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CHAPTER 3

SOPHIA

M y feelings are a mixture of amusement and fury. What the fuck was that?

One minute, Lucas Stone is all but devouring me against a tree, his hands and mouth promising things I know neither of us should want, and the next? He’s storming off like he just realized he enjoyed it too much.

I sit on a fallen log near our camp, rubbing my temples as Kylie pokes at the fire with a stick. The embers glow orange and red, sending small sparks into the night. My father and the rest of the pack have moved on, leaving Oscar, Kylie and I to try to see what we can find out that might be helpful in figuring out whatever the hell is going on.

"You look like someone just insulted your entire bloodline," Kylie observes, glancing at me from beneath dark lashes.

I shoot her a glare that promises pain. "I don’t want to talk about it."

Kylie’s lips twitch, but she wisely keeps whatever teasing remark she’s dying to say to herself.

Oscar isn’t nearly as considerate. "You disappeared for a while earlier. Went off into the woods. Came back looking like you ran through a storm."

I pick up a small rock and throw it at him. He dodges easily, grinning.

"So, are we pretending nothing happened, or are we going to admit you got into it with a certain grumpy Nightshade wolf?"

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

Kylie leans forward, intrigued. "Define ‘got into it.’"

Oscar stretches, looking smug as hell. "Let’s just say Sophia has a look about her. Like she’s either extremely pissed off or extremely…" He gestures vaguely with his hands.

"Shut up, Oscar."

He laughs, but his expression sharpens. "If you’re getting tangled up with Lucas, that’s not just a mistake—it’s a distraction. We’re here to figure out this birthrate crisis, not play dominance games with the Nightshade beta."

I grit my teeth, pushing to my feet. "I know exactly why we’re here. Which is why I’m going to do what I set out to do instead of sitting around gossiping like a bunch of elders who have nothing better to do."

Oscar looks at me. "And where exactly are you going?"

"To check out the latest missing wolf report. A Nightshade tracker vanished three nights ago. And I don’t think it’s just random."

Kylie straightens. "Wait, three nights ago? That’s the same day your father moved the pack after that Windrider scout disappeared near the southern pass."

My stomach twists. That’s not a coincidence.

I grab my gear and head toward the eastern ridge, Oscar and Kylie falling into step behind me. The forest is alive with the hum of nocturnal creatures, but beneath that, there’s something off. The wind carries a scent that doesn’t belong—faint, metallic, laced with something sharp and unnatural.

Kylie stiffens. "Tell me you smell that."

Oscar scans the trees, his eyes shifting slightly, his wolf close to the surface. "Blood mixed with something else."

We move quickly, following the scent until we come across a disturbance in the undergrowth. Broken branches, claw marks along the trunks. Signs of a struggle—in the middle of it, a smear of red in a gross representation of claw marks across the bark.

Kylie crouches, running her fingers over the dried markings. "These aren’t normal claw marks. Look at the color."

Oscar kneels beside her, his jaw tightening. "That’s not natural. That’s…"

"Not from any pack we know," I finish, my pulse kicking up.

The marks aren’t just red—they’re unnaturally bright, like something tainted with something—magic, maybe?

This isn’t just about missing wolves anymore. This is something much, much worse. And when I tell him, I’m pretty damn sure Lucas Stone will not like it.

The unnatural claw marks stretch across the bark in jagged slashes, the blood dried to an eerie, almost glowing shade of crimson. Everything about this feels wrong. Not just the scent of old blood or the lingering traces of something off in the air—it’s the way the forest itself seems to hold its breath around the scene.

Oscar runs his fingers along one of the deeper grooves in the wood, frowning. "These aren’t normal attack marks."

Kylie crouches beside him, scraping a bit of the dried blood onto a cloth. "You’re telling me. No wolf’s claws are like this."

I narrow my eyes. "No shit. I think we can all agree this is the mark of the Crimson Claw—thus the name."

Kylie glances up, brow furrowing. I scan the area again, gut instinct screaming at me we’re missing something. The Nightshade scout who disappeared three nights ago vanished in this exact area—so did the Windrider tracker. Two wolves from different packs, different lives, different abilities, both taken without a trace beyond this.

Whatever did this isn’t just hunting. I glance at the red-streaked bark again, then over at the disturbed ground. Something big came through here. This is wrong, something darker than what we’ve seen before, but is it the Crimson Claw? There’s no way to say at this point.

I let out a slow breath and force my focus forward. "We’re not going to find the answers standing around here. Let’s head to Shadow Hollow. We need supplies, and I want to check in with the locals."

Kylie wipes her hands on her pants, then swings her bag over her shoulder. "You mean you want to see if the others know more than the council is letting on?"

I flash her a grin. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

Moonlight Café

Shadow Hollow, Washington

Shadow Hollow is the kind of town that doesn’t change much—its charm never seems to fade. Vintage storefronts lining a neat and tidy Main Street with the same old men sitting outside the general store playing chess like they’ve been doing it since the dawn of time. The same enticing aromas coming from the bakery, and the same café beckoning me.

But there’s something in the air today, something just beneath the usual chatter and small-town bustle. A quiet unease, an unspoken tension hanging between the shopkeepers and the passing customers.

Kylie nudges my arm as we pass the apothecary. "Feel that?"

I nod. "Something’s got them rattled."

