Page 10 of Wild Fated

With a silent agreement, we set off, the four of us moving as one through the forest, carrying our packs with our teeth. The run was exhilarating, the wind rushing past my fur, but I couldn’t quite shed the undercurrent of nerves. What if Lyra knew nothing? That was more terrifying than her being angry at seeing me and the dagger.

I pushed harder, my muscles straining as I kept pace with Rowan at the front. He’d always been fast. I was quicker atmaneuvering, but it was difficult to beat him in an outright sprint.

We reached the edge of the clearing where Lyra's farm lay, and we slowed to a halt. One by one, we dropped our packs and shifted, our bodies snapping back to our human forms. I shivered as I pulled on my clothes and strapped the dagger to my hip.

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting. Maybe a cottage nestled between the trees, its stone walls covered in ivy. That was not what I was looking at. In front of us was a low building with commercial siding. “This is it?” I asked. Rowan nodded and led us to the door.

Lyra was waiting for us behind a long counter. At least she looked exactly as a witch should. Delicate features, her hair almost silver, it was so light. Her eyes glinted with an unnerving, knowing look.

Her gaze froze when it landed on me. She leaned over the counter, resting on her arms. "This is different," she said, her voice low and resonant. "It's taken to you, hasn't it?"

I blinked, then noticed my hand was resting over the dagger.

Lyra's eyes narrowed, and the air seemed to grow thicker. "My question is . . . why?"

Rowan cleared his throat. “You told us of the legend. About the five relics.”

“I did. I told you their power was too much for one to wield. And yet you come here searching for another?”

I swallowed hard. “No.” Her violet eyes flicked to mine, and my pulse sped. It wasn’t often that I felt intimidated, but Lyra made the blood in my veins run cold. “I mean, yes, but not because we want them. Because we don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”

“And your hands are the right ones?” Lyra raised an eyebrow.

My fingers tensed. “I’m Shadow Pack.” The words slipped out, and when Kael’s expression darkened, I winced, wishing I could take them back.

Lyra’s mouth curled at the edges. "Yes. And that is both a blessing and a curse."

Callista shivered next to me. I thought of the wound on her arm. The way the dagger had consumed me at the pool. The blade held my blood, and while it felt calm and docile, I could never forget what it felt like when it hungered.

I pulled out the piece of paper from my pack and handed it to her. She already knew about the relics and my blood, so there wasn’t any point keeping it from her.

Lyra’s eyes scrolled over the words, and her smirk spread into a full smile. “Oh, of course!” She laughed out loud, the sound high and tinkling.

“You know this place?” My heart began to speed.

Lyra sobered. “No. There is only one wolf I know of who has explored that site. And he almost gave his life for it.” Kael stiffened next to me. I turned with a questioning look as Lyra raised an eyebrow. She leaned further over the counter. “You know of whom I speak?”

Kael looked from Lyra to the four of us. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Lyra seemed delighted by this response. “If you can get him to help you, please come back and report. I haven’t seen that handsome rogue in far too long.”

Chapter

Six

Destin

My cabin sat nestled against the trees, its logs darkened by years, storms, and seasons. It looked solid. Sturdy. Almost like it had sprung out of the ground one day. Truthfully, it almost had.

Autumn pressed close, the air sharp and dry with the promise of frost, though winter hadn’t yet sunk its claws in. The forest shifted around me, the steady hum of life preparing for the cold months ahead. Everything followed instinct out here—hunt, store, survive. I belonged in it, moving through the motions like any other creature carving out its place.

My axe waited on the stump where I’d been about to use it when the alphas came for me. My traps had worked on two of them. Not the third. Rage flashed through me at the memory, and I grabbed it.

The rhythm of the swing came easy. A brutal, repetitive thud against the wood. Logs split beneath the blade, the scent of sap rising on the air. My muscles burned with the strain—good pain.Pain that reminded me I was alive, here, free. Not stuck lapping up my own blood off of concrete.

I stacked up the firewood beside the cabin, neat and solid. A fortress against the coming cold. Every log added was one step closer to making it through the season, one less reason to leave the safety of this place. I made my world simple. Keep warm, keep fed, help others. Anything more was trouble.

Each swing sent a jolt through my arms, and memories rode the edge of every impact. Not the warehouse, not the alphas with their twisted grins. No. It was older than that. Wolves breaking beneath an alpha’s gaze, bones snapping when submission didn’t come fast enough. The pack.My pack.

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