Page 44 of Wolf's Reckoning
She was already barely hanging on. I cursed under my breath as I turned to face north. I needed to follow the scent because this wasn’t just about me anymore.
I doubted it had been for a long time.
“You need to go back to the pack,” I told Killian. “Tell the druid I’m on a trail. Tell Lewis, and Malric if he’s still able.”
“Fuck off, I’m coming with you.”
I shook my head. “No. I need you there, need you to deal with the fallout. You know how to do it,” I added with a grin. “You must be an expert in it by now.”
Killian looked over his shoulder and then back at me. “Um…me and your little ray of sunshine didn’t bond so well.”
I fought the urge to laugh. “All the more reason for you to go back, build a solid foundation.” I pulled my shirt off. “I’ll be a few days at most.”
“A few days?—”
I’d already shifted and was running north.
Ass move, dickhead.
Killian’s beratement was sharp and sour, and I let loose my laugh as my wolf ran fast on the trail of a rogue.
The further I went,the quieter the forest got. No birdsong. No wind. Not even the hum of insects under the bark. Just silence—and the soft crunch of my paws over pine needles as I followed the scent trail like a thread through something ancient.
It was faint, but it lingered. Whoever passed through didn’t care about hiding.
That was the first bad sign. The second came when I found the deer.
Its throat was torn out—too messy for a clean kill, too precise for a wild one. The meat left to rot. The eyes pecked by crows, but the rest untouched. A kill made not for hunger…but for practice.
I crouched beside it, fingers ghosting over the edges of the wound. Deep. Jagged. Almost frenzied.
But not random.
The third sign? The claw marks in the tree trunk beside it. Deliberate. Etched too low to be territorial. They were meant to be seen.
A message. Someone was hunting on Blueridge Hollow land—and making damn sure we knew it.
I stood slowly, every part of me shifting into alpha mode. This wasn’t a straggler. This wasn’t a lone wolf looking for shelter or scraps.
This was a test. Something or someone was probing the pack’s defenses.
That pack wasn’t ready. Rowen wasn’t ready. No matter how much she thought she was.
If I told her now, she’d take it as another move for control. Another move in a game she didn’t want to play. But this wasn’t a game anymore. This was the sound the forest made when it held its breath before the storm.
I looked north, toward where the trail twisted into thicker woods. More signs. More scent. Taunting me north.Why? I turned south. Back toward the Hollow itself. Because if this was a warning shot…the next one would be aimed at the pack, ather, and I wasn’t about to let anyone else take a piece of Rowen or her pack.
Not while I was breathing. I headed south. My instincts were urging me back to the Hollow, and they’d never failed me before.
By the time I reached the pack’s outer wards, the sun was starting to bleed into the trees. Gold through green. Beautiful. Peaceful.
Deceiving.
I came in through the eastern ridge, the same way I used to when I’d sneak around to meet her. Back then, it felt like freedom. Now? It felt like walking into a fire I’d already burned in once. I circled back to where I’d left my clothes and dressed hurriedly.
I saw Killian’s influence immediately when I spotted the guards. They stiffened as I approached. One sniffed the air and flinched.
Good. Let them smell it. Let themfeelit.
