Page 46 of Finding Forever with the Alpha Pack

The humof the motorcycle beneath me is a steady, familiar rhythm, grounding me as we glide down the open road. Grace’s warmth at my back is another anchor, a constant presence that I can’t help but lean into. Every so often, I feel her shift slightly, the press of her body against mine reassuring in a way that words can’t quite capture.

“Ethan?” Her voice comes through the com, soft but clear, carrying a note of urgency that sharpens my focus.

“Yeah?” I reach back, resting a hand on her knee to let her know she has my full attention, even as I keep my eyes on the road.

“We need to head that way.” I feel her lean forward, her arm pointing off to the right, more towards the mountains. There’s a quiet confidence in her gesture, a certainty that tells me she’s locked onto something.

I glance down at the map program on my phone mounted to the handlebars. “How far that way?” I ask, scanning for our best route. There’s a major highway coming up, but if we need to divert, I need to know how long and how far.

I feel a low, rumbling vibration against my back, the telltale sign of her wolf coming through in her chest. “A long time,” she murmurs, her voice almost a growl. “It’s cold where she is now.”

“Canada, then,” I say, nodding slowly as I pat her knee again. I open up the com to loop in the others riding with us. “Seems like we’re heading north. Grace says it’s cold where Lily is, so we’re heading to Canada. Plan is to take I-75 straight up. Depending on weather and how far we have to go, we may need to put the bikes in lockers and take the van from there.”

The acknowledgment from the others comes through a series of clicks and quick responses. I feel the energy shift around us, the subtle tension of our pack settling in, as they process the change in plans. I squeeze Grace’s knee, feeling the steady beat of her heart through my glove.

“Well, looks like we might need to take the van. Does everyone have passports? I have mine with me,” Nic says, glancing back at us.

I let out a groan. “Well, fuck me running. No, I don’t have a passport.” Grace laughs, a sound that eases the tension I feel crawling up my spine.

“Me neither,” she chuckles. “Ambrose?” she adds, looking over her shoulder at him in the van behind us.

“Nope,” he replies, a hint of a growl creeping into his voice. “Figures she’s in Canada. Lot of trophy hunters up there. And collectors.” The word “collector” rolls off his tongue like a curse, his voice dropping an octave as a low, menacing growl escapes him.

“Alright, so before we hit the border, we stash the bikes in a storage locker and shift,” I suggest, watching Grace’s reaction in my mirror.

“So we illegally cross the border as wolves?” She raises an eyebrow, an amused glint in her eyes. “I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket, and now I’m breaking into Canada.”

“First time for everything,” Nic chimes in with a hearty laugh.

We take the sweeping curve onto the on-ramp for I-75; the bikes roaring beneath us, vibrations humming through my body. “We need to refuel the bikes and find a storage locker once we get close to the border,” I say, eyeing the road ahead.

“I found a rest stop near the border, in Shoreland,” Ambrose chimes in. “Storage place is called Spare Box. I’ll call ahead and set up to get both bikes in.” His voice drops for a few moments as he makes the arrangements, then we hear him click back in. “I prepaid. The owner just texted me the combo for the gate. Nic has a padlock here in the cupholder, so we’re all set.” Ambrose says, and I can hear something hitting plastic.

“There’s a rest area up ahead. We’ll stop there and refuel,” I call out over the coms, eyes steady on the road ahead. Grace’s arms tighten around my waist, her warmth pressing into my back. She gives me a squeeze, and just like that, everything feels right.

“I need to pump and eat,” she says, her words trailing off in a yawn that I feel as much as hear.

“You probably need a nap too,” Nic offers gently over the line, his tone full of that careful patience he’s always had with her.

“Definitely need a nap,” Grace murmurs, another yawn escaping her as she leans more of her weight into me.

I focus on the road, considering our plan. “So, how are we doing this?” Ambrose’s voice comes through the coms, his tone thoughtful. “Nic will take over driving the van, and the three of us will shift and ride in the back. Then, when we get close to the border, he sets us loose, and we meet back up on the other side?”

I stare at the road as the rest stop comes into view. “It seems the most logical. By the looks of the map, we’ll have to swim across and meet Nic on the other side. I’m not sure where the border checkpoint is, but we’ll make it work.”

I guide the bike off the road and into the parking lot, pulling up to the pumps. Nic follows, and Ambrose takes the spot next to me. I refuel as Nic approaches, taking Grace from me with a practiced ease.

“What’s the plan?” Ambrose motions to the map spread out over the van hood. The faint scent of pine and damp earth mixes with the gasoline fumes, and the early evening light dips low, casting shadows over the lines we’ll soon cross.

“We’ll stash the bikes at the locker in Shoreland,” I explain, double-checking the coordinates. “Then Nic drives the van through while the three of us shift and swim across, meeting him on the other side.”

“Looks like there’s a train yard on the other side,” I say, studying the map closely. “It’ll be risky, but fewer humans will hang around there at this hour.” I scroll the map up a bit, tracing a route. “Just as Nic turns on to 550, there’s a conservation area nearby. We could meet him there.” I point to Fort Creek, just over the border, an ideal spot to regroup after we cross.

When Grace and Nic return, she’s nibbling on a sandwich, the sound of the pumps humming quietly. Nic hands out two thicksubs, one each for Ambrose and me. I nod my thanks, already planning the next move. Ambrose explains our route and timing, his voice blending with the low rumble of passing traffic. I lead Grace back to the van, her movements a little slower, a sign of the toll this connection is taking.

Inside, I settle her on the air mattress, propping her up with blankets, making sure she’s comfortable. I sit beside her, placing my hand on her thigh, my thumb working small circles over her muscle. “How are you holding up? It’s been a long run,” I ask, watching her face for signs of pain or fatigue.

Grace lets out a soft sigh, leaning into the touch. “I’m a little stiff, but otherwise, okay.” She closes her eyes briefly, then continues. “We’re getting closer. She’s still further north, but not horribly far. She remembers seeing a game preserve sign. It’s hidden deep in the woods up there.” Her voice trails into a yawn, her connection to Ambrose’s mate clearly draining her energy.

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