Page 1 of Alpha Wolf Finds His Coyote (West Coast Coyotes #3)

THEODORE

It was almost two in the morning when I finally decided to do it. From my perch in the tree line, I watched the house for twenty minutes to make sure no one was moving around. Paranoia was basically a family religion that wasn’t leaving me just because I was leaving the family.

The Eyolf house wasn’t the pack’s main house, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bugged, alarmed, and wired with the kind of surveillance the feds would admire. The Lockwood Pack operated on their own laws, and my father didn’t trust anyone to get near him and his money.

That should have made him more protective of his family, but that wasn’t the case. He believed in leverage over loyalty, and I didn’t offer enough of either. So it was time for me to forge my own path. I needed to find a purpose that didn’t involve stealing and hurting and feeding my father’s ego.

I waited for the wind to kick up, giving me just enough cover to make the last fifty feet to the barn that was only used for the occasional interrogation or dismemberment when Dad was really pissed off.

Inside the last stall, I grabbed the backpack I’d packed days ago that held a few t-shirts, some jeans, and a set of running clothes.

There was also a baggie full of protein bars and painkillers to hold me over, and some cash in the lining.

I’d been stashing as much as I could for the past year, but Dad kept tight records, and it wasn’t easy to skim without being noticed.

Not to mention, he could literally sniff out cash from any corner of the house.

I had to bury my savings in a dry bag in the river just to keep it from being found during one of his raids.

My phone buzzed with a text from Jameson.

He was probably in his room, and part of me wanted to run up there and say goodbye, but that just put us both at risk.

He needed to be genuinely surprised when he found out I was gone or Dad might hold him accountable as an accomplice.

I turned off my phone, tucked it under the stall gate, and headed out.

If I was getting out of here alive, I needed to leave before I could get sentimental or someone caught my scent.

Without dragging out this moment any longer, I shifted into my fur and ran.

The woods beyond the pack land were thick this close to the Nevada border.

I kept to the animal trails, moving quickly while ducking into the brush every time I caught a whiff of something.

There were many predators in the forest but none as dangerous as my own kind.

I kept imagining the snap of twigs behind me, but that didn’t slow me down.

By dawn, I’d made it over the border and felt sure no one was following me.

I stayed close to the Truckee River, putting as many miles behind me as possible before taking a break.

In a picnic area that had so many scents that mine would easily be masked, I took a drink of the cold water and let it clear my mind.

For the first time in years, I felt free.

Not safe yet, but at least there was the possibility of safety in my future. I loped down the river until my lungs burned, then cut west toward the highway. The smell of cars and asphalt hit me before I saw the road, but it was the fastest way to get where I needed to go.

When the woods thinned out and it was harder for me to keep going as a wolf in the city, I shifted into my skin, dressed, and walked to the bus station.

I’d already mapped out several options, and this was the most anonymous method of transportation.

There was a single, unoccupied bench under a flickering bulb, so I sat down and tried not to look suspicious with a beanie pulled low over my forehead.

I was just glad I’d been able to get a ticket to Twin Lakes. The guy at the ticket counter took one look at me and seemed to be contemplating calling security. But when I pulled out cash, he let go of his concerns and handed me a ticket. “Restroom’s to the right, if you need to, uh, clean up.”

I ran my hands through my hair to get it under control and tried not to be alarmed by what I saw in the mirror. My face was hollow, and my eyes were ringed with exhaustion. Was that what freedom looked like?

I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was compelled to keep on my path. For better or worse, I was heading south to Twin Lakes, California.

The bus left an hour later, and I sank into a seat in the back, finally relaxing.

It smelled bad, and there was a constant buzz of conversation around me, but that provided a comfort that lulled me to sleep.

I was around strangers—humans—and that gave me a layer of detachment from my family and the pack that I’d been searching for.

This was what freedom looked like.

At some point, I opened my eyes and watched an older woman sitting across the aisle. She was wearing a church coat, clutching a worn bible, and humming to herself. I’d never felt more anonymous in my life.

As the landscape changed from city to country and eventually to dry desert, I thought about what I would do when I got to Twin Lakes.

I’d heard stories about the sanctuary town that was home to many shifters who were on the run or transitioning from one life to another.

None of the crime families had a stronghold, so everyone was welcome.

It was probably the first place my father would send trackers, but I hoped he didn’t care enough to bother.

I was a liability to him, and getting rid of me so he could focus his attention on turning Jameson into a younger version of himself might be a relief to him.

At least I hoped so. And if he did send someone to bring me home, I’d have the protection of the Twin Lakes council.

It wasn’t a great plan for the long term, but I didn’t need a long-term plan.

I just needed to get through the next few days.

Something was pulling me south, and I didn’t think I’d need more than a few days to figure out what it was.

After a million stops across the whole damn state, we pulled into the Twin Lakes station just before midnight.

The town was smaller than I expected from the map.

Outside of the station, I couldn’t see more than a huddle of streetlights and a twenty- four-hour gas station.

As soon as I was on the street, I stretched my back and took a look around.

There was a dirt road and a faded sign that welcomed me to town. I didn’t feel particularly welcomed, but I didn’t need a parade. I just needed sanctuary from my family.

The address I had for the coyote safehouse was a P.O. box, but after shifting into my fur, I easily found the building I was looking for. There was a small trailer set behind a rusty fence that reeked of various animals.

This was it.

The lights were out and there was no sign of movement inside, so I stood outside for a long time before I raised my hand to knock on the dented door.

I didn’t rush that first hit of my knuckles, but as soon as I did, I was fully committed.

Whatever was about to happen was in motion, and there was no turning back now.

Over the next two days, I rested and met a motley crew of shifters who used Twin Lakes as their “in-between” place. Some were just passing through and hadn't found the will to leave yet, and others were like me, searching for a soft landing and only staying for a few days.

I was given a place to sleep and enough food to replace all the calories I’d lost on my run, but that urge to keep moving was still inside me. When I looked at the council’s map of friendly and unfriendly packs, my finger and my wolf were immediately drawn to the West Coast Coyotes.

That was my next stop. It had to be. I didn’t know if it would be my last, but I needed to continue my journey to find out why the pull south was still so strong.

Why did I need to get there now, and what would happen when I arrived?