Page 6 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

Oscar shakes his head. “If the Crimson Claw are mutants—that’s a threat to everyone.”

“Exactly.” Elder Blackwood straightens, his tone regaining its usual authority. “Which is why we don’t have time for Windrider interference. The council has this under control.”

I let out a short laugh. “That’s funny. I don’t recall seeing the council doing much of anything about it.”

His eyes narrow. “Watch yourself, girl.”

My wolf growls, low in my chest, but I force her back. “You don’t get to ignore a crisis just because it doesn’t fit inside your precious traditions, Blackwood. We aren’t here to make trouble. We’re here because the world is changing, and if you keep pretending it’s not happening, you’re going to find yourselves completely unprepared when the storm finally hits. And if it gets past the wolves in this region, it could wipe out our kind.”

Blackwood’s gaze locks on mine, but I don’t look away. I won’t.

After a moment, he shakes his head. “Windriders. Always chasing the wind, you think you have the answers to problems you don’t understand.” He turns back to my father. “Keep your people in line. Stay out of Nightshade business. And don’t cross the wrong borders.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before disappearing into the trees. Past bitterness weighs down the silence he leaves behind.

Kylie lets out a long breath. “That went well.”

Oscar rubs a hand over his jaw. “So now what? If the Nightshade Pack, including Lucas and Ryder, are going to be a problem…”

I stand, brushing dirt from my pants. “We’ll deal with them.” I lift my chin, my pulse beating with certainty. “Now, we figure out what’s really happening with the Crimson Claw. Because if the council won’t do their damn jobs, then I guess we’ll just have to do it for them.”

Oscar mutters something about me getting us all killed, but he doesn’t argue. Kylie grins, already excited about the trouble we’re going to cause. And my father? He watches me carefully, nodding once.

It seems we’re settled. The Nightshade wolves aren’t the only threat out here, and something tells me Lucas Stone and I are about to collide a lot sooner than either of us expected.

Oscar’s voice is still ringing in my ears as I make my way toward the edge of the camp, needing space to think. If Lucas Stone is going to be a problem, we need to deal with him accordingly.

The wind moves through the trees in restless gusts, tugging at my loose braid as I step beyond the circle of firelight. The elder’s words replay in my mind, each one a reminder that the council doesn’t see us as allies. They see us as a problem to be dismissed.

The Crimson Claw are mutants? The land has fractured beneath us? The council is refusing to acknowledge how deep this runs? And now Lucas Stone, a man who looks like he was hewn from the mountains, will be standing in my way at every turn?

Perfect. Just perfect. I hear him before I see him. A change in the night, not unnatural, but deliberate. The sound of boots treading over damp earth. Controlled, unhurried, like a predator that knows exactly where his prey is going to run.

I don’t turn, don’t let on that I’ve already marked his approach. Instead, I keep walking, my hands loose at my sides, ready for whatever game he thinks we’re playing.

"Your people need to learn better hiding spots."

The voice comes from the darkness to my left, deep and edged with that same unwavering authority I remember from our first meeting. I finally stop, shaking out my shoulders before slowly turning toward him.

Lucas leans nonchalantly against the trunk of a cedar—a combination of rigid strength and effortless dominance, watching me like I’m the problem he hasn’t figured out how to solve yet.

"Wasn’t hiding," I say smoothly. "Just needed a break from your elder’s condescending attitude."

His jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Maybe. "Marcus doesn’t take kindly to people questioning him."

"Neither do I," I say, tilting my head.

He doesn’t move, but the air between us changes, stretching tight, as if we’re standing too close despite the space still lingering between us.

"I don’t trust you or any of the Windriders," Lucas states. His tone is calm, but there’s no mistaking the challenge woven into his words.

"That’s mutual," I say, arching my eyebrow. "I don’t trust wolves who think ‘territory’ means ‘blind loyalty to outdated rules’ either."

His lips press together, but something flashes in his eyes—not anger, not quite. It’s more like interest, reluctant though it may be.

"I need to know why you’re really here," he says after a moment.

I fold my arms. "I already told you. We’re investigating the birthrate crisis. It’s affecting all packs, whether or not you want to admit it."

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