Page 4 of Primal

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asks. “If not, there are signs that’ll direct you back to the Alpha’s place. Just know, if you reach the gathering hall, you’ve gone the wrong way.”

My head bobs once as the nerves in my gut further twist into a knot. “Yes, I believe I remember enough to find my way there.”

Danny’s dark brows pinch, the curiosity in his gaze amplifying.

Yes, I’m who you think I am, buddy.

“Well, I hope you have a good rest of your shift. Maybe I’ll see you when I leave.”

His throat clears. “Yeah, maybe. Shift change is only three hours away, though, so probably not.”

I wave this off with a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, Danny, if I’m here longer than two hours that means something has gone terribly wrong. I’ll see you on my way out.” My promise is more to myself than to the guard.I will not stay in this territory longer than I absolutely must.With that, I dip my chin in goodbye as I roll up my window.

The imposing gates swing open when the front of my army green Jeep is about ten feet away. With one last steadying breath and a silent prayer to Mom, I drive into the place that was once my sanctuary.

Chapter 2

Noa

It hits me like a blow straight to the diaphragm to drive the familiar winding roads that lead through the ten-thousand acres that make up the Fallamhain Pack territory. In many ways, it looks like nothing has changed, but in others, it couldn’t be more unrecognizable.

The old schoolhouse looks to have had an expansion added to it and there is a fresh coat of rich red paint on the sturdy wood siding. There’s also a new playground behind the building and…is that a chicken coop? The first day of school I ever attended was in that building, but when I was a student there, it hardly had enough room to house four classrooms. If I hadn’t already clocked how many new cabins sit where there used to be nothing but thick forest, the addition to the school alone would tell me how the pack’s numbers have grown.

The entrance to the trail I used to take down to the creek doesn’t exist anymore. Instead, what looks to be a general store of sorts resides there. The white paint and black trim give it a quaint farmhouse vibe that I would consider to be welcoming if it were located anywhere else. Next to the general store is anequally charming café. The glowing LED sign shaped like a cup of coffee makes my lips twitch.

Growing up here, one of the biggest nuisances we faced was that we had to drive thirty-five minutes to the shops in Silverthorne to purchase any kind of necessities. Even if deliveries were permitted, the community is tucked so deep into the Selkirk Mountain Range few companies were willing to make the drive to transport our goods. Those who were willing charged a small fortune. Forgetting something as simple as eggs turned into a whole ordeal come mealtime. Going to get coffee with my friends as a preteen was merely a wistful thought when I lived here, but now, it looks like the pack has lattes within walking distance.

In an odd way, it makes me happy to see the pack has found a way to become more self-sufficient. The growth and development of the community tells me in our absence, the pack has not only grown but also thrived.

For the first couple years when we were rebuilding our lives in Ashvale, my sulking teenage brain fixated on the possibilities of what could be happening back here. What had changed? Who had finally come into their wolves after they turned eighteen, and what designation did they present as once they shifted? Alpha, beta or omega? Did the classmates and friends I’d had since we were pups ever think about me the way I was still thinking about them? Were any of them lucky enough to find their fated mate?

I was around twenty when I finally swallowed the bitter pill of my new reality and forced myself to stop marinating in the grief of losing my pack and to stop getting lost in my thoughts of “home”. That “home” no longer existed for me.

So, I refused to allow my brain to wonder about the changes here or what was happening with the people I’d grown up with. None of it was any of my business anymore.

Taking the right turn where the paved road ends and transitions into a long gravel driveway, I learn those aren’t the only updates that have happened in my time away.

The Alpha’s house was always a grand structure. Even if Alpha Fallamhain lived here alone with just his son after his mate had died, council meetings and pack gatherings were often held here. Having plenty of space was not only a luxury, but a necessity for this home. In the years since I last saw it, the river rock and log cabin style McMansion has been modernized into a thing of architectural beauty. The sides of the home that aren’t made of light stacked stone and vertically placed black slats of rustic wood are made of large steel-framed floor-to-ceiling windows. The rooflines are sharp and elegant, and due to the chill in the mid-October air, smoke swirls out of the various stone chimneys. The updated, very contemporary design somehow still manages to have the rustic warmth and charm a traditional log cabin would have.

It couldn’t be more different from the historic Victorian manor I’ve called home these past years, but both homes are beautiful in their own rights.

Turning my attention away from the magazine-ready-style house, I carefully maneuver between other vehicles parked on the circle-shaped driveway to park behind a well-loved vintage baby-blue Land Rover.

My hands are shaking around the steering wheel I can’t seem to release. The energy coming from my contained animal is wreaking havoc on my nervous system. She bangs and thrashes against the glass walls that feel like they’re five feet thick. Her desperation is squeezing my insides, making it hard to so much as take in a lungful of air. Never in all my years of cohabitating with her has she behaved like this.

I’m considering sending up a silent apology to Mom and blowing this Popsicle stand haunted by memories and bad vibes when the large frame of a man appears in my rearview mirror.

“Shit!” I breathlessly yelp as I jump about a foot in my seat.

Not dramatic at all, Noa.

The way he’s positioned, I can only make out the wide expanse of his broad, dark T-shirt-covered chest, and his suntanned arms folded across it. For a second, I silently wonder if the man is the Alpha’s son. I try to conjure up a memory of what he looked like, but for the life of me, my mind’s eye remains frustratingly blank.

The man standing behind my Jeep shifts on his feet, alerting me to his impatience. With a painfully slow exhale, I remove my keys from the ignition and briefly look myself over in the mirror. Placing my sunglasses on my head, I straighten out the Bardot-style bangs framing my face and wipe away a bit of smudged mascara.

When I’m as presentable as I’m going to get, I glance at the still buckled-in urn in my passenger seat. There’s no point in taking it out of the car until I know the verdict of this meeting.

“I hope you knew what you were doing when you left me these fan-fucking-tastic instructions, Mom, because right now I’m thinking you were batshit crazy and it took me until this very second to realize it,” I grumble under my breath, hoping the shifter waiting for me doesn’t overhear me. My senses may be slightly enhanced but they’re about as useful as a human’s compared to a true shifter’s. I would wager that he can pick up on my erratic heartbeat from outside the vehicle.

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