Page 40 of Alpha Unbound

The tension starts low and steady as I drive north, a slow coil winding tighter with every mile. Something’s been itching at the back of my neck for days, a nagging feeling that won’t let go. Not just the usual Rawlings pack noise, not just Waylon and the McKinley’s constant undercurrent of resentment. No, this feels older. Sharper. Like the land itself is waiting—watching.

The air grows colder the farther I go; the trees pressing closer, and my breath fogs in front of me in short, visible bursts. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, restless and tense. A low growl rises in my throat, involuntary, echoing the unease rolling off the forest itself, the light filtering through the canopy thinner and more reluctant. Even the wolves—both purebred and shifter—stay away from this stretch lately.

The birds don’t sing. The stillness has a texture to it—thick, like fog you can’t see but feel in your lungs.

Something out here is wrong. Deep-rooted, hidden, wrong.

And today, I’m done circling shadows. No more hesitating. No more waiting. I’m done waiting for truth to come to me. I’mgoing to dig until I find it. Whatever's buried out here—secrets, lies, Luke—I’m going to drag it into the light, claw by claw if I have to.

I cut the engine at the edge of the woods and move on foot, silent and steady. The change in the air is immediate. It's colder, but not in the way that bites—it coils. Creeps under your collar and settles there. The kind of cold that warns.

Every step feels heavier the farther I go. The weight isn’t just physical—it’s something older, pressing in from the trees and the soil, like the land is remembering too much. Pine needles crunch beneath my boots, their sound too sharp, too deliberate in the unnatural quiet. Even the wind avoids this stretch, as if nature itself knows not to stir. The forest holds still, not out of peace, but out of tension. Like it’s bracing for a scream that hasn’t come yet.

It’s not just the altitude. It’s the quiet. Not the peaceful kind—but the waiting kind. The kind that presses against your skin and sets your hackles up. That strained, listening kind of quiet. The kind that prickles your instincts, makes your wolf lift its head, ears forward, nostrils flared. The kind that whispers: you’re not alone. And worse—you’re being hunted.

I head toward the ridge where our territory edges the southern line. It’s a stretch I know like the back of my hand—where the pine thins just enough for sightlines, where the ground drops steep enough to catch trespassers off guard. We’ve used it for scouting runs, late-night watches, and border challenges. But this morning, the shadows feel different. Heavier. Like they’re hiding something instead of just stretching with the rising sun. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, ears pinned and hackles raised. Something’s out here. Something that doesn’t belong.

I drop to one knee near the base of a spruce tree, my hand steady despite the icy tension crawling up my spine. Thefrost-slick leaves move beneath my fingers with a soft crackle, releasing the damp scent of earth and pine. I brush them aside carefully, deliberately—half-expecting to find nothing, half-dreading what I might uncover. But there it is, glinting faintly in the dull morning light. Not a rock. Not debris. Something unnatural. Something left behind.

A metal glint. Something small, embedded deep in the roots like it was planted with precision. It doesn’t catch the light so much as absorb it, sleek and dark, made to vanish in shadow. A predator’s tool. My pulse kicks. This isn’t careless litter—it’s a goddamn message. A quiet, calculated intrusion. And it’s been watching us for a while.

I pull it loose and roll it in my palm, the weight of it small but significant. Surveillance gear. Sleek. Military-grade, maybe even experimental—this isn’t off-the-shelf junk. New. High-end. Far beyond anything my pack could afford or would even think to use. The casing is matte, designed to avoid reflection, and the build is too clean, too deliberate. This was meant to stay hidden, meant to watch without being noticed. But it’s here, buried in our land, and now it’s in my hand.

I turn it over. No tags. No markings. But it’s not anonymous—it’s intentional. The way it’s buried? Deep. Hidden like a landmine, not a mistake. The location? Pinpointed at the edge of where our patrols cycle, a blind spot only someone with knowledge of our routines would exploit. It’s not just random. It’s surgical. Strategic.

And then I catch it... that scent. It rides the edge of the wind, tucked beneath layers of pine and damp earth, almost buried—but not quite. It’s faint. Fading. But I know it like I know my own blood. That blend of cedar smoke and iron, salt and something wilder. It hits me square in the chest and stops my breath. Luke. My gut clenches, memory slamming into instinct. He’s been here. Recently.

Luke McKinley.

I straighten slowly, every muscle coiled like a wire pulled taut. My chest goes tight as the truth clicks into place. He was close enough to leave a trace, careful enough to hide it. And he didn’t want to be seen. This isn’t backwoods rigging or a moonshiner’s paranoid setup. This is something else—something sophisticated. Bigger. Military, maybe. More likely private. Covert. Expensive, too. The kind of tech that doesn’t get used unless someone really wants answers—or leverage. And Luke? He wasn’t just sneaking around. He was studying something specific. Preparing for something. And I intend to find out what.

I pocket the gear and head back, my pace faster now. The Hollow isn’t just remembering anymore... it’s watching.

After the revelations of the day, I lose myself in Kate’s arms. Later that night, Kate curls against me in our bed, her bare legs tangling with mine, the skin-on-skin heat making it impossible to tell where she ends and I begin. Her thigh brushes my hip with every breath she takes, a slow tease that keeps my nerves lit like kindling. Her skin is still warm and flushed, her pulse a steady rhythm echoing softly against my ribs like it knows the beat of my own heart.

Her hair spills across my shoulder like wild silk, and I tangle my fingers in it, breathing her in—earth and heat and something so purely, impossibly Kate that it grounds me deeper than anything else ever has. She moves just slightly, her lips brushing against my collarbone, not quite a kiss, but enough to send a low hum of need curling through my core.

Her head on my chest feels like it has always belonged there, her breath is slow and even now, but I can feel the tension humming low beneath her stillness. This closeness is everything, yet it isn’t nearly enough. And I know exactly what she means.

Because it’s the same way I feel.

Like this is the only place we were ever going to end up. And maybe it is. She belongs here—against me, with me, completely. She always has.

I press a kiss to her temple.

She hums. “You’re thinking too loud.”

“Caught something near the ridge,” I say quietly.

She stiffens. Not all at once, but in that way I’ve come to recognize—the kind that starts in her spine and moves outward, her breath going still, her fingers tightening ever so slightly against my ribs. Her wolf feels it, too. I can tell. A subtle tension hums in her body, alert and coiled.

“Surveillance,” I continue. “Not ours. Buried deep. Hidden well. I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t looking.”

She lifts her head slowly. “Did you find...?”

“His scent.”

Her breath hitches, sharp and silent, like the sound of a trap snapping shut. Her spine arches just slightly, as if every nerve in her body has gone taut. My hand tightens around her waist, grounding her as her lips part, but no sound escapes.

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