Calder Varkas || Mayor

The deep indigo sky stretched over Crystal Ridge, a bustling small town tucked into the Colorado Rockies. Snow blanketed the streets, softening the glow of streetlamps and muffling the distant sounds of late-night activity. With around 2,500 permanent residents—some human, some not—it had the charm of small-town America, where everyone knew each other’s business, but most didn’t know the half of it.

It was the beginning of the winter tourist season, but for now, things were still quiet. The big influx of visitors wouldn’t come for a few weeks, when the slopes became fully covered in snow. For now, the town remained mostly theirs—wolves and humans coexisting in the fragile balance they maintained.

Calder exhaled, his breath curling into the cold night air as he glanced up at the sky. Another quiet night. He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the tension that always came with making sure nothing stirred in the dark. He never truly let his guard down—being alpha meant keeping watch, always. His patrol had been uneventful, but the unease still lingered. The Bloodfang Pack was pressing too close, trying to encroach on their borders, and a rogue band led by Ciro “Ghost” Navarro had been stirring trouble in the Rockies.

Bastard’s getting bold. Damn shame some wolves don’t hibernate.

His wolf rumbled at the thought of the unpredictable rogue alpha, but Calder shoved the irritation aside. Tonight he’d grab a drink with his sister Rebekah, let the warmth of the Frosted Willow Inn chase away the cold, and forget about the storm brewing—at least for a little while.

A flicker of golden light shone ahead as he neared the inn, nestled at the edge of town where Main Street’s cozy storefronts faded into the wilderness. Its stone-and-log structure was dusted with fresh snow, lanterns flickering on the porch, and the glow from the windows promised warmth and comfort. He popped a foil-wrapped chocolate into his mouth, the rich taste melting on his tongue. A small comfort—one he was never without.

One day, someone’s gonna stage an intervention, I swear. Little do they know it’s my secret to stayin’ sane.

Calder stepped inside shaking the snow from his fur-lined parka, as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him. The scent of burning wood, cinnamon, and fresh coffee welcomed him. The inn was all Rebekah—cozy, inviting, and a haven in the cold. Rebekah’s blue eyes met his as he crossed the threshold. “Hey there, big brother. Finished with your rounds?”

“For now,” he said, ruffling snow from his auburn hair and flashing a warm smile at her.

She gave him a knowing look. “Staying long or just passing through?”

“Storm’s picking up. Figure I’d stick around ‘til it eases.” He slid into a comfy armchair by the fire, letting the heat sink into his bones. Outside, snow fell in soft flurries, blanketing the town in white. His cabin wasn’t far, just a short drive through the woods, but he was in no rush. The inn was quiet tonight, just a few regulars nursing drinks in the corner. The kind of night that made it easy to forget the dangers lurking in the woods beyond town.

A few hours later, the storm had turned into a full-blown blizzard, the wind howling through the trees. Calder had finally let his guard down, lulled by the quiet hum of conversation and the steady warmth of the fire. Then, the door opened, bringing with it a gust of cold air, sending a chill through the room. Calder barely noticed because with it came a scent, a scent so rich, so intoxicating, it hit him like lightning, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the air.

What in tarnation?

His nose twitched subtly, sorting through the oddly enticing scent, unfamiliar but it called to something deep inside him. Something primal. His muscles tensed, his pulse hammered, and his breath hitched as instinct roared to life. His wolf snapped to attention.

Griffin’s voice cut through the static in Calder's head. “Got company. Found ‘em stranded on the road. Car’s dead. Figured the inn’s a better option than freezing to death out there. Lookin’ like the storm won’t be letting up anytime soon.”

Calder barely heard his best friend. His gaze locked onto the newcomer as they stepped inside, shivering from the cold. The scent wrapped around him, intoxicating and inescapable. It didn’t just linger in the air—it called to him, irresistible, undeniable. His fingers twitched against the arm of the chair, his usual easy composure cracking. His wolf was on edge, prowling beneath his skin, demanding he move closer.

What’s happenin' to me? Just a fevered imagination of an overworked, overstressed man?

Rebekah was already moving, ever the gracious host. “You must be freezing. Come in, warm up—we’ve got plenty of room."

Calder stood, slow and deliberate. The pull was overwhelming, coiling deep in his chest, an ancient force awakening from its slumber. His eyes met the stranger's and the bond flared to life, sparking like dry tinder catching the flame. His wolf surged forward, howling in his mind, relentless and clawing to break free.

Our mate. His wolf screamed.

Calder fought the sudden surge, trying to regain control.

Holy Hell. Steady, Calder.

He fought it, with every ounce of his self-control, with every shred of his iron will, with every bit of the cold, hard strength he'd honed over the years, the strength that made him the leader he was, the strength that made him the protector he'd sworn to be. He fought it and he won. Barely. Enough to stand there, to greet them like a true gentleman, to make the words sound almost natural.

He swallowed hard and closed the distance. “Calder Varkas. Mayor of Crystal Ridge.” His voice, deeper and richer than usual, was steady and carried that familiar warmth, but his pulse was anything but. He stretched out a calloused hand in greeting, the fingers of his other tapped absently against his thigh—a nervous tic he didn’t even register. “Welcome, why don’t you come sit by the fire, darlin’? Warm up. Lucky Sheriff Maddox found ya when he did. Up here, people die in storms like these.” The air felt thick, electric with something he couldn’t explain. He did his best to mask the depth of what he felt.

Griffin, his ever-perceptive bastard of a best friend, smirked, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly, noticing the shift in Calder’s demeanor. He shot a quick glance at Calder. He didn’t comment, but his silence spoke volumes. He knew exactly what was going on. Calder found his mate.

"Griff," Calder said with a slight growl, feeling his best friend's probing eyes dart over him. "Goin' back on patrol, right?"

Griffin let out a low chuckle. "Nope. Not on your life. I'm staying here for a spell." Griffin needed to watch this unfold. "Interesting times and all." Rebekah, oblivious, just smiled, waiting to be of service.

“You gotta name,” Calder asked them, his gaze never wavering. His wolf was already sure. But his rational side—what little of it was left—needed to hear their voice. Because nothing would ever be the same after this.