Page 6 of Fat Betrayed Mate
But I'm already moving, my hand on the door handle. "I'll report back on the eastern border sweep."
I escape before he can use that particular tone of voice that's made me spill my guts since we were kids. Some secrets are meant to stay buried, even from your friend.
The afternoon air hits my lungs like freedom as I exit the lodge. Three of our younger wolves wait by the tree line, eager to learn, eager to impress. I’ve been responsible for training the youngest recruits to our security detail for years. They unfailingly look up to me, to an uncomfortable degree.
This lot, at least, are confident enough to speak out of line.
"About time," Jason says, bouncing on his toes. "We've been waiting for twenty minutes."
"Patience," I tell him, though I'm grateful for the distraction. "Amara, you're on point. Toby, stay center. Jase,watch our six. We're sweeping five miles past the eastern border."
"Past the border?" Amara's brow furrows. "Neutral territory?"
"Problem with following orders, Sinclair?"
"No, sir." She straightens, but I catch the flash of curiosity in her eyes. Good. Curiosity keeps young wolves alive.
We shift at the tree line, and I welcome the change. Four legs are simpler than two. The wolf doesn't care about failed love affairs or impossible futures. It cares about pack, territory, and the hunt.
My wolf form is larger than the others—a side effect of the bloodline, my father would have said. Dominant wolves run bigger, stronger. Another reason the Elders are so eager to see me mated. Waste of genetics, one once muttered in earshot of me, not realizing I could hear.
We run in formation, Amara's gray form dancing ahead while Toby's brown wolf stays steady at center. Jason, still gangly in wolf form, lopes behind. The forest knows us, accepts us. Pine needles whisper beneath our paws, and the autumn air carries a thousand stories.
But three miles in, those stories turn wrong.
Amara freezes, ears pricked forward. I catch the scent a second later—human technology, plastic, and metal where it doesn't belong. We shift back as one.
"There," Amara points to a pine trunk fifteen feet up. "Camouflaged, but the lens caught the sun."
I move closer, examining the device. "Trail camera. Professional grade."
"Hunters?" Toby asks, voice tight with the fear all young wolves carry.
"Possibly." I scan the surrounding trees with new eyes. "Spread out. Look for more. Don't touch them yet."
We find a total of six cameras over the next hour, all positioned to monitor the main pack trails. My wolf snarls at the violation, wants to destroy every trace of human intrusion. But the man beneath him knows better. We need intelligence more than satisfaction.
"But why would hunters put trail cameras five miles from our border?" Jason asks for the third time as I carefully remove one device for evidence.
"Because they're not hunting deer," Amara says quietly.
Smart girl. I'll recommend her for advanced training, I think faintly, distracted, worried, brain buzzing with unpleasant possibilities.
"These are recent," I tell them, examining the camera housing. "No weather wear. Probably placed within the last week."
Toby's heart rate spikes—I can hear it hammering. "Should we warn the pack?"
"That's exactly what we're going to do." I wrap the camera carefully. "Amara, can you backtrack their entry trail?"
She nods, dropping to examine the forest floor. "Two humans, maybe three. They came from the southeast, left the same way. Boots, not hiking shoes.”
Professional. Organized. Motivated enough to risk nearing known wolf territory. None of these things bode well.
"We head back," I decide. "Stay in formation, stay alert. If you catch any fresh human scent, you howl immediately. Understood?"
Three voices chorus in agreement. We shift and run, but the forest feels different now. Watched. Evaluated. Hunted.
By the time we reach pack territory, the sun hangs low on the horizon. I send the younger wolves home and head straight for the lodge. Nic needs to know about this immediately.
