Page 33 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

Margaret—banished but vital. Bloodline holds potential. Connected to Nightshade. Why did they sever ties? Protecting the pack, or protecting something else?

My breath catches. It’s not the first time Arthur hinted that my grandmother’s exile wasn’t just about her relationship with my grandfather. He thought there was more to the story, something tied to her bloodline—and by extension, to me.

But what?

I stare at the page, frustration bubbling in my chest. The pieces are there, scattered like breadcrumbs, but Arthur’s questions just lead to more questions.

As night falls, the clinic grows quiet, the only light is that on the desk in my office. Blue sleeps in the corner, his injured leg twitching slightly, and I feel a pang of sympathy. He didn’t ask to be part of this any more than I did.

The moonlight filters through the blinds, casting faint slats of light across the floor. I should feel tired, but I don’t. The adrenaline coursing through me is sharp, keeping me alert, even as the shadows outside seem to deepen.

I stand, grabbing the notebook I’ve been filling with my own observations. The words feel more relevant now, like I’m inching closer to something… something dangerous. Something I can’t walk away from, even if I wanted to.

Arthur’s death wasn’t an accident. The Crimson Claw, the chemical compound, even the strange stirrings in me that I can’t quite explain—they’re all part of the same story.

And I’m in the middle of it.

A faint sound outside makes me pause, my pen freezing mid-word. It’s soft, barely audible over the rustling of the wind, but it’s there—a low, deliberate shuffle, like something moving through the brush.

My pulse quickens, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I grab the flashlight from the desk and move to the door, my heart pounding as I step onto the porch.

The air is cool, tinged with the faint scent of pine and damp earth. The wind rustles the trees again, but the sound that caught my attention is gone. Still, the feeling lingers—the undeniable sense of being watched.

“Hello?” I call, my voice steady despite the thundering in my chest. I really need to get that gun. I keep coming out here armed with only a flashlight, like that’s going to stop someone… something.

As usual, there is no response. I shine my flashlight toward the edge of the woods, the beam slicing through the dark. Shadows shift and dance, but there’s no movement. No glowing eyes staring back at me.

But the feeling doesn’t fade.

I step back into the clinic, locking the door behind me, my hands trembling slightly as I set the flashlight on the desk. The notes stare back at me, their scrawled words now feeling like warnings instead of clues.

I sit down, forcing myself to breathe deeply, to focus. If Arthur risked everything to uncover the truth, then I owe it to him—and to myself—to finish what he started.

But one last look out the window reveals a darkness against the glass that feels denser, heavier than before. As if it were alive.

Whatever’s out there, it’s waiting, and at some point, it’s not going to be content to just let me walk away.

CHAPTER 12

RYDER

The moon hangs high, casting a cold, silver glow over the forest. My wolf paces just beneath the surface, restless and coiled, feeding off the unease that clings to the air. Every sound feels sharper tonight, every shadow a potential threat. Lucas walks a few paces ahead, his movements fluid and deliberate, his nose to the wind as he tracks the faint scent that’s been haunting our borders for days.

“Mutants,” Lucas mutters, his voice low. “They’re close.”

I nod, my gaze scanning the dark tree line. “Too close.”

The scent is faint but unmistakable, a bitter mix of musk and decay that sets my teeth on edge. It’s not just the mutants’ presence that bothers me—it’s their pattern. They’re probing us, testing the boundaries, but never staying long enough to confront. It’s deliberate and calculated. And it’s pissing me off.

Lucas stops suddenly, holding up a hand. I freeze, the tension between us increasing as we both catch the faint rustle of movement ahead. My wolf pushes to the surface, my senses sharpening as I strain to locate the sound.

“There,” Lucas whispers, his eyes narrowing.

I follow his gaze to a shadow moving through the trees. It’s fast, slipping between the trunks like smoke, but I catcha glimpse—a wolf, larger than most, its fur matted and its movements jerky, like something is out of sync anatomically or it’s running on borrowed time.

“Lone scout,” Lucas says. “Probably sent to test us.”

“Or distract us,” I add, my voice low.

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