Page 83 of Pit Stop

Forest scoffs and plugs a destination into his phone. It appears on the GPS, and my stomach sours.

I don’t want to eat. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Gods, why do I feel so terrible?

Because the bond knows. It has to. It’s the only explanation. It’s a living, breathing thing tying Maverick and me together, and it knows it’s about to be ripped apart. It’s about to die.

I feel like I’m suffocating and it hasn’t even happened yet.

“Breathe,” Maverick says, his hand cupping my face. It’s gentle, his fingers brushing over my skin. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

I manage to take in long, gulping breaths, doing as he commands, and finally, after what feels like years, my lungs expand and I’m able to take in air. It feels good to breathe.

To live.

Maverick’s nose nuzzles into my neck, and he nips lightly at my skin, making me shiver.

I’m going to miss this, I think as his lips drag down my cheek to meet my lips. It’s a slow kiss, one everyone pretends to ignore. They are blessedly quiet as I let him hold me, kissing me as often as he can until we stop for food.

I barely eat, worried I may vomit if I do, so I just drink some water, and then we get back on the road.

Forest and Sage talk endlessly through the rest of the drive, my dad looking back at me in the rearview mirror, worry in his gaze. I get it. He’s never seen me so distraught.

But this is nothing compared to what’s ahead.

The bond breaking won’t settle well with me. I don’t know how I’ll survive it.

“Shit, this place is run-down,” Forest says, looking out at the rickety wooden gates with the pack name carved on a sign hammered into the side.

Crimson Howlers.

How creative, I think as a man appears from the shadows. He has a rifle slung over his shoulder and walks up to my dad’s window, pointing for him to lower it.

My dad does, and the man gruffly asks why we’re here.

“To see the shaman. Got the invite today.” He holds out his phone, and the man reads the email. Slowly, deliberately, before finally giving a curt nod.

“Go on through. Pack house is to the left. Gen is waiting for you.”

My dad nods and moves through the gates, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as we roll over it. It’s dark out here, kind of like The Den, but here, there are no lanterns lighting the way, just the headlights from the vehicle guiding us to our destination.

When we approach the first building, my dad brakes. He isn’t sure if this is the pack house because no one is around.

“This better not be a trap,” Forest says, and Sage sighs nervously. “This forest is creepy.”

“There is no way it is. It’s just…a little bit redneck is all,” Sage replies.

I eye Maverick and see a flare of protectiveness light up his eyes. There’s no way he’s going to let any harm come to me. I’m safe here.

Nothing bad will happen.

My dad rolls forward and parks the van, keeping the lights on as he opens the door. And as he does, a figure moves off the porch of one of the houses and stalks toward us. His eyes glow in the dark, red and orange, like a flame.

This must be Gen, I think as he comes to a stop in front of my dad. He’s broad-shouldered, thick and muscular. He looks like Red, like he could shift and become the wolf I know lurks beneath that skin.

The ancestors we no longer resemble.

“You must be Ash.”

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