Page 55 of Witch's Wolf

A chill scrapes down my spine. Something’s out there and it’s hunting.

“Humans?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

“No,” Raul’s says with a slight shake of his head. “Shifters, a whole pack. We missed them by minutes. Could still smell them, but the funny thing is… we didn’t find a single damn one. They were gone, like smoke on the wind.”

A prickle of unease snakes through me. Shifters don’t just vanish. We can do a lot, but not that. Especially not from another shifter, our sense of smell is too strong to let that happen. Not without help.

“They must have gotten scared,” I mutter, voice dropping. “Didn’t want to risk an encounter with you guys.”

“I don’t think it was fear,” Raul says. “They wanted to be seen, Sam. They left too much damage in their wake. Slaughtering animals, camp fires, cooking in the open. Does that sound like someone trying to stay unnoticed?”

No, it sure as hell doesn’t.

“Shit,” I exhale, running my hands over my hair. “So what’s the plan?”

“We’re going back out tonight.” Raul says, his voice deep and commanding, all Alpha. “We’re going to flush them out. We don’t engage, though, not unless they attack first.”

“Sure, they’re trespassing. Why the hell not?”

“They are,” Raul says, his gaze weighing heavy. “And I want to know their intentions. Maybe they’re relocating. Maybe they plan to move somewhere else in the Catskills.”

“We should kick their asses,” Ray snarls. “They know better than to enter another pack’s territory.”

Raul’s expression softens a fraction.

“This is our kind, Ray. We aren’t going to start a war against our own just because they were sniffing around our backyard.”

Our list of problems is getting longer. If Erica’s crazy ass witch parents weren’t enough, or the bloodsucker from last night. Now another pack is poking around only a few miles from our home?

Normally, I’d insist on hunting down the witches first. Their attempt on my life rattled my siblings, and it sure as hell hasn’t left my mind. But there are no leads, no trail to follow, andHelena is gone to investigate the record deal. I know what Raul will say because it’s the same thing I’m already thinking. The witches have to wait.

Chasing ghosts isn’t something we have time for right now. If there’s one thing my brother hates as much as I do, it’s a wild goose chase. Growling, I shelve the witch problem for the moment.

Your turn will come, you bastards. For what you did to me, but more for what you did to Erica.

30

SAM

Night spreads its veil over the valley as we set out from Dawson with ten pack members in total. We’re in human form. I argued against it, but Raul was firm. No shifting. He insisted that moving in wolf form sends the wrong message. They’d take it to mean we’re ready for blood and Raul wants to talk.

Wolves don’t talk. They fight. They run. They endure. Long, complicated speeches isn’t in their nature.

“We’re getting close,” Raul murmurs, his voice low but sure. He nods to the left. “Look at that.”

I follow his gaze and see that this pack left its mark, alright. Beyond a clutch of cedars, three elms lie in ruin, their trunks gone, their roots still clawing at the forest floor like something ripped them from the earth.

Mark Gibbs, our best scout, edges forward, slipping into the gap between thick bush and a towering cedars. He lifts his clenched fist, signaling for us to stop. Everyone freezes. Mark cranes his neck, eyes scanning the shadows ahead. Tension makes the airseem heavy, but I slow my pulse and wait. Someone’s out there. Watching. Waiting. Just like us.

“Talk to me, Gibbs,” Raul orders, pitching his voice low.

I scan the trees, straining every sense, but don’t see or smell anything. Yet.

“I smell one,” Gibbs mutters, glancing back at Raul. “Northeast. I hear paws.”

A heartbeat later, I catch it. Rhythmic footfalls. The crunch of underbrush beneath padded feet. Heavy breaths. The rustle of fur against leaves.

“No shifting, boys,” Raul warns. “Stay put. I’ll handle this.”

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