Page 69 of Ethan
We reached the hollow where we’d stashed our clothes, and I shifted back, breath steaming in the late afternoon air. My skin prickled at the sudden change, bare feet sinking into the loam.
I padded over to my pile, grabbing my phone from my jeans and waking it up with a flick. Three missed calls. All from Ethan.
My chest seized. I opened his latest message, pulse drumming in my ears.
Heading to Maurice’s cabin. Cathy hasn’t heard from him or Micah. I’m worried.
Griffin’s phone buzzed. He swiped it open, listening intently, his expression tightening with every second.
“He went alone,” Griffin said, ending the call and looking at me, jaw tight. “That was Cathy. She said Ethan went by himself.”
“Damn it,” I hissed, already tossing my phone back to the ground.
Griffin and I locked eyes for a heartbeat. No words needed.
We shifted back into our wolves at the same moment, the shift snapping through my body like wildfire. Then we were gone, paws hammering the dirt, leaves exploding beneath our feet.
Why the hell would Ethan go alone?
He knew better. We’d been tracking increased wild wolf activity for weeks now, most of it circling the edge of the territory, Maurice’s stretch.
If something had happened out there…if a pack of wild wolves had wandered closer…
My gut twisted.Ethan, dang it. You should’ve waited. You should’ve called again.
I forced my limbs to move faster, even as the forest blurred past in streaks of brown and green. Beside me, Griffin ran silent and focused, matching my pace stride for stride.
We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. We felt the same fear, burning beneath our ribs. Then a howl split the air. Not Ethan, but Micah. It was high-pitched, pain-laced and young.
A jolt of panic shot through me like lightning. I kicked harder into the earth, shoving myself ahead of Griffin, dodging roots and low-hanging branches.
Trees thinned. I caught the faint scent of smoke. Maurice’s woodstove? Or something worse?
Then I saw Maurice’s cabin, low and squat at the edge of a rocky slope. The back door hung open, swinging on its hinges like something had burst through.
I ran right in, heart in my throat. Inside, the air smelled of fear and blood. There was a red smear on the floor. I growled, hoping Micah would respond.
A soft whimper answered me. I moved fast, nearly slipping on the worn kitchen tiles. The smell led me past the overturned dining table, into the cramped kitchen.
There curled under the table, his too-small body shaking, fur puffed in fear was Micah, in wolf form. His wide eyes locked on something behind me. A low growl vibrated through the room.
I turned. A wild wolf stood near the pantry, lean and frothing, its eyes glassy and wrong. Its lip curled back from blood-slick teeth. It had been circling Micah, trapping him.
Now it turned its sights on me. I lunged. We collided with bone-crunching force, my teeth sinking into its shoulder. It howled and thrashed, claws raking my side. I didn’t let go. Didn’t stop.
It clawed at my belly but I bit harder, shifting my grip, going for its neck.
Blood burst into my mouth, hot, thick, and metallic. The wolf spasmed. I drove it back against the cabinets with my full weight. It bucked once more, then stilled. Panting, I backed away.
The wolf slumped to the floor, twitching once before going completely still. The coppery scent of blood saturated the room now, layered over fear and scorched adrenaline.
I turned to Micah. He hadn’t moved. Still under the table, still shaking, his little body pressed into the corner.
I shifted back and crouched beside him, wincing as pain lanced through my side. One of those claws had definitely scored me.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice rough but soft.
Micah didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away either. Just stared at me like he wasn’t sure if he could believe what he’d seen.
