Page 25 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

I straighten. “Explain.”

“They’re Windrider glyphs. Old ones. Forbidden,” she says, tracing a symbol with a gloved finger but not touching it. “This one means breach. This one—” she hesitates, pointing to a crescent inside a broken circle “—means transformation without unity. It’s a warning.”

I stare at her. “Transformation without unity. What the hell does that mean?”

“It means something’s taken the shifter’s natural process and broken it apart. Body without mind. Mind without soul. The kind of change that leaves you stuck between.”

“Something mutated, like mutants.”

She nods once, sharp and sure. “Exactly like them.”

My stomach clenches. I don’t scare easily. I’ve seen more blood than most wolves do in a lifetime. But this? This is different. This is intentional. Someone’s trying to force a new kind of transformation—something designed to sever a shifter from their humanity.

Sophia turns toward me. Beneath the light filtering through the boarded window, her pale face shows a jaw set like steel. “We need to tell Ryder. And your regional council. They won’t like hearing it, but…”

“They’ll ignore it,” I say flatly. “Blackwood’s already dismissing this as Crimson Claw being a minor irritant. He won’t believe it until they’re at his door.”

Sophia crosses her arms. “Then we go around him. You’re the beta. You have authority.”

“I have limits,” I growl. “Ryder would back me, but the rest of the council still sees me as the younger Stone with something to prove.”

“Then prove it,” she snaps. “Or what the hell are we doing out here?”

She moves toward me, quick, eyes blazing. Her scent wraps around me—stormlight, wildflowers, heat. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, responding to her challenge like she’s prey worth chasing.

“You think I haven’t?” I demand. “You think I haven’t bled for this territory? For these wolves? You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to keep this region from ripping itself apart.”

She stops inches from me. “Then stop pretending you’re still in your brother’s shadow. Step the fuck into the role you were born for. You’re not some rookie pup. You’re Lucas Stone. Act like it.”

My hand shoots out, wrapping around the back of her neck. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Her chin lifts, and her eyes spark with fury and something else.

Desire.

“You don’t get to push me like that,” I say low.

She presses closer. “I just did.”

My grip tightens, just enough to remind her who’s in control. I could kiss her. I want to. Her mouth is right there, parted, waiting. But the blood on the floor beneath us, the stench in the air—it claws at my focus.

“We don’t have time for this,” I growl, letting her go and stepping back.

She doesn’t follow, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “You’re right. But don’t think for one second I’m finished with you.”

I believe her. God help me, I want to finish what we started.

I turn back to the wall, eyes catching on another symbol—this one different. A handprint, larger than it should be. Fourscratches—like a wolf paw—elongated. Burned into the plaster, not drawn.

Sophia sees it too. “That’s not Windrider.”

“No,” I say quietly. “That’s Crimson Claw.”

Her voice is sharp now. “But mutated. Look at the spread. The claws.”

We stare at it together, the smell of ash and blood curling around us like smoke from a dying fire.

“They’re not just changing,” she whispers. “They’re evolving.”

I nod once. “And from what we’ve learned so far, someone’s helping them do it.”

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