Page 3 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

I shift back, the evening air cool and biting against my skin. Around me, the pack emerges from the shadows, their faces a mix of shock and solemn understanding.

“It’s done,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still surging through me. “The pack has a new alpha.”

I turn to my brother, Lucas, who’s watching me with wide eyes. “You’re my beta now,” I tell him. “We rebuild from here.”

He nods, but his gaze lingers on Everett’s body, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “And if they don’t follow you?”

“They will,” I say, looking out at them, the pack, they and the territory are now mine to lead. “They have no choice.” I raise my voice. “Those who wish to leave may do so, but if you stay you will follow my lead. Anyone trying to undermine me or the work we need to do, will be banished or killed.”

The twilight gives way to night, and I turn back to the house, the weight of what’s to come pressing heavy on my shoulders. Leadership isn’t a prize—it’s a burden. And I’ll carry it, no matter what it takes.

Present Day

The forest is alive tonight.

The air hums with the sharp scent of pine, damp earth, and the faint trace of prey somewhere in the distance. My paws press into the mossy ground, silent and sure, the world around me a blur of shadows and moonlight. Out here, like this, there’s no weight of responsibility. No pack politics. No looming threats.

Just me. My wolf.

The trees open up into a clearing, and I push harder, my muscles surging with raw power. The wind rushes past, carrying the sounds of the night—an owl’s soft call, the distant rustle of branches. Running as a wolf is freedom in its purest form, a release I rarely allow myself.

I slow, my breathing steady, my senses tuned to every shift in the woods around me. This isn’t just a run; it’s a patrol. The border of Nightshade Pack territory lies just ahead, marked by the sharp scent of tree resin and the faint tang of pack magic. Beyond it lie territories that don’t belong to us. Those belonging to other packs, the Crimson Claw—who have only recently appeared within the Rainshadow Region—and humans who have become a threat to us all.

No one is sure where or how the Crimson Claw originated. The creatures are a kind of a large mutant wolf-shifter with a pronounced muscular hump on their shoulders and a shorter muzzle who seem to owe allegiance to no one and threaten all of the packs within our region.

I pause at the edge of the border, lifting my muzzle to the wind. Nothing unusual tonight. No signs of intruders. Just thefaint, restless energy that’s been hanging over the forest for weeks. My wolf itches for a fight, a release for the simmering tension in my blood. But the woods remain quiet, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic thrum of my heartbeat.

The pull of duty tugs at me, dragging me back to the present. The pack doesn’t run itself. And even if the forest calls to me, there’s always something waiting.

I turn, bounding back toward the lodge, the ancient structure tucked deep within the pack lands. Its silhouette rises against the moonlight as I approach, the stone walls and sprawling wings more fortress than home.

The moment I step through the side entrance and shift back, the air shifts, too. The comforting wildness of the forest fades, replaced by the heavy scent of wood polish and stone. I grab a pair of sweatpants from the bench near the door, tugging them on as I pad barefoot down the hall.

Lucas is waiting for me in the main foyer, leaning against the edge of the staircase like he’s been there a while. His arms are crossed, his expression as neutral as he can make it, but I can see the stiffness in his shoulders.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” I ask, my voice dry as I run a hand through my hair.

“Not when the Elders are calling,” he replies, his tone sharp enough to make my wolf growl low in my chest.

I stop at the base of the stairs, narrowing my eyes. “What do they want now?”

Lucas shrugs, but the movement is too stiff to be casual. “The usual. Answers. Decisions. Someone to blame.”

My jaw tightens. “Of course they do.”

The Elders haven’t been quiet since I took over. They claim to advise, but in reality, they loom—watching, criticizing, waiting for the moment I slip. I’ve given them nothing to use against me, but they’re patient. And their patience grates on me.

“I’m not in the mood for another lecture about the birthrate crisis, the Crimson Claw, my need to take a mate or whatever else they’ve decided to harp on this time,” I mutter, heading toward the kitchen.

I know there are some who believe I indulge the Elders and their council, and perhaps I do, but I believe they have earned my respect. Who knows what Everett might have done had the Elders not been able to keep him in check. It’s always been a dance for power between alphas and elders—a delicate balance between longevity and leadership

Lucas falls into step beside me. “It’s not like we can avoid them, Ryder. They won’t just go away.”

“I noticed.”

He snorts, the sound tinged with exasperation. “You’re the alpha. They’re the Elders. You know the dance by now.”

I pull open the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. The cool plastic is grounding against my palm, but it doesn’t dull the irritation simmering beneath my skin. “The pack is stable,” I say, taking a long drink. “The Crimson Claw haven’t crossed the borders, and I’m exploring ways to deal with the birthrate issue, including asking Arthur Whitfield for his help. What more do they want?”

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