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Dorian runs ahead of me, following his nose, and I tail just behind him.

We’ve been tracking an antelope through the valley for the past hour. We don’t hunt often—our food stores are fairly high—but Dorian asked me to come out this morning with him. The two of us started hunting together in high school, and we haven’t gone since his twins were born.

As we dive through a thicket of brush, following the scent, Dorian asks me through the mental bond, How are Veva and Sarina doing ?

Our last conversation was the one in his office. The one in which he implied Veva might be lying to me about Sarina. I’m not angry with Dorian, exactly, but I haven’t wanted to think about it.

Even considering it feels like a betrayal to Veva.

And after everything, I don’t want her to find a single reason to leave. To think that staying in the pack, in town, with me, might not be the right choice.

Good , I finally answer, focusing on the feeling of my paws against the ground, the wind rushing through my fur. It feels good to shift, to run—over the past few months, we’ve been on a limited shifting order to preserve our supply of Amanzite until the casters are able to form it through magic.

Just good ? Dorian sends back. We’ve always been close—best friends through high school. We were best friends when his grandfather died, and stuck through it last year when Kira came back, and he claimed her as his mate.

Sarina is doing really well. I think about her smile each morning, her curiosity in the workshop, wanting to help me with every project. She even asked me, shyly, if I might be able to build a bookshelf for the guest room.

The fact that Veva didn’t automatically speak out against the idea was telling—she’s thinking about staying.

Sarina loves going to the library, and she’s even been making friends with some of the other kids in the pack. Veva said yes to a swim camp, and she’ll start that twice a week.

Sometimes, in the mornings, when Sarina and I are cooking breakfast or reading together, she’ll mention her life back at the outskirts camp.

Talk about a Herold who made sure to feed her and her mother, or mention the other kids there, many of them scrawny and working hard to make what money they could for their families.

“I was the only kid with time to read,” Sarina said. “I wish they could have, too.”

Have you ever thought about bringing in people from the Grayhide pack ?

I send it before I think it through, and Dorian gives me a side-eye, the expression comically similar on him, wolf or human form.

I just mean—

We run on for a second while I think it through, then I continue, Sarina has talked about some of the folks in that camp. The one they were living in. Seems like a lot of them might be interested in a permanent place to stay. Maybe they might find a place here, like Veva did.

Dorian is quiet as we slow, stalking. The scent is strong, but we have to figure out where she’s gone. We sniff around for a second, and when we catch a solid trail, we take off again.

It’s something to think about , Dorian says. But it’s also worth remembering that Veva came from this pack. So it’s a little different, bringing her in. Might be more difficult to find a spot for a bunch of Grayhides.

According to Sarina, not all at that camp were even Grayhides—in fact, many of them weren’t shifters at all. People would flow in and out of the camp, only some of them staying long-term. Many of them running from something, many of them afraid to go home, afraid of Jerrod’s leadership, too.

It’s something to bring up another time. But, each time Sarina describes a new person in that camp, how they’ve helped her, I feel a tug to make sure they’re safe. Give them a stable home.

We run for a while longer, then Dorian sends, Look, man. I’m sorry if I said something out of turn the other day. You know I’m on your side, always.

The situation with Kira really has changed Dorian. In the past, we might let a conversation like that fade into the past without really acknowledging it, only the unspoken apology of continued friendship solving the issue.

I know, I send back, just before we turn, diving into a patch low low-lying, scraggly trees. The antelope is close, and my heart starts to pick up at the thrill of the kill. Dorian and I both played sports in high school, but that rush is nothing like this one.

Something primal—a satisfaction in knowing you’re feeding yourself, your family, your pack.

When we bring the antelope back, they’ll prep it, dry most of it out, and cook up most of it into stews in the pack hall.

Everyone gets dinner, every kid in the pack always knows they can find something to eat.

After everything that happened with your mom , Dorian says, even the communication through the bond sounding cautious, I just want to be careful. Are the two of them thinking of staying?

I haven’t pushed the issue with Veva yet. My mind flashes back to the ring in my bedside table at home, the pull I feel every morning to just get down on one knee and ask her. The marriage is less important than marking her.

And I think about marking her every single night. Whether I’m just pulling her body to mine, snuggling in close, or touching her, feeling her—I want to get my teeth into her. Let my scent seep into hers. Make the bond official, strengthen it so it can withstand anything.

It would be good for them to stay , Dorian says. I think Veva is a great addition to our casters.

The conversation is over when we pick up the scent, as strong as its been through the entire hunt. At this point, the antelope is just around the curve. We can smell its fear, hear the exhaustion in each puff of breath it releases.

Here! Dorian sends to me, skidding to a stop and launching himself at the animal. He goes for the throat and I find the back legs, and we take it down in a matter of minutes.

Nice work—

Dorian cuts himself off when we catch a different scent—Grayhide.

Lie low , Dorian commands, and I instantly crouch down in the grass, watching as he stalks ahead, searching for the wolf.

Looking for me ?

I jolt at the sensation—an unfamiliar voice in my head, a wolf that I haven’t bonded with.

Someone not from my pack. It scrambles my senses, reminds me of what it feels like to accidentally brush up against an electric fence.

The jolt so sudden and complete that it feels like a shove right in the center of your back.

Show yourself , Dorian demands, his growl coming loud and clear through the mental bond.

I’m not here to fight, the voice says. Dorian is hunkered down two feet ahead of me, his head on a swivel, still trying to find the source of the communication.

The antelope to our left stinks of coagulating blood, its flesh still warm and cooling rapidly as the sun starts to set, the cool desert night descending over us, bringing a definite chill.

Bold words , Dorian growls again, from a wolf too coward to face us .

I knew you would attack me on sight , he counters. But I think it would be beneficial for both of us if you let me say my piece. Is that something we can agree to, Fields?

A beat passes. I can practically feel Dorian weighing his options—likely still trying to work out how the hell another wolf—a Grayhide —has wormed his way into our communications like this.

Finally, Dorian says, Fine. Show yourself, and we can continue this conversation as men.

A second later, a large wolf appears as though from the shadows, materializing just behind a massive red boulder. His black fur ripples in the breeze, glowing with a red undersheen in the low light of the setting sun.

Then he shifts, revealing a tall young man with a similar shock of black hair on his head, every free inch of his skin littered with the lines of pack tattoos.

“Oren Blacklock,” he says, his dark, serious eyes locked on Dorian. “I’ve come to ask for your help in killing my father.”