Page 22 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

Still, as I walk toward the clearing’s edge, the talisman burning in my pocket, I can’t shake the sense that this message wasn’t just for Windriders. It was for me.

They want me rattled. They want me vulnerable. Unfortunately for them, Lucas Stone already beat them to it.

My thoughts splinter as Oscar calls me over. “The tracks split here. One went deeper into the woods—heavy, lumbering gait. The other peeled off toward the western creek. Lighter. Faster.”

“Two targets?” Kylie asks.

“Or a decoy,” I say. “Trying to pull attention in opposite directions.”

Oscar frowns. “What do you want to do?”

I glance between the two paths. “We follow the heavier one. A wounded or mutated shifter would leave that kind of imprint. The lighter steps might just be bait.”

Kylie nods. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”

I smile sweetly. “Don’t worry, I’m saving my real wisdom for when you need rescuing.”

She winks. “Can’t wait.”

We start down the path, weapons ready, senses stretched thin. Every branch that snaps, every shifting shadow makes my skin prickle. Even so, beneath all of that... my mind drifts back to Lucas—the way he felt under me during training. The way he didn’t flinch when I straddled him just looked up like he was already choosing which sin to commit first. That mouth of his—firm, ruthless, made for snarling commands and kissing ruin into people.

I should hate him. Instead, I’m craving the next moment we collide—and if that isn’t proof that I’ve lost my mind, I don’t know what is.

Kylie slows as the trail steepens, her boots skidding on a patch of loose stone. Oscar holds out a hand to steady her, but she waves him off. I pause near a large rock formation, scanning the ridgeline. Something’s out of place. The sound. The smell. The…

“Stop,” I say sharply.

Oscar halts mid-step.

I kneel and press my hand against the ground. Something unearthly scorched the soil here faintly. Not a burn. Not lightning, but heat from within.

Kylie crouches beside me. “What the hell is that?”

I shake my head. “The Crimson Claw’s base instinct is destruction. This is methodical. Controlled.”

Oscar grunts. “Like someone’s testing what they can get away with.”

I rise slowly, gaze locked on the tree line.

“You feel that?” I whisper.

The others go still. The forest isn’t quiet anymore. It’s listening. Watching. Waiting. We’re not alone. We back away quietly and seek the relative safety of the Nightshade Pack.

Later, I wind my way along the ridge trail above the compound. It cuts through the forest like a vein, narrow and winding, its edges brushing the drop-off that disappears into the valley below. The air smells of pine needles and smoke from the lodge's distant hearth, but there’s something else here, something older beneath the surface. I feel it in the dirt, in the land's pull under my feet.

Isabella walks beside me, silent for a few minutes as we climb. Her presence is calm, a different kind of strength than Lucas or Ryder—less command, more gravity. I like her. She listens before she speaks. She watches everything.

“You’ve been pacing,” she says finally, her voice soft but edged with steel. “In your room. In the hall. Like your skin doesn’t quite fit.”

I glance sideways. “You stalking me now?”

She smiles faintly, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “No need. You walk like someone being hunted by her own thoughts.”

She’s not wrong. I kick a stone down the slope, watch it bounce off a boulder and vanish into the brush. “It’s difficult to ignore the feeling that something’s coming. Something big.”

Isabella nods slowly. “It is, and it isn’t. The trick is learning which instincts are warning you—and which are dragging you back into old patterns you should’ve broken years ago.”

We reach the overlook, a flat stretch of rock that juts out past the tree line. The view is stunning—layers of evergreen fading into mist, the lodge a small shadow tucked into the ridge behind us. She folds her arms and leans against a moss-coveredoutcrop, her eyes scanning the horizon like she’s reading more than the terrain.

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