Page 70 of The Pack

A mountain range loomed in the distance, the grassy slopes and jagged ridges so very different than the dense forest we’d just left behind. The path was uneven, riddled with loose stones and patches of thick undergrowth that made every step a struggle.

Callum glanced over his shoulder, offering me a small, reassuring smile. “Those are the Wicklow Mountains,” he said. “Well, we’re on the edge of them now, heading into the deeper woods.”

I frowned, the name unfamiliar. “Wicklow?”

“The Wicklow Mountains stretch through this part of Ireland,” Callum explained. “It’s mostly hills and valleys, but there are deep woods too—places where people don’t go anymore.”

“They don’t go because they’re not idiots,” Tobias muttered.

Magnus sighed, turning slightly to look at me as we walked. “It’s rugged terrain,” he said. “Steep climbs, uneven paths. Perfect for hiding, and not easy to cross.”

“And dangerous,” Thorne added from the rear, his eyes full of warning. “Especially for people who don’t know the land.”

“Like me,” I said, my tone dry.

Callum nodded, but there was no judgment in his expression. “Aye.”

“Quiet,” Magnus said all of a sudden, his eyes narrowing as he slowed his pace.

“What is it?” Tobias asked, his voice low and tense.

Magnus raised a hand, his head tilting slightly as he sniffed the air. The rest of the pack followed suit, their expressions darkening almost immediately.

I strained to hear or see whatever had caught their attention, but the hills around us were quiet, the breeze carrying only the faint sound of rustling grass.

“There’s a pack nearby,” Thorne said, his eyes narrowing. “Feral. A big one. Maybe a dozen or so.”

Killian groaned, running a hand through his wild hair. “Of course there is. Can’t go a bloody mile without runnin’ into somethin’ tryin’ to kill us.”

Magnus’s jaw tightened as he scanned the horizon. “We’re not going to fight them,” he said firmly.

“Thank God,” Callum muttered, but the relief in his voice was short-lived as Magnus pointed toward the dense woods to the east.

“We’ll take the old trail,” Magnus said.

Tobias stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing. “The one through the deep woods? You can’t be serious.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked, glancing between them.

“The problem,” Tobias said grimly, “is that those woods aren’t just difficult to travel through—they’re dangerous. There are stories about people who go in there and don’t come out.”

“Stories,” Magnus said dismissively.

“Stories rooted in truth,” Callum said, his voice quieter. “People say there’s a tribe in there. Cannibals. They hunt anything that moves—and they’ve got a taste for wolf flesh.”

I shivered, glancing toward the shadowy line of trees in the distance. “Cannibals? That’s… comforting.”

“They’re just rumors,” Magnus said firmly, his gaze steady as he met mine. “And we don’t have a choice. The feral pack will tear us apart if we stay on this path.”

Tobias grunted, his jaw tightening. “Fine. But if I see anything moving, I’m not waiting to find out if it’s friendly.”

“None of us are,” Thorne said as he looked out into the woods.

Killian let out a low whistle, his grin returning despite the tension. “Well, then. Let’s hope we’re not on the menu tonight, eh?”

The unused trail was narrow and overgrown, winding its way into the heart of the forest. The further we went, the darker it became, the thick canopy above blotting out most of the sunlight. The air grew cooler, heavier, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see something—or someone—lurking in the shadows.

The pack was quieter than usual, their typical banter replaced by tense glances and complete silence. Even Killian was subdued.

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