Page 34 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

We move as one, slipping through the underbrush with practiced silence. The mutant is close now, its scent growing stronger, but as we close in, it picks up speed, darting toward the border.

“Damn it,” Lucas growls, breaking into a sprint.

I follow, my wolf surging with the need to chase, to hunt. The mutant is fast, weaving through the trees in a way that almost feels unnatural, but it’s not faster than us. Lucas cuts right, circling ahead to try and intercept, while I push forward, closing the gap and herding it forward.

But just as we’re about to corner it, the mutant veers sharply and disappears into the shadows, its scent fading as it crosses into neutral territory. I skid to a stop, my breath fogging in the cool night air, and let out a low growl of frustration.

“Coward,” Lucas mutters as he jogs up beside me, his expression grim. “If that one’s any indication, they’re not just wandering mutants. This feels organized. Deliberate.”

“Which means there’s more of them,” I say, the realization settling heavily in my chest.

I take one last look at the darkness ahead before turning back to the pack’s main gathering point, the fear and anxiety palpable. The others have gathered when we arrive, their eyes sharp and their postures tense. They’ve felt the unease creeping over the territory, the growing threat we can’t ignore.

“They were close tonight,” I say, addressing the group. “Too close. We tracked one mutant near the northern border, but it slipped away before we could take it down. This wasn’t random.They’re testing us, and it’s only a matter of time before they push further and harder.”

Murmurs ripple through the group, a mix of anger and worry. I glance at Lucas, who steps forward, his tone steady but firm. “This isn’t just a few scattered mutants. They’re organized. We need to assume they’re working in numbers, maybe even under a single source of direction.”

That sends another ripple through the pack, this one sharper. I raise a hand, silencing them. “We don’t panic,” I say, raising my voice. “But we stay vigilant. Patrols double starting tonight. Nobody goes out alone, and nobody lets their guard down. If they’re looking for a fight, they’ll get one—but on our terms, not theirs.”

Members of the pack nod, their loyalty unwavering despite the apprehension in the air. But, with their departure to their respective tasks, the burden of whatever’s coming intensifies.

Later, as I stand at the edge of the forest, my wolf still pacing beneath my skin, my thoughts drift back to Bella. She doesn’t know how close she is to danger. Did the Crimson Claw or whoever is controlling them kill Arthur? The mutants seem to be circling closer every day, and I can’t stop thinking about how easily she could get caught in the middle.

She’s smart, stubborn, and relentless. And that’s what worries me the most. She’s going to keep digging, keep pushing, until she uncovers something she can’t walk away from.

The moonlight casts long shadows across the trees as I stare out into the darkness. My wolf growls low in my chest, restless and uneasy, but I force myself to stand still. The Crimson Claw is the most pressing threat, and when the time is right, I will deal them a fatal blow.

ISABELLA

The only sounds in the clinic tonight are the soft rustle of paper as I flip through Arthur’s notebooks and Blue’s tail thumping on the floor beside me. The dim overhead light, the occasional creak of the building settling, and Blue are the only reminders that I’m not completely alone in this place. Still, the quiet feels oppressive, the weight of Arthur’s words almost unbearable as I sift through them for the hundredth time.

My desk is a mess—notes, sketches, and books on shifter folklore spread out in every direction. The scent of coffee, long gone cold, lingers in the air, and my hands ache from hours of writing and circling connections that still don’t fully make sense.

Mutants. Chemical compounds. Wolf-human hybrids and how they differ from wolf-shifters. None of it makes sense.

Arthur was trying to piece it all together, and now I’m doing the same, chasing threads that feel impossibly tangled. I stare at one of his entries, the words looping in my mind:

Mutant behavior doesn’t align with natural pack instincts. What’s driving them? Increased aggression and organization—something external?

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. “Something external,” I mutter under my breath. “What does that even mean, Arthur?”

His notes are filled with ideas that dance between science and myth, blending biology with folklore in ways that makemy head spin. Some of it feels founded in scientific fact—his observations of tracks, injuries, and chemical traces—but then there are parts that veer into the surreal. Mentions of ancient shifter legends, experiments gone wrong, and hybrids that shouldn’t exist. I know that shifters exist—Lucas, Ryder and even Arthur have made me aware of that and of my lineage.

“Was the rest of this just speculation?” I ask the empty room, my voice sounding small against the stillness. “Or were you onto something real?”

I push back from the desk, the wheels on my chair making a wonky, squeaking noise as I stand. My body feels heavy with exhaustion, my mind fraying at the edges, and I know I need a break. I look outside and decide getting a gun has got to become a priority. I just worry that I’ll shoot myself or, worse yet, Blue.

The cool night air hits me as I step onto the porch, the sounds and scents of the wilderness wrapping around me. The moon hangs high above the forest, its silver light spilling across the trees and casting everything in an ethereal glow. I breathe deeply, trying to let the fresh air clear my head. The woods feel alive tonight, the kind of alive that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

That’s when I see it.

A figure, standing just beyond the edge of the tree line, half-hidden in the shadows.

My breath catches, my heart pounding as I squint into the darkness. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakable even from this distance. Ryder.

I can feel the pull of his presence, the way it sets my nerves on edge while igniting something else entirely. But before I can say anything, before I can even move, he fades back into the trees, his movements so swift and silent that it’s almost like he was never there.

“Ryder,” I whisper.

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