Page 7 of Griffin

"Why you would want to spend your free time hanging around sweaty gamers in a crowded hall, I have no idea," Sawyer was saying on the phone.

"What I do in my free time is none of your business," I told him.

“The pack needs you,” Sawyer said dramatically. I rolled my eyes, barely resisting the urge to snort.

"Funny, I haven’t received any urgent calls or messages from Coop. You’re just lonely," I pointed out, grinning as I watched a couple of streamers show off their gameplay on a stage nearby.

"Shifts in the northern sector are always lonely," Sawyer muttered, and I could hear the faint rustling of wind through the phone.

He was on patrol, probably near the old logging road where the reception always got sketchy.

"Well, jokes aside, when are you coming back?" Sawyer pressed, his tone more serious now.

"The convention ends tomorrow," I said absentmindedly, my eyes drifting over the crowd.

And then I saw him. Michael.

A streamer I followed closely stepped out of his booth, his dark hair tousled in a way that looked both casual and annoyingly perfect.

He was flanked by Shawn, another streamer who was about as subtle as a train wreck.

Michael and Shawn had VIP passes around their necks, allowing them to skip the long line.

And here I was, with the other normal folks, waiting to try the game. The waiting didn’t bother me.

Shifters, as a rule, hated crowds.

Too many people, too much noise, and no space to breathe. It messed with our senses, made us feel trapped, and set our beasts on edge.

But my wolf had always been different, calmer. Centered.

My father had been the same way—his beast so composed that most humans didn’t even realize he was anything more than just another guy.

That trait helped both of us survive the brutal rule of our previous lead alpha. Too bad, my brother Noah wasn’t like me and dad.

His wolf was always restless and jumpy.

My thoughts inevitably drifted to my dad. I hadn’t meant to let my mind wander there, but it was hard not to.

The cold morning three months ago still haunted me—when I got that phone call from the hospital, the nurse’s voice calm but somber.

I could barely process the words at the time.

Your father’s been in a terrible accident.

Noah and I had rushed to the hospital, speeding through icy roads with nothing but dread gripping my chest.

I kept replaying it over in my mind—what could’ve happened? He was always so careful, always so aware of his surroundings.

Dad had drilled that into us as kids, teaching us the importance of paying attention, staying alert, keeping ourselves and others safe.

But when we got to the hospital, we found out it wasn’t just any accident. No, Dad had been a hero.

Turned out, he’d saved a little girl. Six years old, human, from being run over by a semi. He’d seen the truck coming when she darted into the street after a dropped toy.

Without a second thought, he pushed her out of the way. Of course, he had to go out like that. Like a damn hero.

But he hadn’t gone out, not completely. He survived the hit, just barely, and had been in a coma ever since.

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