I slip out of the cave entrance, keeping low, using the underbrush for cover. The forest is mine. I know every tree, every hollow, every shadow that can hide a predator.
Or become one.
The wolf to the west stops. Sniffs the air. He's caught something. My scent, probably. The blood trail I've been leaving.
"Over here," he calls out. "I found something."
The others converge. I can hear them adjusting their patterns, moving to support their finder.
Perfect. Let them cluster. Easier to track when they're together.
I circle wide, using a game trail I've traveled a hundred times. The pain in my shoulder pulses with each movement but I push through it. Pain is temporary. Death is permanent.
"It's blood," the young wolf says. "Fresh. She's close."
"Spread out," another voice commands. Older. More experienced. "She's wounded. She can't have gone far."
They don't know me at all.
I move through the forest like a shadow. Listening. Breathing in every scent. Looking out for movement between the trees.
But the pain dulls everything. My senses aren't sharp like they should be. The forest sounds blur together. Scents overlap and confuse.
I'm compromised.
I know it. I just don't care.
My fingers brush against tree bark as I pass. Rough. Familiar. I've climbed this oak a thousand times. Hunted from its branches. Bled on its roots.
"Fan out wider," the older wolf commands. "She's cunning. Don't underestimate her."
I press myself against the trunk. Hold my breath. Wait for them to move past my position.
They do. Their footsteps fade slightly. Heading in the wrong direction.
For now.
Before I can breathe, the hit comes from behind. Heavy. Brutal.
I hit the ground hard. Air explodes from my lungs. My vision goes white for a moment.
When it clears, I'm staring up at Bracken.
He towers over me, all muscle and rage. His brown fur is matted with dried blood. Mine, probably, from last night. A spear grips tight in his massive paws.
He's bloodthirsty. I can see it in his eyes.
The spear moves. Straight toward my face. My eyes.
I calculate the dodge. Roll left. Come up under his guard. Go for his throat.
But my body won't cooperate fast enough.
This is how it ends, then.
The spear stops.
Just stops. Mid-thrust. All that kinetic energy, all that weight and momentum, frozen.
A hand holds the spear shaft. Strong. Steady.
A wolf I don't know stands between me and death.
He's tall. Lean muscle rather than bulk. Dark fur that catches the filtered sunlight. His grip on the spear doesn't waver.
"What right allows you to strike a victim lying on the ground?" His voice is low. Dangerous.
Bracken doesn't answer. He jerks the spear free and swings the handle at the stranger's head.
The stranger takes the hit without flinching. Without even blinking.
"That's not how you hit," he says.
Then he moves.
He drops low, sliding under Bracken's defenses, and drives his fist into Bracken's solar plexus. The impact is devastating. Bracken's eyes bulge. All the air leaves his lungs in a single whoosh. He drops to his knees, gasping, unable to breathe.
He can't alert the others. Can't cry for help.
He's at our mercy.
I push myself up. Every movement sends pain shooting through my body, but I ignore it. I focus on Bracken. On his fear. On the way his eyes plead for mercy he didn't show Sorin.
I want to kill him. Want to feel his throat collapse under my claws. Want to watch the life drain from his eyes the way I watched it drain from my mate's.
My claws extend.
My paw moves toward his throat.
But something stops me. A prayer. A thought. A shift in the air that doesn't make sense.
I tear my gaze from Bracken and look at the stranger instead.
He's magnetic. Dangerous. A predator in his own right. Dark fur, lean muscle, eyes that hold secrets. Something about him makes my pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.
I want to chase him down. Hunt him through these trees. Tear him apart and taste his blood.
Or maybe kiss him. Chase him down and kiss him until neither of us can breathe.
"Who are you?" The question comes out rougher than I intend.
His gaze is dreamy. Like he's seeing something beyond this moment. His breathing goes light. An easeful sigh escapes his jaws.
He looks like he can't believe what he's about to say.
"I think I'm your mate."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Mate.
No. Not possible. I just lost my mate. Sorin died less than a day ago. The Moon Goddess wouldn't be that cruel.
Or that generous.
I want to chase him down and kiss him. No, kill him. Not kiss. Kill. Yes. That's it. Kill him. Bite into those muscled arms and that wide back and taste every drop of his blood and never stop until he's mine completely.
Oh fuck.
I want him dead.
I want him all to myself.
The thoughts war in my head. Contradictory. Confusing. Wrong but also right in a way I can't explain.
Behind us, Bracken's breathing starts to even out. He's recovering faster than I expected.
"We don't have much time," the stranger says quietly. His eyes never leave mine.
"I'm aware." My voice is sharper than necessary.
I spend what feels like forever lost in the sensation. In the want. In the impossible contradiction of needing to destroy him and claim him simultaneously.
Finally, I manage to string words together. "And except for that?" I force the words out. "What's your name? What pack are you from?"
"Riven," he says. "From yours. Formerly. I'm an outcast."
Outcast.
Another wave of anger washes over me. Hot and inexplicable and overwhelming.
"Why shouldn't I kill you right this moment?"
The words are a threat. A promise. But also something else. A test maybe.
"Do you want to?" He asks it like he's genuinely curious.
Is he flirting? The thought flashes through my head, absurd and impossible and somehow accurate.
"I do." The honesty surprises me.
His lips curve. Not quite a smile. Something darker.
"Then please do it. Yourself."