A lone, black Toyota RAV4 crept slowly up the hill, its wheels crunching over the gravel pathway to guide it, music turned off, golden lights spilling out to illuminate the well-worn grooves of a driveway. Just beyond were three more cars, parked, of varying makes and models, their engines long cold, and they lined themselves up perfectly against a house of grey brick. It was a house that Ashlynn Rivera had grown up in, but she hardly recognized it now, without its old, pinstripe curtains that framed the enormous bay window or sun-bleached beige paint peeling upon the shutters that looked like sleepy eyelids. It struck her in a sort of nostalgia nonetheless, despite modernized orbular lanterns decorating the porch or the new, extravagant statuettes that flanked tough, violet hydrangeas. Parking her car next to the others and withdrawing her keys, she emerged, pausing to inhale the air of the mountains, of home, appreciating the bruised and purpled light leaking from a languid sunset. It was bracing, that breath of life, sinking the recollections into her lungs, filling her ears with words and sounds and laughter. Not that she minded the city any - loved it even - though the scent of the ocean could clog her senses should she linger too long by its side, but it did not have any time with her. There was simply something about returning home.<br/><br/>Wild locks secured at the back of her head with a scrunchy, the chill breeze was free to lick at the back of her neck, filling the length of her spine with errant goosebumps. It was an odd comfort, but took it for its value, its preciousness. Mounting the stairs to the porch, she watched the wood wind chimes to her left, dancing playfully on the gentle breeze, its lowest piece a sharply curved moon. A wolf carved of stone howling to the moon on the balustrade to her right, its edges and paws touched with the scars of aged moss. She smirked, tapping it once of the head for good luck. That, at least, hadn’t changed. She didn’t bother to knock, pulling on the screen door, but she was answered by loved ones anyway, by friends, by memories that she hadn’t the moment to think about in some time. They had drawn her close into hugs, kissed her, openly displayed their plethora of emotions in unabashed excitement. An hour later and they had moved from the doorway to a finely carved table, seated in a circle, though Ash was standing, pouring a mix from a cocktail shaker into three martini glasses.<br/><br/>“How’s the store been going?” Janis asked to turn the attention to her, spoken over her personal mug of herbal tea - rooibos from the look of its crimson depths - while one hand rested on the curve of her swollen stomach. It hadn’t taken long after her marriage to Avery, and Ash wouldn’t have expected it to, having remembered their constant puppy eyes and suave blushes in moments that they thought no one was looking. It had only been a few months since the Wolford Winery store had been open in L.A., and business was incredible. They were getting more attention than they had expected, making back what they’d spent faster than they had planned. It helped to have the space that they did, on the corner that they did, with the craftsmanship that they did, and she would not discount the power of her employees, all eager and vivacious even before they cracked open their own bottles.<br/><br/>“It’s great, but everyone is asking for Connie’s digits. The stuff she made for us is gorgeous. She’s stealing our thunder,” Ash teased, having pulled up images on her phone and passing it over to Avery, who was ardently peering over his woven hands. She nodded to the woman in question that sat across from her, a blonde with sawdust lightly brushing her left cheek. She’d arrived after Ash had, hard at work in her woodshop since her father had passed, but her artistry was better than ever, more passionate than most woodworkers could be accounted for. She’d considered moving to the city as well, but she was always hesitant to change, and her father’s shop - her shop - now held colossal sentimental value.<br/><br/>“Yeah, but how many people have asked your number, Ash?” Jaime asked from her other side, slick brow arched high, though he’d earned himself a pointed look with lips pressed into a thin line.<br/><br/>“They just want free wine,” she laughed it off, rolling her dark eyes, the soft job sufficient enough to stave off the curious interests of one friend. Not another, she knew, whose blue eyes had suddenly gone sharp with inquisition that nearly nothing could sate. Before Janis could open that mouth to vomit up the dissatisfied conversation of men and boyfriends, already disapproving as she was of the one or two casual flings she’d heard of in the past - ‘there was nothing wrong with them, but she had different expectations of an alpha-to-be’ - Ash raised her glass in a toast. To the famous four, to past adventures, to new adventures, to the separate ways that all the beautiful souls at the table had gone and the way that it drew them back together. It was enough to get the attention away from her, not that she didn’t love it, but she wanted that moment on all of them, proud that they hadn’t destroyed themselves, their bond, as so many did after such a polarizing death.<br/><br/>“You go back tomorrow, don’t you?” Janis asked later, forearms deep in warm, soapy water with Ashlynn by her side, rag and mug in hand.<br/><br/>“Yeah. Early morning. I still have to open up the store. I’ve trained Lindsay on how to do it just in case, but…” She shrugged. “I like doing it. I like the purpose.” She finished drying off the mug and returned it to a cupboard, turning to notice the odd look in her old friend’s eye, something she had seen before, and it disturbed her.<br/><br/>“I just… I have this feeling, Ash. Something’s going to happen. I don’t know what, but…” Janis verbalized the look in her eyes, shaking her head lightly and turning back to washing. “I just wish you weren’t so alone in that city. Aren’t there any wolves from a respectable pack that you’ve met? There’s got to be at least one cute one…”<br/><br/>A humored snort and Ash worked on the glasses. “Rochdale is the oldest and most respectable pack this side of the States. None of them would be good enough for you. Besides, they’re either pure city-slickers or actors and I don’t think you would feel any better if I settled down with either.”<br/><br/>“Well, not settle… but I guess you’re right… Ash, I just have this feeling-”<br/><br/>“I know, I know. It’ll all be good,” Ash promised confidently, kissing the top of Janis’ head and walking away to put the glasses back in their cabinet.