine." Sloane crossed her arms, the green sundress she'd chosen that morning shifting with the movement. At least she hadn't worn her usual work clothes—jeans and a practical t-shirt that could handle whatever maintenance tasks the lodge demanded. "Lead the way."

Emerson guided Sloane down the main corridor, past the dining area and the guests' favorite reading nook. Their footsteps echoed in the unusual quiet, and Sloane found herself automatically cataloging potential threats even as she recognized the absurdity of the habit. This was her home. These were her people. The only danger here was whatever elaborate surprise her mates had orchestrated.

They stopped outside the ballroom doors—the elegant space typically reserved for guest weddings and special celebrations. The wooden doors were closed, but warm light leaked from beneath them, along with the faint sound of muffled voices.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sloane said, but her voice carried affection rather than annoyance.

Emerson's grin stretched wide enough to split her face. "Ready?"

Before Sloane could respond, Emerson threw open the ballroom doors with theatrical flair.

"SURPRISE!"

The word erupted from a hundred and fifty voices in perfect unison, and Sloane's breath caught in her throat. The ballroom had been transformed into something magical—streamers in rich autumn colors draped from the ceiling, tables laden with food that could only have come from Kozue's kitchen, and warm light that made everything glow.