Page 24 of Jace's Mate
Wilton’s eyes narrowed.“Andnoshifters?”
Eldin shook his head.“No, sir.Only humans.No scent, no aura.Just regular people.”
His Alpha’s questions seemed wrong.
Whywasn’tAnikka allowed to shift?Why hadn’t she joined any of their runs?Every wolf-shifter felt the pull to run, to shed their human skin beneath the moon.
But Anikka had never evenhintedthat she knew what she was.
It was unnatural.
And Wilton was hiding something.
Something big.
Eldin swallowed hard, suddenly unsure if he was part of a pack—or a lie.It was confusing.But Eldin’s main concern wasn’t figuring it all out—it was survival.Getting kicked out of the pack?That would be a death sentence.Not just because wolves hunted better in packs—though they did—but becauseloneliness killed.
A lone wolf lost more than protection.He lost his mind.His will.His soul.
Wilton’s eyes narrowed.“Did you scent any other wolves?”
“No, sir,” Eldin answered quickly, heart skipping.
He didn’t mention the strange scent he’d caught just before arriving back at the house.Sharp.Wild.Tempting.
Somethingnew.
But Wilton seemed to relax at the answer, slumping into his chair with a heavy sigh.“Good.Good.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, muttering to himself.“Maybe we’re okay.Maybe my plan will still work…”
“Plan, sir?”Eldin prompted, unable to help himself.Plans were good.Plans meant security.Plans meanthope.
Wilton waved him off with a bitter chuckle.“Never mind.It’s none of your business.Yet.”
Then he looked around, his gaze sharp again.Listening.Watching.But then Wilton seemed to shrivel once more.He sighed heavily, rubbing fingers against his temples.
“Go to bed, Eldin.I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eldin bowed his head and hurried downstairs.
The basement was cold and cramped, lined with sagging cots and threadbare blankets.It wasn’t much—but it was apack.
And to a wolf, that meant everything.
Still, sometimes he dreamed of a real bed.A room with a door.A place where he wasn’t breathing someone else’s sweat all night or listening to them snore.
But it was better than sleeping in the woods, ears twitching at every cracked twig, heart hammering at every shadow.He remembered the squirrels.The chipmunks.The way even the forest felt like it laughed at him.
The loneliness had been worse than hunger.
He washed up in the bathroom, splashing ice-cold water against his skin.He needed torun.Needed to shift.To feel the wind tearing through his fur.To leave all this tension behind—this basement, this fear, this doubt.
Why didn’t Anikka get to run?
Why did Wilton insist she suppress her instincts?Did she evenknowwhat she was?
