Page 32 of A Wolfe in the Woods

He stepped beside me, pointing to the stalks beyond. “And that’s dewberry thistle. Fruit’s tart when raw, but if you steep it in hot water, it turns sweet. Supposedly clears out nightmares if you drink it before bed. Old witches’ tale.”

“And that?” I gestured to a coiling plant that looked half vine, half tendril, glowing faintly green.

“Whispervine. Sensitive to sound,” he said. “Even footsteps can cause it to curl up. We think it evolved as a defense against predators.”

I moved slowly, letting my eyes trace along the beds, soaking in every texture and hue. There were soft white fronds that pulsed when touched, tiny blue bulbs with feathery plumage, and long-fingered leaves that caught the light like opals. Everything felt enchanted in this hidden place, like something from a storybook—only it wasreal.

“This is incredible,” I breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like most of these.”

Jonathan nodded. “Juniper Woods is a protected natural habit and mostly unexplored. This is all native.”

Something familiar caught my eye.

A cluster of squat bushes growing along a shaded patch near the edge of a raised bed. I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. “Are those moonshade berries?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Sort of.”

I crouched slightly. The berries had the same deep purple color, nearly black and dusted with their signature silvery sheen, but the leaves were…different. Lighter, veined with streaks of silver-green that didn’t match any I’d ever seen.

“These are different,” I murmured.

“A variant,” Jonathan said. “I found them last year, growing wild near a cliff face on the far side of the forest. A part I never hiked before up by the Whispering Woods. Almost fell grabbing them. Lost a few in the process.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Oh my gods.”

“Would’ve been a hell of a way to go—plummeting to my death in pursuit of exotic jam ingredients.”

I laughed, not expecting the joke from him.

He glanced at the berries. “But I haven’t seen them since.” He paused before adding matter-of-factly, “Sometimes, out in these woods, you find things you weren’t looking for.”

I felt my cheeks heat, hearing something unspoken in the words.

I found myself staring at the moonshade variant, wondering how many other secrets were hidden in these woods, waiting to be discovered—and how many more might be hiding in the man standing next to me.

I reached out to gently touch one of the leaves. Just then, a butterfly softly landed on my hand. Its wings unfolded like stained glass in the light. Deep twilight blue laced with patterns of silver and lavender. The colors shimmered as it moved, delicate and luminous. I felt it looking at me from its sapphire eyespots.

A pandora gladelace butterfly.

I held still, catching my breath. I whispered, “Jonathan…”

“Damn, I think the sanctuary door was left open,” Jonathan said, moving quickly to check. Toward the far end of the enclosure, I followed, careful not to disturb the butterfly still resting on my hand. Strangely, it hadn’t flown away. Its wings shifted now and then, but it stayed with me.

Ahead, tucked into a corner, I saw what looked like a heavy canvas flap pulled to one side that was partially untied. A separate area lay beyond, hidden. Jonathan reached for the edge of the tarp and muttered. “I need to replace this end of the seal.”

Warm, fragrant air spilled out along with something sweeter, like honeysuckle and crushed mint balm.

“Go in, quickly,” he said. “Let her go in there.”

I carefully stepped forward, the canvas flap falling shut followed by the footfalls of Jonathan just behind.

For a moment, I didn’t dare breathe. I stood frozen, my senses overwhelmed. It felt like I had stepped through a tear inthe world, into an enchanted pocket of time. The light itself was unreal. Low, golden and glowing, as if filtered through liquid amber. It caught in the wings of the butterflies that filled the space. Dozens and dozens of them, floating gracefully through the air like living petals.

Towering stalks of bloomlace stood in clustered rings, their wide silver blossoms turned upward like little lanterns. Tall fronds of crestfern quivered with every fluttering wingbeat. Some plants grew in spiral formations, coaxing butterflies higher, while others drooped like canopies, shielding nooks filled with nectar pools and moss.

And the butterflies—gods, the butterflies. Not just pandora gladelace, but other species I didn’t recognize. Some bore translucent wings veined in violet and pearl. Others were small and ember-bright, like fallen stars made flesh. A pair of sun-yellow marabellums spiraled past my head, their spindly tails trailing iridescent mist.

I took a step forward, afraid to disturb the balance but needing to move. The gladelace—mine—still rested on my hand. At peace, like it knew it was home. My eyes stung. The beauty was almost…too much.