Page 33 of Heroes & Hitmen
Fuck.
I bolt for the doors, the warm night air hitting my face like a slap as I push through. The moon’s not fully risen yet, but I can feel its energy pulsing as I hustle down the street, eating up the distance to my truck in long strides. I happened to find street parking earlier when I came back from getting food, and when I turn the corner at the end of the block, it’s parked right where I left it. So at leastonething’s going right for me tonight.
Digging into my pocket for the keys, I hit the fob to unlock my truck, throwing the door open and sliding in behind the wheel. As I start the engine, I pull my phone out to navigate to the forest preserve.
NotDes Plaines.
Forest Glen Woods.
The route populates and I hitGO, pulling into traffic and weaving through the tight lanes with a single-minded focus I haven’t felt in a long time.
This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve done in a while. I don’t know what the consequences are for showing up at the wrong preserve, but I do know that Alpha Gage doesn’t appreciate surprises. I suppose I could say I got confused, got my orders mixed up.OrI could just not get caught, which seems like the better option.
The further I drive from downtown, the more the city falls away around me. Glass towers give way to squat industrial buildings, then strip malls, then the blur of trees. The sky opens up, glowing with the rising pull of the moon.
Eventually, the preserve gates come into view, flanked by wooden posts with a fading metal sign that clearly readsClosed After Dusk. But the gate itself is standing open, someone having cleared the way. Maybe the Alpha has an agreement with the city. Maybe he just doesn’t care.
I hesitate at the threshold, the engine idling. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at Des Plaines preserve, my assigned site for the run. But my gut won’t let me turn around. Against my better judgment, I ease through the gate and pull in.
The parking lot’s crowded enough that nobody seems to notice when I slip into a dark corner and cut the engine, watching intently from the shadows as people exit their cars and join the gathering crowd near the entrance. My eyes scan each face, but I don’t see Miley amongst them.
More cars roll in. I recognize a few faces as they step out into the light– pack members, enforcers, Miley’s sisters. Then her father, striding across the lot with purpose. But still, no sign ofher.
My wolf presses hard against the inside of my skin, agitated and alert. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. Neither do I.
I flick on my phone, thumb quickly navigating to the map. The preserve’s boundaries glow blue against the black screen. Off to theeast, a faint grey line curls around the back. A service road– narrow and unmarked, but it leads in.Good enough.
Starting up my truck, I grip the wheel and slowly pull out of the parking lot, headlights off until I reach the street again. Even though I’m following the map on my phone, I nearly miss the service road when I come upon it, barely more than a gap in the trees half-swallowed by brush. I make the turn, letting my headlights guide the way down the narrow path.
A few hundred yards in, I veer off and park. The moment the engine cuts out, a hush falls over everything. I step out and nudge the door closed behind me.
No city sounds. No car horns. Just the wind threading through the trees and the low, pulsing hum of energy as the moon rises higher. Every hair on my body stands alert as I watch, wait, listen. Then I move.
The soles of my boots crunch over the dirt of the forest floor as I put distance between myself and the road, not stopping until the trees thicken and the dark swallows me whole. Satisfied that I’m out of sight, I immediately start stripping down, my clothes coming off in swift, practiced motions. I stuff them beneath a snarl of roots at the base of a tree, and the moment I call my wolf forward, the shift rips through me.
My bones snap and rearrange, the air around my body shimmering as my wolf surges to the surface. My vision blurs and reforms as I drop to all fours, paws hitting the earth as I lower my snout and sniff.Earth. Pine. Damp leaves.But no trace ofher.
The forest around me is quiet– too quiet for a full moon. There’s no chorus of howls, no thunder of paws tearing through the trees. Either they haven’t started the run yet or something’s off. I press forward nonetheless, taking off at a measured pace.
My wolf weaves through the dense undergrowth as I head in the direction the pack was gathering. I’m careful to stay downwind, to not make a noise or be seen. If the others are near, I don’t want them catching my scent– but the deeper I run, the more the silence presses in.
The moon’s high now in the dark sky, casting long shadows between the trees. I pause to listen, not hearing any sign of the wolf pack– just the rustle of leaves in the canopy above and a raccoon scuttling somewhere nearby. I suck in a deep lungful of air, not scenting anything out of the ordinary– justtrees and underbrush, thick with last week’s rain. My paws churn the soil, lungs pulling in damp air as I loop around a fallen pine, watching, waiting, listening.
I startle when the low howl of a wolf pierces the stillness, muscles coiling on instinct. It’s close– maybe a little too close for comfort– and when a chorus of howls sounds off to echo it, I quickly double back, heart pounding against my ribs, every muscle humming with frustration.
Maybe I was wrong. If Miley was here, she would’ve shifted by now, but there’s no scent on the breeze, no pull calling my wolf in her direction. No heartbeat in the dark that matches mine.
Disappointment curls in my gut as I push my wolf to lead us back the way we came, moving faster now to avoid getting caught where I shouldn’t be.
I reach the hollow where I left my clothes and quickly shift back to my human form, tucking my wolf away in the recesses of my consciousness. My bones snap and rearrange, the world around me blurring before coming back into focus. I sink my fingers into the dirt beneath me, grounding myself against the rush of returning senses, staying crouched for a moment as I catch my breath and listen to the howl of wolves in the distance.
She’s not here.
That’s what I try to tell myself as I quickly drag my clothes back on, the damp fabric clinging to my body.
If she were here, and she was meant for me, I’d know.
Each step back to the truck feels heavier than the last, like the weight of my disappointment is pulling me down into the forest floor.
