Page 12 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

Kylie glances up, brow furrowing. I scan the area again, gut instinct screaming at me we’re missing something. The Nightshade scout who disappeared three nights ago vanished in this exact area—so did the Windrider tracker. Two wolves fromdifferent packs, different lives, different abilities, both taken without a trace beyond this.

Whatever did this isn’t just hunting. I glance at the red-streaked bark again, then over at the disturbed ground. Something big came through here. This is wrong, something darker than what we’ve seen before, but is it the Crimson Claw? There’s no way to say at this point.

I let out a slow breath and force my focus forward. "We’re not going to find the answers standing around here. Let’s head to Shadow Hollow. We need supplies, and I want to check in with the locals."

Kylie wipes her hands on her pants, then swings her bag over her shoulder. "You mean you want to see if the others know more than the council is letting on?"

I flash her a grin. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

Moonlight Café

Shadow Hollow, Washington

Shadow Hollow is the kind of town that doesn’t change much—its charm never seems to fade. Vintage storefronts lining a neat and tidy Main Street with the same old men sitting outside the general store playing chess like they’ve been doing it since the dawn of time. The same enticing aromas coming from the bakery, and the same café beckoning me.

But there’s something in the air today, something just beneath the usual chatter and small-town bustle. A quiet unease, an unspoken tension hanging between the shopkeepers and the passing customers.

Kylie nudges my arm as we pass the apothecary. "Feel that?"

I nod. "Something’s got them rattled."

Oscar steps ahead, opening the door to the Moonlight Café, and the moment we step inside, I hear it.

"—three more wolves gone, Marjorie. That’s not normal."

I stop just inside the doorway, picking up a menu from the table just inside the door. I pretend to scan the menu as I try to eavesdrop on what’s being said.

At the far end of the café, Marjorie Reed, the owner, leans against the counter, her arms folded as she whispers to two other women sitting at a corner booth. She’s an older woman, sharp-eyed and perceptive, the kind of person who knows everything that happens in Shadow Hollow before it even happens.

"Could be those mutants…" one of the women says, glancing around as if to check for eavesdroppers.

Marjorie nods her head, lips pressed tight. "Could just be the Crimson Claw acting out. My nephew lives out by Ash Creek. He says they found bodies. But the way they were torn apart…" She lowers her voice further.

I lean toward them—hoping I’m subtle enough not to be noticed—my pulse picking up.

Kylie tilts her head slightly, her hearing sharper than mine. "She’s talking about something that happened a couple of weeks ago… something about bodies being found that didn’t seem right. They’re spooked…" she murmurs under her breath.

My stomach clenches. Not right? That doesn’t sound good. What the café owner is describing sounds an awful lot like the mutant rumor Blackwood was dancing around.

Oscar steps up to the counter, ordering coffee as a cover while I stay locked on Marjorie and her conversation.

"That damn regional council doesn’t want to admit it," Marjorie continues, voice hushed. "But the threat from the Crimson Claw is spreading. The council’s pretending they’ve got it under control, but if you ask me? They know nothing morethan they did when poor Arthur died. Something’s coming—maybe it’s the Crimson Claw, and maybe it’s not—but the council doesn’t know a damn thing about how to stop it."

Her words send a slow pulse of dread through me.

Kylie grabs a napkin and pretends to wipe her mouth, muttering low. "We need to talk to her. Alone."

I glance at Marjorie, then at the way she keeps glancing toward the window, as if expecting something to be watching. Whatever she knows, she’s already afraid, and if she’s afraid, maybe we should be too.

Before I get the chance to pull her aside, the café door swings open, the little bell above it chiming once. A shift ripples through the room, subtle but undeniable. Conversations quiet just a fraction, a few gazes flicking toward the entrance before looking away.

I don’t have to turn around to know who just walked in. Lucas Stone has that kind of presence—the kind that commands attention even when he’s not trying. Still, I glance over my shoulder just to confirm. Yep. There he is.

He stands just inside the door, broad shoulders squared, golden eyes sharp as they immediately lock onto mine. He looks like he never left the forest, the wildness of the mountain still clinging to him.

His expression? Unreadable.

Mine? Probably not.

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