Page 10 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

The pull toward her is stronger than it should be, stronger than I want it to be. And as I move deeper into the forest, one thought keeps pounding in my head, relentless and undeniable.

She doesn’t belong here, but unlike others, I don’t want her to leave.

CHAPTER 4

ISABELLA

The clinic feels too quiet, the kind of quiet that settles under your skin and doesn’t let go. I’m at Arthur’s desk again, poring over his notes, the pages soft and worn. Every line feels like a breadcrumb leading to a place I’m not sure I want to go. Yet here I am, following them.

Logging trail—east ridge. Unexplained injuries. Tracks inconsistent with local wildlife.

The note is circled three times, a smudge of ink running through the last few words as if Arthur was distracted—or hurried. My fingers trace the page, the edges rough where he pressed too hard with the pen.

“East ridge,” I murmur to myself, leaning back in the chair. Maybe it needs checking out.

The smart thing would be to stay here, lock the door, and pretend I didn’t see it. Or at the very least wait until tomorrow and go during full daylight. But smart hasn’t exactly been my strong suit lately.

When I arrive in the late afternoon at what the internet guide and the trail marker tells me is the East Ridge Trail, the forest is darker than I expect. The sun barely filters through the dense canopy, leaving the ground in a patchwork of shadow and weak light. The air feels cooler here, damp and thick with the smell of pine and moss.

My boots trod along the dirt path as I follow the old trail Arthur mentioned. Every sound feels amplified—the crack of a twig, the whisper of leaves shifting in the wind. My flashlight cuts through the gathering gloom, but it doesn’t stop my nerves from crawling.

This is a bad idea. I know it’s a bad idea, but I just can’t seem to help myself. My other hand rests in the pocket of my winter down vest—my fingers wrapped securely around the flare gun I thought to bring with me. But there’s something about the note, the way Arthur’s handwriting grew frantic near the end, that won’t let me stay away.

The trail narrows, the trees closing in on either side, their branches reaching like fingers. My stomach knots as I press on, the uneasy stillness of the forest pressing against my chest.

Then I feel it—the prickle along my spine like I’m being watched.

I stop dead in my tracks, the flashlight trembling slightly in my hand. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and my breath catches. The forest is silent now, too silent, like the world is waiting to see what will happen next.

“Hello?” My voice comes out stronger than I feel, but it echoes uselessly into the trees.

Nothing.

I take a step forward, then another, each one heavier than the last. The path dips, revealing a small clearing ahead. My heart pounds as I step into it, my flashlight sweeping over the ground.

That’s when I see them.

Tracks. Huge. Deep. They gouge the earth, their shape wrong—too large, too deliberate. My breath quickens as I crouch, running my fingers along the edge of one.

“What the hell…”

A low growl rumbles from the shadows, the sound vibrating through my chest.

I freeze, my pulse hammering in my ears as the growl grows louder, closer. My flashlight jerks toward the sound, but the beam catches only darkness and the faint glint of eyes—gold, sharp, and too intelligent.

“Turn around,” a voice growls from behind me.

I whirl, the flashlight swinging wildly until it lands on him as he steps out of the shadows, his movements fluid and predatory. He’s the most gloriously gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to be rimmed in amber. The strength and dominance rolls off him like a river rolling to the sea. As I stare at him, a curious thought forms in my mind: if he were a wolf, he’d be the alpha of the pack.

He’s shirtless, his skin slick with sweat like he’s been running through the woods for hours. What’s he doing out here in just jeans and boots?

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he snaps, his voice low and rough, like he’s holding back something darker.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I shoot back, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart is racing. “At least I’m dressed for the weather.”

He looks down as if noticing for the first time he’s shirtless. I couldn’t help but notice as I stare at his perfectly sculpted pecs and abs. The man steps closer, and I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, a mix of danger and heat that makes my skin prickle.

“This isn’t a game, Bella,” he growls. “You don’t belong here.”

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