Page 59 of Enemy Wolf

“Stay out of this, prophet,” I growled. “Nobody touches that dragon but me.”

“You can’t take on a dragon by yourself and win,” he argued. “Shiloh won’t be impressed by your burnt-up corpse. Quit being an idiot, and let your pack back you up.”

“My mate deserves justice even if she’s done with me.” I got up close and personal to my packmate’s face. Tryn and I were pretty evenly matched if it came to a scuffle, but I had the advantage of vengeance burning through me. “Get out of my way, and let me do this one last thing for her.”

“You know I saw your mate thread while I was finding your truth thread. Want to know what it looked like?”

I hesitated for too long but resisted the carrot he dangled in my face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not right for her.”

“It was strong, bright. No frayed bits or knots in it. It looked damn near unbreakable. I’ve seen mate threads that look as thin as hairs, just waiting for that straw on the camel’s back to break it.”

“Well, rest assured. That will be ours soon.”

“For fucking moon’s sake, Orson! It doesn’t have to be.” Tryn’s frustration was palpable, but that was nothing new. “Your connection with your mate has to be tended to, cared for and nurtured. It’s not too late to save it, but if this fucking dragon kills you, it will be.” The prophetic wolf leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you want Shiloh to mourn you for the rest of her life?”

“She won’t mourn me,” I said. “At least not for long.”

“She does want you, even if she’s hurt and confused. This suicide mission is not the way to go.”

“Fucking shit, Tryn! How come you don’t have a mate if you know so damn much?”

He only seemed amused by my outburst, stroking his beard with a chuckle. “It turns out, I can’t see my own fate threads. Everyone else is fair game, but when it comes to myself, I guess the moon decided I’d best be left in the dark.”

It wasn’t lost on me what a burden that must be, to see everyone’s fate except your own. But in any case, it wasn’t my business. Not my concern. Tryn was trying to look out for me as a brother would, but even if he could see my fate, he didn’t walk in my paws. He hadn’t lived my life, couldn’t know this bloodthirst on my tongue that would only be satisfied by half brother’s death.

“I hope fate is kind to you, Tryn,” I said. “I hope the moon’s light shows your path and leads you to your destiny. Now please get out of my way, because this is mine.”

My packmate’s lip curled and he didn’t budge. “I have half a mind to throw you in a damn kennel like a human’s pet.”

“I don’t want to fight, but if you do, there’ll be blood on your muzzle.”

“I know. You see me wrasslin’ you?”

Tryn spread his arms, staying in place. I shoved past him, and the only resistance he gave was his body weight.

“You have the right to make your own choices, Orson,” he called, still facing the inside of my room as I went for the stairs. “I wish you would trust that this is a wrong one.”

I hesitated on the middle landing. “I know it is.”

“Then why do it?”

I shook my head and continued my way down. “Because doing the wrong thing is all I’m good at.”

* * *

Once outside the lodge, I stripped off my clothes and shifted. I took a moment to check out the scent trails of my packmates that had dispersed throughout the territory, then picked one heading north to follow. This way, it wouldn’t— at first— seem like I’d gone rogue. By the time they figure it out, hopefully the deed would be done.

A few miles later, the trail took a left, rounding the foothills at the base of our mountain range. I kept heading north, climbing the first rise in elevation like a human running up an escalator.

This was a different route than Shiloh and I had taken on my bike, but it would lead to the same peak. I couldn’t pinpoint the instinct, couldn’t locate the how or why I knew Mokir would be there, but my certainty was absolute.

It was like following a scent trail but not exactly. Something deep and instinctual that I’d never felt before guided me. I had never even been aware of it before today, before Mokir said I had some dragon inside me.

Sawyer and Fallon said their mates believed themselves to be human until their latent wolves woke up in the presence of others of our kind. Could it be the same for me when it came to my dragon half?

I was the only hybrid shifter I knew of, and no one seemed to have the answers. Not the ancient wisdom of the feral pack who took me in, nor the modern Howling Death, or the witches with their wealth of magic and history. I never belonged anywhere because I was the only one of my kind.

I had only ever felt like I had belonged with Shiloh, and now that was destroyed. Even if she came to the conclusion that Mokir had been lying, could she really trust me again, knowing what I was? Her mother had betrayed the wolves of Vargmore for helping the dragons, for fuck’s sake. Shiloh had been trying to get away from that shameful association all her life. And then to have me as a mate? She was smarter than that. Better than that.

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