Page 18 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

Emerging from the swirling mist, my paws pound the earth, kicking up leaves and dirt as I run, the cool night air slicing across my fur. Members of the Crimson Claw leave a scent that is sharp and acrid, an oily trail that winds between the trees. I catch a flash of movement up ahead—just a glimpse, but enough to keep me going.

I’m fast, but the mutant seems faster. Bigger, too, with its misshapen form. My muscles burn as I leap over a fallen log, my claws scraping against the bark as I land and push forward. The moonlight filters through the branches, flickering across the forest floor like broken glass. The mutant’s scent grows stronger; I’m closing in.

A shadow darts between the trees to my right. My head snaps toward it, ears pinned back as I veer sharply to follow. My heart pounds in my chest, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. I can hear its footfalls now, uneven and frantic, crashing through the underbrush.

But then… silence.

I skid to a stop, my sides heaving as I scan the forest. My ears swivel, catching nothing but the faint rustle of leaves and the distant cry of an owl. The mutant’s scent lingers in the air, teasing, but it’s weaker now, dispersing. I curse under my breath, my growl low and frustrated.

It’s gone.

I pace the clearing, nose to the ground, searching for any sign of where it might have doubled back or slipped away. A broken branch here, a faint pawprint there, but nothing leads me further. My claws flex against the dirt as I lift my head, scanning the darkness, scanning the shadows, but they reveal only stillness.

The mutant has outmaneuvered me—this time.

My pulse is still racing, adrenaline thrumming in my veins, but there’s no point in continuing. It seems to know this terrain better than I do. How is that possible? Grinding my teeth, I let out a sharp exhale of frustration and bid my wolf to retreat.

Next time, the mutant won’t be so lucky. I let my breathing even out, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been played. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Behind me a twig snaps. I whirl around to see Lucas standing there with the twig in his hand.

“I wanted to see if you wanted me to watch the clinic for you.” He tosses me my clothes. “When I spotted these, I thought there might be trouble. She’s not going to back down.”

I pull on my clothes. Lucas’s easy demeanor grates against my agitation. “She’s relentless, Lucas. She keeps asking questions. And where is she finding all of Arthur’s notes? I thought the sheriff searched the clinic after Arthur died. The more she digs and finds out, the more danger she will be in. I ought to just take her back to the lodge and be done with it.”

“They call that kidnapping, bro, and even Barnes frowns on that kind of thing.” Lucas tilts his head, watching me with that infuriating calm he always carries.

I stop, leveling a glare at him. “She knows about her grandmother.”

“Shit. Are you sure?”

“Yes. She was standing outside the clinic trying to figure out how to shift. And that’s not the worst of it…”

“There’s more?”

“We know Arthur was on to something—probably something having to do with the Crimson Claw—and now Bella’s got it between her teeth like a dog with a bone.”

“She’s not stupid, Ryder,” Lucas says, folding his arms

Ryder shakes his head. “That’s the whole problem. We had a very brief discussion where I pretty much confirmed what her grandmother said was true and that she’d probably never be able to shift.”

“Holy shit, Ryder. Not your brightest move. This is just what the Elders feared.”

“Fuck the Elders.”

“Now you’re talking,” laughed Lucas, “although personally the idea isn’t all that arousing.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “I don’t give a damn about the Elders and their respect for tradition, fear of change and guilt over what they did to her grandmother. If we don’t guide what she’s looking into, she might end up like Arthur.”

“And if we do?”

“She might be able to figure this out…”

“Which ‘this?’” asks Lucas.

“The Crimson Claw, the declining birthrate, Arthur’s death. Take your choice. They all feel connected.”

“So you don’t buy the ‘natural causes’ explanation for his death either.”

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