Page 72 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
“I think we tried this before,” I counter. “If I remember, it didn’t go so well.”
She laughs. “Have you always been such a spoilsport?”
I shake my head from side to side in deep disapproval.
"I wasn't ready then. I'm ready now."
She begins, undeterred. Her voice drops into a low chant, each syllable pulsing with quiet authority. The smoke swirling aboveus shivers, darkening as her words weave through the air. It coils, spins, and then rises—writhing like something alive.
The scent shifts—cedar, bloodroot, iron.
A shape begins to form in the smoke. Blurred figures step forward, hazy at first, like shadows through fog. Then they sharpen—just enough to see claws where hands should be. Fangs. Glowing eyes. Werewolves. My heart skips. The air thickens with instinct and dread. Are they watchingus? Are they already here? Some mid-shift, others human—but wrong. Unnatural.
Faces half-obscured.
I stare, stunned. One looks familiar. Maybe two. But the spell flickers, as if something—or someone—is trying to resist it from the other side.
The circle of ash she drew at our feet glows faintly, and her fingers tremble with strain.
Still, she holds it.
As the image stabilizes, she leans closer and whispers, “Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
The smoke snarls.
And the spell pulses once—like a heartbeat—before it shatters into sparks.
My hackles rise. My wolf surges forward.
Then—
A sound.
Snapping branches. Heavy paws.
Too late.
The pack crashes through the circle like a living storm, snarling and snapping. The largest of them grabs Sera by the scruff of her coat. I lunge, but by the time I shift, they’re already gone—vanished into the trees like smoke on the wind.
I make chase, my paws tearing through underbrush, earth flying behind me. But they have a head start and a strategy. Twigs snap beneath my weight, the scent trail fractured and fast.
Up ahead, the pack splits—three directions, three decoys. My instincts scream. I follow the path that smells like ash and heat, the one I pray she's taken. I run until my lungs burn and my ribs ache, but when I pounce and circle them—it’s not Sera. Just two mutts with too many teeth and not enough answers.
They attack. I counter. I slash one, and the blood squirts. The other slices me across the side. This is a battle I can’t win. And without Sera here, there's no reason to fight.
Snarling, I double back, rage burning in my chest like wildfire.
I return to the firehouse breathless, my muscles twitching with leftover adrenaline and grief. I begin to phase back, collapsing to my knees in the shadows behind the bay.
I can't take them all on alone. Seven wolves. Trained. Coordinated. And they took her.
I need help.
But who can I trust when the enemy wears familiar faces?
Deep in thought, I stand hidden behind the firetruck outside the garage, crouched low as my fur slowly retreats beneath my skin. Bones crack, muscles twist, the echo of the hunt still pounding in my veins.
I’m almost halfway shifted when I hear it.
