Page 55 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

The criticism I’m about to level at him withers and dies on my lips as I remember Finan’s words. The last feral to escape from the cage behind me killed his mother, three of his pack, and his dad.

He lost his entire family in one day.

Now he’s leading me, a feral in his eyes, out from the cage he seems to believe I belong, and toward a log cabin style home.

To his pack.

Conscious he’s watching me, and that his past doesn’t come close to forgiving the way he treated me, I take in my surroundings.

It’s beautiful. A perfect blend of tranquility, silence, and rustic simplicity.

“What is this place?”

When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at him, and I catch him observing me with a searing intensity I wasn’t expecting.

I almost back away from the look in his eyes until I remember he’s holding a chain attached to my throat, and that I’m not the least bit afraid of him.

After a probing stare, he lifts his gaze over my shoulder. “You can go, Finan.”

And Finan, the silent presence at my back, walks away without another word. In his hand is the bottle of water and the sandwich I hadn’t eaten.

Does that mean I’m not going back to the cage?

Is this visit to see civilization the last thing I ever do?

He walks toward the big house with two stilts at the front, and as I watch him, I’m conscious the Wolf King is still observing me.

I stumble when he pulls on my chain, yanking my focus from the man disappearing up a staircase at the side of the house.

“Burning Wood is home. Come on.”

His voice is tight, and when I recall his accusations of me trying to flirt my way to freedom, he must have yanked on my chain on purpose to stop me from looking at his friend.

If I wasn’t so sure he wanted me dead, I’d think he was jealous.

He leads the way.

“Why is it called Burning Wood?”

Nothing is burning.

All around us are pine trees, and on my right is a creek with clear blue water trickling through it.

No one is outside, but I hear faint sounds of laughter and male exclamations coming from the big log house he’s leading me toward.

“That—” He nods at a small log cabin in the distance, “—is our generator. We have everything we could possibly need this far from the city.”

Information, rejection, and a warning all rolled into one.

Thisis the civility I wanted to show you, he’s saying, and no, you don’t get to hear about why my home is called what it is, and we’re far from the city, so don’t even think of escaping.

I get it.

“We’re not one of the largest packs,” he continues as he pulls me along, “but we’re close and we are strong.”

I notice he doesn’t actually say how many are in his pack. That feels deliberate.

My eyes stray to his large, tanned hand. He’s wrapped the end of the chain tight around his wrist and he’s holding it too. As if he wants to be doubly triply sure I can’t escape.

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