Page 73 of His Claim
A cougar lay twisted and broken among the rocks, its tawny fur dark with dried blood. The impact had broken its back clean through. The ledge above was gouged deep with claw marks.
I crouched, fingers brushing the edge of one of the marks. Mariah’s scent clung to it, fresh and fierce, threaded with adrenaline. Wolf and human, both. She had shifted here too.
My eyes traced the trail of blood, the paw prints pressed into the dirt where she’d stood over the edge, maybe staring down at the body before moving on.
“She fought you on her own,” I murmured, more to the mountain than to the corpse. “And she won.”
I stood, the wind tugging at my torn shirt, and looked down at the cat one last time. The rocks around it gleamed with blood. The scene told me everything I needed to know.
She hadn’t just survived this. She had dominated it.
“Not bad, little wolf,” I said quietly.
Then I turned north again, following her trail into the trees.
The wind shifted.
I smelled them before I heard them—wet fur, pure adrenaline, and feral rage.
It was another pack of wolf shifters, but this time, they were alive.
I rose slowly, hand going to my knife. My leg burned when I moved. I counted the scents. Four. Maybe five. They were close.
A growl rolled down from the ridge.
The first one stepped out of the fog, rifle slung over his shoulder. The others fanned out behind him, silent, weapons drawn. They looked like they were soldiers once, likely deserters now.
“Well, well,” the leader said, voice slick with mockery. “The great Commander Varek. Didn’t think we’d find you still breathing.”
I flexed my claws. “Big mistake.”
They came all at once.
The first lunged, blade flashing. I ducked low, drove my elbow into his ribs, and twisted the knife from his grip. The second tried to flank me, but I slammed him into the cliff wall. Bone cracked. The third fired a shot that grazed my shoulder. I turned and threw the knife. It buried itself in his throat. He dropped with a gurgle.
The fourth rushed me from behind, catching me across the back with his claws. Pain seared, white and bright, but I spun, caught his wrist, and snapped it sideways. He screamed, and I silenced it with a head butt that split his skull.
The leader came last, shifting as he ran, his face splitting, fur tearing through skin. He hit me full force. We went down in a tangle of claws and teeth. His jaws closed on my forearm. I roared, slammed my other hand into his chest, and felt ribs shatter under the impact.
He snarled, trying to twist away, but I drove my claws up beneath his jaw and ripped his throat out. Blood sprayed across the rocks. He fell back, twitching, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
I staggered to my feet, breathing hard. Blood—mine and theirs—streaked my skin, dripping into the mud. The smell of it filled the air.
The wind shifted again, and I caught her scent again. This time, it was fresh.
She’d been here recently. Hours, maybe less.
I crouched and pressed a hand to the earth. Her tracks led north, deeper into the mountains.
The sun dipped low behind the peaks, staining the world in red and gold. I wiped the blood from my face, grabbed a rifle from one of the fallen wolves, and started down the trail after her.
The wind carried her scent ahead of me, stronger now, wild and sure.
I was catching up.
CHAPTER 18
Mariah
