Page 68 of Ethan
It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. I raised it like a spear as the wolves padded into the clearing, teeth bared, low growls vibrating in the air.
Micah whimpered and tightened his grip on Maurice.
The first wolf lunged. I swung hard, the branch smacking against its snout.
It yelped, recoiled, but two more crept forward, hackles raised. My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Don’t move,” I warned, voice shaking.
And then Micah broke.
With a cry, he tore away from Maurice and bolted up the trail.
“Micah!” Maurice shouted, panic raw in his voice.
One of the wolves snapped its head toward the fleeing boy, muscles tensing to give chase.
Without thinking, I lunged forward, slamming the stick down between it and the path.
“Hey! Over here!” I yelled, my throat raw. “Come at me!”
The wolf snarled, snapping at the branch instead of running after Micah. My heart hammered, but I kept shouting, waving the branch, forcing its attention back on me.
“Go,” Maurice gasped behind me. “Ethan, leave me. Go after him!”
I risked a glance back. Maurice’s eyes were wide with desperation, his body trembling with effort.
Everything in me screamed to run after Micah, to make sure he was safe. But one look at Maurice, slumped and bleeding, decided it for me.
“No,” I said, voice low and hard, though fear twisted my gut. “I’m not leaving you.”
Micah was smart. He knew where the cabin was. He’d hide, or he’d make it there.
Please, let him make it there.
The wolves inched closer, teeth flashing in the half-light. My grip tightened on the branch until my knuckles ached.
I cursed myself. Stupid. Stupid to come here alone.
If only I’d waited, if I’d brought an enforcer… No. Waiting for someone would have made it worse.
Beside me, Maurice’s bones cracked, his body shuddering. His wolf surged forward, silver fur bristling, lips peeled back in a snarl.
I froze. Should I shift too? Maybe I’d stand a chance.
The wolves circled tighter, growls rising.
I had to decide quickly.
Chapter 16
Dean
Griffinand I had just finished sweeping the northern ridge, our paws kicking up dry leaves as we loped through the final stretch of patrol.
The forest was quiet. No birdsong. No rustling in the underbrush. Just the whisper of wind weaving through the trees like it was holding its breath.
Something felt wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my hackles had been prickling since we passed the treeline.
