Page 32 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

The warning hangs heavy in the air, and suddenly, the room feels too small. I gather the notes, my pulse pounding as I head for the door. Before I leave, I glance back at him, the strain stretching between us.

“Since you’re not going to look into this, I will,” I say, my voice firm. “Arthur deserved better.”

Barnes doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—fear? guilt? It tells me he knows more than he’s letting on.

As I step outside after a busy day doing actual veterinary medicine, the crisp evening air hits me, clearing my head. Dorothy and Gus’s words from this morning replay in my mind,their belief in Arthur and their quiet support giving me strength. The sheriff’s warning lingers too, but it only fuels my resolve.

Arthur was chasing something real. Something dangerous. And I’m not going to stop until I find out what it was—even if it means facing down the dangers he couldn’t.

The clinic’s porch creaks softly under my weight as I lean against the railing, staring out into the encroaching darkness. The woods stretch out before me, silent and thick with shadows, the kind of stillness that doesn’t feel quite right. My breath fogs in the cool air, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake off the unease that’s settled in my chest.

I sense him even before I hear him—soft footsteps, deliberate and measured. My pulse quickens as Ryder steps out of the tree line, his broad frame silhouetted by the faint moonlight. The amber rims of his irises seem to catch the glow of the light, locking onto me like I’m the only thing in his world right now.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot.

“Getting some air,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. “What areyoudoing out here?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Patrolling.”

I step down from the porch, closing the space between us until we’re only a few feet apart. “Arthur was investigating something. Something dangerous. And you know exactly what it was, don’t you?”

He doesn’t know what Lucas has told me. Ryder doesn’t respond right away, his gaze studying my face like he’s considering how much to share with me. That only makes my anger flare hotter.

“I found more of Arthur’s notes,” I continue, pressing forward. “The injuries he documented, the chemical in Blue’s blood. And don’t tell me it’s just wildlife, because we both know that’s not true.”

“Careful, Bella,” he says, his voice soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet.

“Of what, Ryder? The Crimson Claw? The Nightshade Pack? You?” I snap, crossing my arms. “Because if you think I’m going to stop asking questions or go away, you haven’t learned one damn thing about me.”

He takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him, crackling like a live wire. "Perhaps you're not meant to know," he murmurs, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Maybe I think it’s too dangerous.”

The words stop me in my tracks, but they don’t dull the fire burning in my chest. “Don’t patronize me, Ryder,” I say, stepping even closer. “I know that whatever Arthur was chasing, it got him killed. And if you know something that can help me figure out what, then you owe it to him—tome—to tell me what you know.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but the intensity in his eyes is almost unbearable. It’s like he’s holding himself back, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to spring. And then the air shifts.

The frustration, the anger—it’s still there, but underneath it, something else is building. The space between us feels too small, the pull too strong, and I realize with a jolt that I’m not just furious with him. I’m drawn to him, in a way that makes no sense but feels undeniable.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispers, his voice rough, his breath warm against my skin.

“Maybe not,” I say, my voice softer now. “But I know you’re hiding something. And I know I’m not going to stop until I find out what it is.”

His gaze drops to my lips, just for a second, before snapping back to my eyes. The air between us is suffocating, electric. Then without warning, he pulls me to him, crushing my lipsto his before he turns and walks away. I stand there, my heart pounding, the heat of his presence lingering even after he’s gone.

I go back inside—stunned. I stand for a minute not knowing quite how to feel or what to do. When I can finally move again, I confront Arthur’s notes, spread out across the desk like a chaotic jigsaw puzzle. I feel like this is all I do these days, come back to these damn notes, searching for an answer hidden in their pages. Pages crinkled from age, margins filled with scribbled thoughts and wild theories, each piece more critical than the last. The words blur slightly under the harsh desk lamp, and I blink hard, rubbing my temples as my mind races to connect the dots.

Mutant wolves. Chemical compounds in the dog’s blood. Wolf-human hybrids. My grandmother’s exile. Arthur’s death. It’s all here, tangled together in ways that feel deliberate but just out of reach. Arthur saw the threads, I’m sure of it. He just didn’t live long enough to tie them into something I can use.

The latest note I found, one of the last things he wrote, keeps flashing in my mind:The compound reacts to heightened adrenaline—amplified aggression, unnatural strength. Could explain recent attacks. If connected to the Crimson Claw, then what—or who—is controlling them? And to what purpose?

What—or who? That was the question.

The weight of those words presses on my chest, and I close my eyes, trying to block out the growing sense of dread creeping up my spine. Arthur wasn’t just curious—he was scared. And now, so am I.

The faint sound of wind rustling the trees outside pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance toward the window. The darkness beyond feels thicker than usual, like it’s pressing in on the clinic, waiting for me to look away.

But I don’t.

I grab another page, my fingers trembling slightly as I scan Arthur’s messy handwriting. This one references my grandmother, her name underlined twice.

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