Page 10 of Wolf's Reckoning
We moved in single file, keeping to the thickest brush, claws dulled with dirt and pine sap. No roads. No signs. Not even animal trails this deep—just the slow, breathless quiet that lived between shadow and stone.
A crow cried once in the distance, sharp and sudden, then nothing.
No birdsong.
No wind.
Just the steady beat of our paws on wet ground and the taste of iron in the air. I saw the way Lewis’s ears flicked at every creak in the trees, every breath of silence too long.
Wolves knew when they were being watched.
And this place was watching.
The trees here grew closer together, bark dark withmoisture and years. The mist didn’t rise—ithung, like it had been waiting for us to step into it.
Still, despite Lewis’s slower pace, we made good time. If we had remained in our human forms, it would have taken us more than a day; however, as wolves, we made it within six hours. Had Lewis not been slowing me down and had I not been carrying my boots, I could have done it in four.
My father’s beta nudged my side, and I dropped my boots, and both of us shifted back to our human forms. We may be going to the Pack Council, but they preferred us to attend meetings in our human form so we could all communicate.
I laced my boots up, and Lewis was already holding out my jacket to me. I tied it around my hips. In this heat, there was no way I was going to put it on.
“Welcome to neutral ground,” Lewis murmured behind me, voice low. “Let’s keep moving.”
But it wasn’t neutral.
Not really.
Not here.
I could feel the weight of eyes I couldn’t name. Not enemies. Not friends.
Something else.
I didn’t stop moving. But I let my wolf rise closer to the surface. This wasn’t Blueridge Hollow territory anymore.
And whatever lived out here? It didn’t give a damn about our laws.
The path down to where the Pack Council was holed up was twisted and just as eerie as the trees that guarded it. Pine needles softened each step, but the silence sharpenedeverything else—the weight of my thoughts, the clench of my jaw, the low pulse beating at the base of my skull.
There was no wind. No birdsong. Just thick, watchingquiet.
A warning, if I’d been willing to hear it.
The Pack Council didn’t stay put. They moved with the seasons, crossing borders, holding court in the wilds as much as in any hall. There was talk of a permanent chamber somewhere in the Rockies—carved stone, blood-bound, older than memory—but no one saw it unless they were summoned.
The Council preferred the open. Preferred to be seen. Because power that hides is power that fades.
And the Council? They made sure their teeth were always showing.
A large tent had been erected at the center of the ridge clearing, though calling it a “tent” felt like a lie. It looked more like a traveling cathedral, stretched canvas and dark wood supports arching high enough to disappear into the trees. A full marquee meant to impress.
Intimidate.
Around it, smaller tents dotted the slope in clusters—neatly arranged, marked with symbols I didn’t recognize at first glance. Most of them carried the crest of their pack. As I took it all in, I saw that even the Northerners had sent representatives.
I slowed as we crested the rise, my breath catching in my throat. This wasn’t a routine Council visit.
This was agathering. A summit.
