Page 19 of The Pack

A deep, resonant howl echoed behind me, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I knew what it meant.

They were coming for me.

I stumbled over a root, catching myself just in time before I smashed my face, but the hesitation cost me. I could hear them now—the pounding of paws against the forest floor, the noisy rustle of leaves as they closed the distance between them and me.

Another howl rang out, closer this time.

They were faster than me. Of course they were.

But I wasn’t about to make it easy for them.

I veered to the left, heading toward a break in the trees where the sunlight was brighter. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I kept running. The fire inside me surged again, hot and consuming, but I shoved it down, focusing on the pounding rhythm of my feet and the desperate need to survive.

A flash of silver fur appeared in my peripheral vision, and I pushed myself harder, my muscles screaming in protest.

Another wolf appeared ahead of me, this one with reddish-brown fur. Its golden eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a jolt ofpanic. I changed direction again, darting to the right, but the wolves were everywhere now.

They were herding me.

I stumbled into a clearing and looked around for my next avenue of escape. The ground sloped downward, leading to a grassy plain where a narrow stream cut through the landscape. The water sparkled in the sunlight, mocking me with its stunning serenity.

There was nowhere to hide.

I turned to double back, but they were already there.

The silver wolf stood at the edge of the clearing, its piercing eyes locked onto mine. Behind it, the blackish-gray wolf emerged from the shadows, its massive frame radiating power. The reddish-brown wolf flanked them, its ears flat against its head, and the gray wolf—smaller, but no less dangerous—crept forward with a cautious but determined air.

And then there was the white wolf. It stepped out from the tree line last, its pale fur practically glowing in the sunlight. It moved with a quiet grace, its icy gaze colder than the stream beside us, and that made my stomach twist in fear.

They formed a loose circle around me, their positions careful and precise and too fucking coordinated.

There would be no more running. I knew that now.

I backed up toward the stream, my breaths coming in quick, panicked gasps. My bare feet slipped on the soft grass, the cold water brushing against my heels as I reached the edge of the bank.

The silver wolf shifted first. Its body rippled, fur melting away to reveal Magnus, his dark hair disheveled and his chest rising and falling with exertion. He took a step toward me, his hands open and empty, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made my pulse race and my pussy clench.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, but firm.

“Stay back,” I warned. My body was shaking, whether from fear or the heat burning inside me, I couldn’t tell anymore.

The blackish-gray wolf shifted next, revealing the tall, brooding man Magnus had called Tobias. His dark eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression hard and unreadable.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, even though I wasn’t. My legs were barely holding me up, and the fire in my core was flaring red hot, making it harder to think, and even harder to breathe.

The reddish-brown wolf finally shifted then, revealing a younger man with fiery red hair and a wiry build. His golden-brown eyes were piercing, but there was a flicker of something like amusement in them as he glanced at me.

“It’s hard to tell who’s mating who,” he said, his Irish accent thick and lilting.

“Not the time, Killian,” Magnus said snappishly, his eyes never leaving me.

The gray wolf shifted next, revealing Callum. His kind eyes were filled with concern, and he took a tentative step forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“Zara,” he said gently, “we’re not trying to hurt you. We’re trying to help you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, glancing at the white wolf, who still hadn’t shifted.

Finally, the white wolf melted into the form of a man—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with pale hair and well-defined, aristocratic features. His icy blue eyes flicked over me, assessing, before he turned to Magnus. He was the one Magnus had called Thorne.

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