Page 49 of The Pack

“Not feral, at least, not yet,” Magnus murmured. “But close enough.” He held up a hand, his gaze narrowing as the faint rustling of leaves turned into the unmistakable sound of footsteps. “Be ready,” he warned.

The moment the first wolf emerged, I knew this wasn’t going to end peacefully.

They came stumbling out of the bush—four of them, their bodies jerking with barely restrained energy. They were young, barely adults, their eyes wide and wild with hunger. One moment they looked human, the next their features twisted, their claws lengthening and their snarls deepening.

“Shit,” Killian muttered under his breath, already shifting his stance. “This isn’t going to end in a friendly chat, is it?”

“No,” Magnus said grimly.

The tallest of the group, a lean boy with shaggy blond hair, stepped forward, his lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth. “Get out of here,” he growled, his voice rough and broken. “This is our territory.”

“You’re not in any shape to claim territory,” Tobias said harshly. “Back off.”

The boy snarled, his claws flexing. “We’re not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Killian said, his grin savage as he took a step forward.

The girl beside the boy—a tall, thin figure with dark hair and sunken eyes—lunged first, her claws slashing through the air. Magnus moved like lightning, intercepting her with a quick, calculated strike that sent her reeling.

Then all hell broke loose.

The young wolves charged, their desperation driving them forward with wild abandon. The blond boy went straight for Tobias, who met him head-on, their claws clashing in a spray of dirt and leaves.

I barely had time to react before another wolf, a lanky boy with hollow cheeks, leapt toward me. I dodged his first swipe, countering with a solid punch that sent him stumbling back, but he recovered quickly, his movements fueled by adrenaline and hunger.

“Zara, get back!” Magnus shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

I caught a glimpse of her retreating form toward the edge of the clearing, her wide eyes fixed on the fight.

Killian was a blur of motion, his movements wild, but still controlled as he drove one of the wolves back with a series of quick, albeit slightly restrained, blows.

“You call this a fight?” he taunted. “Come on, pup, show me what you’ve got!”

Thorne moved with lethal efficiency, his blade flashing as he deflected a strike from the smallest of the wolves, a boy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen. “You’re out of your depth,” Thorne said coldly, his voice cutting through the snarls.

The wolves fought with wild desperation, their movements uncoordinated but relentless. They were hungry, gaunt, and right on the edge of losing themselves completely.

Magnus dodged another strike from the dark-haired girl, his eyes narrowing as he caught her arm and twisted it sharply.

“Stand down,” he growled in a low rumble that made even my own wolf pause, but she didn’t listen. They kept coming, their attacks growing erratic as their exhaustion became more apparent.

Magnus twisted the girl’s arm harder, forcing her to cry out as she wrenched free and stumbled back. Her eyes blazed with torment, her lips curled in a snarl, but she didn’t retreat. None of them did.

The blond boy lunged at Tobias, his claws extended, but Tobias sidestepped with a precision that spoke of years of experience. He countered with a calculated strike to the boy’s ribs, sending him crashing into a nearby tree.

“You’re outmatched,” Tobias snarled.

The lanky boy came at me, his movements wild and clumsy. I ducked his first swing, driving my shoulder into his chest to knock him off balance. He staggered, but the hunger in his eyespushed him forward again, his claws swiping close enough to graze my arm.

“Close,” I muttered, circling him. “But not close enough.”

Magnus took down the girl with a sweep of his legs, his movements controlled and efficient.

“You don’t have to do this!” he barked, but the girl he’d been fighting ignored him, scrambling to her feet with a low growl.

Across the clearing, Thorne faced the smallest wolf. The young wolf’s attacks were frantic, his strikes lacking the coordination of someone trained to fight. Thorne parried each blow with his fists, but I could tell he was trying to hold back.

“Stop,” Thorne ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

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