Page 52 of Beckett's Fate

What would they do if they found it? And at what cost?

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. The morning air was crisp and cool, the kind of invigorating chill that brought everything into sharp focus. Irene stood at the edge of the clearing about halfway up the mountain, the faintest trace of dawn illuminating the dense canopy of trees. Beck was beside her, his towering frame a comforting presence as they prepared to follow the latest clue unearthed from Isaiah Blakiston’s journal.

“You sure about this spot?” Beck asked, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

Irene glanced at him, her grip tightening on the worn leather journal in her hands. “As sure as I can be,” she replied, her tone laced with determination. “Everything in the journal points to this area. If I’m right, the silver should be close.”

Beck nodded, his sharp gaze scanning the terrain. “Then let’s find it before anyone else does.”

They moved together through the forest, their steps careful but swift. The trail led them to a rocky outcrop partially concealed by dense underbrush. Irene knelt, brushing aside layers of dirt and leaves to reveal a faint engraving on the stone—symbols that matched the ones from the journal.

“This is it,” she murmured, her heart racing. “This has to be it.”

Beck crouched beside her, his hands brushing hers as he helped clear away more debris. “Good work,” he said, his tone filled with quiet pride.

The ground beneath the outcrop was loose, and Irene used a small spade from her pack to dig, the blade cutting into theearth with precise, steady strokes. Beck joined her, his strength making short work of the task.

After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, the sound of metal thudding against wood echoed through the clearing. Irene’s breath hitched as she and Beck unearthed a wooden chest, its edges reinforced with tarnished iron. Her hands trembled as she reached for the latch, which gave way with surprising ease.

Inside, the chest gleamed with the unmistakable luster of silver coins and bars, their surfaces catching the soft morning light. Irene stared in awe, the weight of the discovery settling over her like a tangible force.

“We found it,” she whispered, barely able to believe the words.

Beck’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, his warmth grounding her. “You did it,” he said, his voice steady. “You proved it was real.”

Before she could respond, a distant sound reached her ears—a faint rustling, followed by the unmistakable crunch of boots on forest debris. Her heart sank as the scent of gun oil and sweat hit her nose.

“Hunters,” Beck growled, his body tensing as his sharp gaze darted toward the tree line.

Irene’s wolf stirred, the primal need to protect her claim surging through her. “We can’t let them take this,” she said, her voice low and fierce.

“We won’t,” Beck replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He moved swiftly, stepping between her and the encroaching danger as the first of the hunters emerged from the shadows.

“Well, well,” the lead hunter drawled, his rifle slung across his chest. “Looks like you two hit the jackpot.”

The other hunters fanned out behind him, their weapons gleaming ominously in the pale light.

“Back off,” Beck warned, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down Irene’s spine.

The lead hunter smirked, his eyes narrowing. “Not a chance. That silver belongs to us now.”

“Over my dead body,” Irene snapped, her wolf’s growl rumbling in her throat.

“That can be arranged,” the hunter sneered, raising his rifle.

The air seemed to crackle with tension as Beck and Irene shifted almost simultaneously, their wolves bursting forth in a swirling mist of energy and power. Beck’s massive black wolf stood tall and imposing, while Irene’s sleek red wolf snarled, her eyes locked on the enemy.

The hunters hesitated, their confidence faltering as the wolves charged. Irene’s wolf lunged at the hunter standing in the front, her powerful jaws clamping down on his arm before he could fire. His scream echoed through the clearing as she dragged him to the ground and inflicted a fatal belly wound.

Beside her, Beck’s wolf tackled another hunter, his massive frame knocking the man off his feet. Teeth bared, he snapped at the man’s throat, tearing it out and killing him before he could scramble to escape.

The remaining hunters regrouped, their shouts filling the air as they fired wildly at the wolves. Irene just barely missed being struck more severely than the graze along her flank, the sharp sting fueling her fury. She turned on the nearest hunter, her jaws closing around his leg and pulling him to the ground.

The fight was chaotic, a brutal clash of primal strength and human weaponry. Irene and Beck moved as a unit, their bond driving their movements as they fought to protect the silver—and each other.

Beck’s wolf growled in pain as a bullet struck his shoulder, but he didn’t falter. Irene’s wolf snarled, her ferocity unmatchedas she drove the remaining hunters back. One by one, they retreated, their confidence shattered by the relentless assault.

When the last hunter disappeared into the trees, Beck shifted back into his human form, blood staining his shoulder. Irene followed suit, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she knelt beside him.

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