Dante sanded down the rough edges of a metal sheet, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Three more sides to go, and then it would be time for lunch break.

He glanced around the powder-coating shop. Heard the electric motors in the background, the low hum of the kiln.

“Need some help?” his coworker asked.

Dante shook his head. “No. Thanks.”

This workshop took some getting used to. Instead of band saws and electric planers, there were huge ovens, jets to sand-blast metal surfaces so they could be coated with powder, and then baked. Instead of shopping carts squeaking around, there were only metal-and-plastic tools, and the serious faces of his new coworkers.

It wasn’t a bad place—these guys were non-magic. They’d taken a chance on Dante and offered him work. But it also wasn’t the workshop in the canyon, where Finn sometimes played music, dancing around the wagons and cracking jokes. This workshop was high-ceilinged, white-walled, and it felt so sterile.

Damn it, Finn.

Dante sighed. It had been ten days since the breakup. And yet he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t stop thinking about Finn, about the pups in Finn’s belly.

How was Finn now? Was the pack treating him better now that Dante was gone? Did he miss Dante at all?

Dante turned the metal sheet, running the belt sander along its edge. Tried not to think about Finn in the canyon, working, breathing, touching his belly.

It wasn’t like Finn had died. Dante wasn’t grieving like he had five years ago. But, gods, if he could pull Finn into his arms again...

The nagging worry in his chest reared its head. Maybe Finn did need Dante. Maybe the black wolves would return to the canyon to see if Dante was there. Maybe they’d find Finn instead.

The worry deepened into a cold chill.

Dante had made sure to drop trails when he left the canyon. He’d marked some trees with his scent, left a few pieces of ripped socks here and there, leading all the way to Los Angeles.

But what if the scent faded? What if they wanted Finn as a bait? Dante had caused his accomplices no small amount of trouble. Some of them had been caught and jailed. Some had their properties taken away from them.

Shouldn’t have let them find me with Finn.

He sanded the third edge of the sheet, trying to explain his worries away. Finn had his pack. Plenty of alphas there. He should be fine. There was no reason for Dante to go back.

But what if? Finn lived alone in his cabin, with his nearest neighbor a quarter-mile away. As much as Crumpet loved his owner, he couldn’t defend against a pack of wolves.

The worry in Dante’s chest deepened into a whirlpool, consuming the rest of his thoughts.

As soon as he finished the fourth edge, Dante pulled his phone out, dialing Finn’s number. Listened as the dial tone rang over and over, and Finn never answered.

Maybe Finn was busy. Maybe he’d left his phone in the cabin, and the noise from the workshop machines drowned out the phone’s ringtone.

Then the call went through, and Dante’s heart leaped.

“Hello, this is Finn’s Woodworking Workshop,” the recording of Finn’s voice said.

Dante’s heart sank. It wasn’t Finn. He’d spent so long talking to Finn in his head that he’d forgotten Finn even had voicemail. And yet... even Finn’s tinny voice was a welcome sound to Dante’s ears.

“I’m not able to answer your call right now. Leave your message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Then the voicemail beeped, and there was silence.

“Hey,” Dante said, his tongue thick with worry. “Just checking on you. I hope you’re safe out there. Take care of yourself. And the pups. Just... just wanted you to know that.”

Then he ended the call and crammed his phone back in his pocket, trying not to think about it. He’d spent the past week fine, not worrying about Finn. If something had happened to him, Old Bill or Finn’s brothers would’ve called by now.

But what if a call was too late?

Dante looked at his phone, and realized he’d spent the past five minutes staring at the metal sheet, his hands shaking.

It wasn’t as though Finn’s brothers visited every day. Old Bill wasn’t great with walking long distances, much less protecting Finn. What Finn needed was someone at his side—an alpha. Dante.

Was Dante enough? Was he worrying for nothing?

At nights, while he rested on the higher boughs of the street-side trees, Dante had tried talking to his wolf. He’d let it sniff his hand like Finn had shown him, he’d sat with it and watched the moon.

Maybe it was working, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he could control his wolf better now.

Maybe he wouldn’t lose control this time.

When the worry clawed up his throat, Dante abandoned the metal sheet, crossing the workshop to where his boss was. “Hey, I gotta go,” Dante said.

Charles looked up, his forehead crinkling. “What’s up? You’re sprouting fur.”

Dante was. He touched his tongue to his teeth, finding his fangs. “My o—Someone needs me. I don’t know if I’ll be back today.”

Charles pressed his lips together. “I needed that piece you were working on.”

“I’ve sanded the edges,” Dante said. “Dock my pay if you have to. I’m sorry.”

Then the worry slid through his veins. He stepped back, felt his bones ache and stretch as he turned into a wolf.

Dante loped out of the workshop, barely hearing Charles’s sigh.

His omega was more important. Finn needed him; Dante felt it in his bones.