Page 51 of Taken By The Wolves
If it’s possible, I already love her, and I don’t even know her name.
24
NIXON
My legs burn and lungs roar as I sprint through the forest with Reed on my right. The wind sails past us, and leaves crunch beneath our paws. Our voices are silent, but our hearts pound in matching beats.
This is freedom, this wild flight that only a wolf can crave. It’s the pull of muscle against earth, the bite of air in your chest, the thunderous rhythm of paws hammering the ground like war drums, and the scent of the world exploding all around you.
It’s instinct and wonder, a pull so strong that sometimes, it’s hard to find the desire to shift back into our slower two-legged form.
We leap fallen logs, dodge sharp boughs, and weave between trees worn smooth by time and weather. The forest is alive around us; flowers blinking in the underbrush, birds lifting into the canopy with scolding cries. Everything sharpens. The smells. The sounds. The pulse of life all around.
This is the part I wish I could share with Scarlet. Not for the first time, I find myself wondering how much easier things would be if our mates were female shifters instead of humans. To run like this as a pack with Scarlet between us, her beautiful red hair turned to russet fur, would be a dream come true. To mate in our wolf form is an experience I’ll only ever be able to imagine.
Scent in the wind forces us to change direction. The faint traces of Aura’s scent linger on everything she touched. It’s an ache in the back of my throat. Her scent is weaker than it should be, worn thin by fear, fading like condensation against a mirror.
But it’s there. Enough that we can follow.
And follow it we do, through thickets that tear at our sides, across narrow streams, up ridges slick with pine needles. I push harder. My body doesn’t tire. Instead of aging, it seems to get stronger with each year that passes. The wolf in me hungers for the end of this search, for the moment we find her and finally understand why she left the baby and vanished without a trace. The animal part of me can’t comprehend a mother leaving a child.
Beside me, Reed runs like he’s being chased, his shoulders fluid, his nose skimming the air for confirmation.
We don’t need to speak. The bond between us hums as clear as any howl.
Then the trees thin, and an undercurrent of vibration intensifies. We’re close.
When the forest opens to a small clearing, I slow, signaling Reed with a sharp bark. A dilapidated shack crouches between trees, built by hands that cared about sheltering from cold and storms but didn’t seek luxury.
We creep forward. I sniff, then listen to the sharp intakeof a fearful breath.
Aura’s inside, and she must have seen us.
I shift quickly, the soles of my human feet sinking into the soft earth. Reed does the same, his tattooed chest emerging through the fur.
“Aura,” I call. “It’s Nixon. You’re safe. We’re here to talk.”
A soft rustle answers as she moves inside the shack.
My throat tightens. I nudge Reed, and he slides to my side, a silent guard as we approach.
Inside, bathed in dim light, she huddles beneath a ragged blanket, wrapped tight around herself. A handful of possessions—books, a few packets of food, another blanket—lie scattered at her side. She doesn’t look well. Her red hair is dull, her eyes hollow and haunted. She’s so small. So fragile and pale.
She freezes at the sight of me, naked and looming.
I drop to my knees, heart pounding, and cup myself. This is the problem with shifting and having no clothes to wear. “Aura. It’s Nixon. You remember me.”
Her frightened eyes flit between me and Reed, and she cowers as though she’s expecting violence. Gregory and her attacker did a job on her.
“We found your baby.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have a baby.”
“We know it’s yours. It smells like you.”
She grimaces, out of guilt or disgust at our wolf senses. Humans are often dismissive of the fact that our differences can offer certain advantages, yet still manage to look down on us.
“Leave it, and leave me,” she croaks.
