Page 15 of The Cursed Wolf King

I meant it.

“I have to go.” I pulled up the sides of my dress, ready to run.

He reached out as if to stop me but flinched just before touching my arm. “Be careful.”

The proximity of his hand sent a jolt through me.

The energy rolling off him sank into me and was impossible to ignore. It smoothed over jagged edges and set off a thrill I could feel all the way to my fingertips. My wolf stirred, curious, waking up inside me like she’dbeen waiting for this, for him. I couldn’t help the small smile that crept across my face, surprised at how alive she felt—a part of mefinallybreathing.

I took a breath, feeling my pulse hammer as his presence soaked into every inch of space between us.

“I’ll find you again,” he said.

Without another word, I turned and slipped back into the shadows of the forest, leaves whispering underfoot. As I moved away, I couldn’t help but glance back. He stood where I’d left him, a solitary figure amid the towering trees, watching.

I hated the hope that was taking root in my soul. I pushed it down, focusing on the path ahead. There was much to do, and trust to build. For the first time in a long while, the odds felt ever so slightly on my side.

7

LOGAN

She’s not Heraclid, can’t be.

I sat on the rocky ledge overlooking the village, watching as my pack went about their morning. Down below, pups were tumbling in a clearing while elders sat in a loose circle. The familiarity of it all—the life and rhythm of my pack—should have brought me peace. Instead, my thoughts stayed fixed onher, this stranger who made less sense with every passing second.

She didn’t carry the telltale mark of the Heraclids, not like the others I’d seen. Most of them had a strong, dark imprint, bold and unmistakable, right on their arms. Hers… it was barely there. Just a shadowy wisp on her skin. And that scent of hers—it wasn’t like anything from their lands. I scented the Heraclid wolves as stone and ash, like the earth itself had grown tired. But her scent was a pull in itself, light and warm. Alive.

Like it could pull me under if I didn’t watch out.

Maybe she’s not Heraclid.

Maybe she’s something worse.

The thought sank into my mind, cold and unwelcome. A witch? Or worse, a sorceress sent by the Heraclid alpha, someone who could weave spells, trick me into trust only to turn it into a weapon. The Heraclids had always been slippery, and if Grayson had grown desperate enough, he might turn to dark magic. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Dark magic was less powerful on Shadow Moon packs, our power coming from a source different from the other supernaturals who hung around. But it could sting.

Still, compared to the idea of a fated mate…

Fated mates are archaic. Might as well be in Shakespearean times trotting around in tights. Dark magic is a far more likely possibility.

As soon as I thought it, my wolf bristled, anger flaring sharp and fierce.

She’s not magic, my wolf all but snarled. The anger tightened in my chest, a reminder that my instincts, too, rejected that possibility outright. Fated mates or not, I knew when something felt right and true.

If she wasn’t Heraclid and wasn’t magic and couldn’t be my fated mate—what was she? Why was she so close to our borders, and why was I so drawn to her? I pressed a hand to my arm, wishing I could ask Wyatt. He’d always had so many answers. He used to listen to the stories of the old years, memorizing them.

If only he were here now.

I felt the steady thud of my pulse against my temples, remembering the wild way it hammered when I’d first seen her.

I scanned the village again, grounding myself in thelives that trusted me to protect them. But the questions wouldn’t leave me alone. Whoever she was, wherever she came from, I had to find out.

I’d just come down from the ridge when a trio of younger wolves spotted me, darting over with their bows clutched tight, their eyes bright and a little wild with anticipation. They stopped short, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, one of them, Philip, stepped forward, giving the others a look of encouragement.

“Alpha Logan,” he began, clearing his throat. “Would you, uh… would you show us that technique you’re so good at? The one for hitting a moving target?”

I was about to answer when Alden, my Head of Training, stepped forward with a sharp look, his arms crossed. “Lads, the alpha has better things to do than indulge you with games. We’re here to train, not to waste his time. Show some respect.”

---