<br/><br/>“You’ll be back in a few months, right?” Janis questioned from behind her and without looking, she knew that she was giving her a righteous, maternal glare. It was a skill she’d adopted since she’d realized she was the oldest of the group as kids. Being the youngest in her family, it was a treasured thing. It had been Ash’s hope to return around the time of the baby’s birth in several months, closing the store for the week if she needed to, and she knew that fiery Janis would have her fur if she didn’t.<br/><br/>“Absolutely. Anything for my niece or nephew!” Ash assured her and that had seemed to satisfy her enough. She’d reclined to the couch for the night after, beneath the enormous bay window, now with mahogany drapes. Connie was snuggled up next to her, Jaime on the loveseat adjacent to them, and they flipped through photos years old that Avery had finally gotten developed, obsession that he had for disposable cameras and never developing them. It was just before the dawn that she woke out of habit, covering Connie with the blanket that they’d shared and gently nudging Jaime from his back to his side so he’d stop his infernal snoring. Only Avery was awake in the house, his wife more restful than when she was not pregnant, and they shared a pot of coffee before she said her goodbyes again. Only a short number of months, she had assured them, though she knew it soothed little. She was one of the few of the Rochdale pack that was comfortable with such drastic change.<br/><br/>There hadn’t been time for a run, much as Ashlynn wanted to sprint along the mountail trails, watch the gold of the raw sun spill onto Lake Aria, like a foaming waterfall from between Mt. Tunstead and Mt. Lerwick. Instead, she drove to a behemoth barn of a building, catching Delano Pierce as he was unlocking the front door, a burly man in his fifties that was no less built like a truck. Upon sight of her, he waved her over, smiling as warmly as he ever did, and they worked together to carry stacks of white boxes into her car. With the back seats down, they didn’t stop until it was filled, giving her only so much room to see out of the back window. It was often that he made the deliveries to the store, but she’d wanted to come up after she’d had enough employees not to feel guilty for a day or two off.<br/><br/>The stop to her parent’s house was last, joining them quietly for breakfast, and though she had seen them for lunch the day prior, her father was chattier than usual, his joviality invigorated. Her mother countered it with pointed or affectionate looks, the occasional touch of a calloused, proud hand. They had left shortly after for the affairs of alphas, of people who worked for a living instead of scrounging off the wealth of their pack. There, Ash showered, knowing she wouldn’t have time to stop by her apartment, scrubbing her body with a subtle and soft sage and lavender soap bar with little bits of the herbs inside, gentle enough for a wolf’s nose. She dressed herself nicely, playfully, in a grey tank with lace paneling in a deep ‘v’ down her chest, exquisitely peeking at the black bralette beneath. Fitted denim was flush against the lean curve of her legs, the swell of her hips, comfortable sneakers beneath a bootcut leg to carry her through the day. It was often that she didn’t stop moving until the winery closed. Though she did not don makeup, she did guard herself with a plethora of personal jewelry. A dragon’s breath opal rested at the base of her throat upon a silver chain, its fiery red heavily cerulean flecked. A line of silver hoops flowed along the curve of her ears, matching a plain, silver ring that encircled her right pinky. On her left wrist was a plain, black watch, coupled with a leather circlet that embraced an infinity symbol.<br/><br/>Once she was ready, she got into her car, bid her beautiful hometown goodbye, and cranked the radio up - windows down - to sing to every song on her Spotify list that she knew by heart. The number was many. It was about an hour and a half later that she broke through the mountains and saw Los Angeles. Some time later, still, that she was able to pull up on a vibrant street with vibrant shops, a bit of a ‘foodie’ district if any. Her store was on the corner of it, dropping the modern stonework and flashy signs for rural simplicity. It was intricately carved, framed in glazed cedar, as rustic and breathtaking as she’d been able to design it. A great glass front greeted the public, exhibiting a proud cascade of their bottles, decorated with polished, fake grapes, with exceptional woodwork crafted meticulously by hand. Above was a frosted image upon the glass, a stylized wolf head with ‘Wolford Winery’ curving brazenly beneath it, as blatant and as cheeky as it could be.<br/><br/>Entering the shop, Ash unlocked her side of the sliding door that opened into Meadow Creek Cafe next door, and it opened a second later, the owner - a much older woman named Jasmine - hugged her with delight. They had become generous partners, each bolstering one another, strengthening. She bought coffee for her employees, pleased with the aroma seeping through her shop, and they seemed just as pleased as they began to file through the door.<br/><br/>The rest of the day had been normal, simple. There was no immediate rush at the start, seeing as it was the middle of the week, but it was surprisingly steady. When the evening began to draw closer, the wine bar was a flurry of life, several of her employees flitting back and forth between several people to offer tastings in small, plastic cups. They would clamber over the stack of lists on the maple countertop, writing notes with short pencils and checking off names, with rosy cheeks and clumsy smiles. Some had small cakes of artisan cheeses on plates before them, offered by the cafe, and they would casually lift one after a few sips of dark liquid. Ashlynn was moving quickly from her last trip to her car, carefully placing down two boxes of Concord, smiling pleasantly at the tipsy customer who was attempting to flirt with her from the end of the bar. It didn’t bother her any, and she laughed it off, pleased enough when she knew the sober gentleman next to him was the designated ride home. It was when she was putting several of the large bottles on the display rack near the front that the door swung open and softly hit the bell that lingered above it in a clear, soothing tone.