Oscar steps ahead, opening the door to the Moonlight Café, and the moment we step inside, I hear it.

"—three more wolves gone, Marjorie. That’s not normal."

I stop just inside the doorway, picking up a menu from the table just inside the door. I pretend to scan the menu as I try to eavesdrop on what’s being said.

At the far end of the café, Marjorie Reed, the owner, leans against the counter, her arms folded as she whispers to two other women sitting at a corner booth. She’s an older woman, sharp-eyed and perceptive, the kind of person who knows everything that happens in Shadow Hollow before it even happens.

"Could be those mutants…" one of the women says, glancing around as if to check for eavesdroppers.

Marjorie nods her head, lips pressed tight. "Could just be the Crimson Claw acting out. My nephew lives out by Ash Creek. He says they found bodies. But the way they were torn apart…" She lowers her voice further.

I lean toward them—hoping I’m subtle enough not to be noticed—my pulse picking up.

Kylie tilts her head slightly, her hearing sharper than mine. "She’s talking about something that happened a couple of weeks ago… something about bodies being found that didn’t seem right. They’re spooked…" she murmurs under her breath.

My stomach clenches. Not right? That doesn’t sound good. What the café owner is describing sounds an awful lot like the mutant rumor Blackwood was dancing around.

Oscar steps up to the counter, ordering coffee as a cover while I stay locked on Marjorie and her conversation.

"That damn regional council doesn’t want to admit it," Marjorie continues, voice hushed. "But the threat from the Crimson Claw is spreading. The council’s pretending they’ve got it under control, but if you ask me? They know nothing more than they did when poor Arthur died. Something’s coming—maybe it’s the Crimson Claw, and maybe it’s not—but the council doesn’t know a damn thing about how to stop it."

Her words send a slow pulse of dread through me.

Kylie grabs a napkin and pretends to wipe her mouth, muttering low. "We need to talk to her. Alone."

I glance at Marjorie, then at the way she keeps glancing toward the window, as if expecting something to be watching. Whatever she knows, she’s already afraid, and if she’s afraid, maybe we should be too.

Before I get the chance to pull her aside, the café door swings open, the little bell above it chiming once. A shift ripples through the room, subtle but undeniable. Conversations quiet just a fraction, a few gazes flicking toward the entrance before looking away.

I don’t have to turn around to know who just walked in. Lucas Stone has that kind of presence—the kind that commands attention even when he’s not trying. Still, I glance over my shoulder just to confirm. Yep. There he is.

He stands just inside the door, broad shoulders squared, golden eyes sharp as they immediately lock onto mine. He looks like he never left the forest, the wildness of the mountain still clinging to him.

His expression? Unreadable.

Mine? Probably not.

Beside me, Kylie mutters under her breath, "This should be fun."

Lucas doesn’t waste time. He moves straight toward me, dodging tables and chairs with predatory ease, stopping just close enough that I have to tip my chin up to meet his gaze.

"We need to talk," he says, voice low.

I cross my arms, letting my expression stay neutral, even though my pulse picks up like it has no damn sense. "That’s funny. Last time I saw you, you were walking away from me like your life depended on it."

Kylie snickers behind me, but Lucas doesn’t take the bait. His gaze flicks to her and Oscar, then back to me. "Outside. Now."

I narrow my eyes, but before I can tell him exactly where he can shove his demands, Marjorie clears her throat loudly from behind the counter.

"Not in my café, Lucas," she warns, giving him the kind of look only a woman who’s been dealing with difficult men her whole life can pull off.

Lucas doesn’t even glance her way. "Outside, Sophia."

Something in his tone—something that tells me he’s not here to pick another fight, no matter how much we seem to enjoy them—makes me reconsider snapping at him.

Instead, I sigh dramatically, shooting Kylie a quick look before stepping away from the table. "Fine," I say, brushing past him. "But if this is some kind of a weak attempt at an apology, you can save your breath."

The door swings shut behind us, and Lucas guides me to the town square—complete with gazebo and decorative vintage streetlights on each corner—cutting off the noise of the café, leaving only the quiet of the square itself.

Lucas doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at me, his wolf just under the surface, watching, waiting. Finally, he says, "We’ve got a problem."

I huff a laugh. "Just one? Because I’ve got about ten, and at least four of them involve you."

His jaw tightens, but instead of rising to the bait like I half expect, he says, "Your people found something. Claw marks that don’t belong to any known pack. Am I right?"

I go still.

"How do you know that?"

His golden eyes darken slightly. "Because we found the same thing near the north ridge. Arthur Whitfield found the first ones, and we thought we’d beat them back, but now we’ve got missing wolves from more than one pack."

Something stirs in my chest, an uneasy realization settling in. The council might pretend they have things under control, but Lucas and I both know the truth. No one is safe.

He watches my expression closely, reading me too easily, and I hate I know he’s right. "We need to scout the area together," he says, stepping closer. "My brother and our men have their hands full, keeping our own pack safe. You can fight me on this, or you can admit that those of you your father left behind will not get the answers on their own."

My fingers twitch, my warped sense of humor and self-preservation both beg me to push back just for the sake of doing it. But what do they know?

Instead, I meet his gaze evenly. "Fine. But let’s get one thing straight, Stone—I don’t take orders from you."

His mouth twitches—like he’s holding back a grin. Then, he leans in slightly, his voice a quiet rumble of challenge. "We’ll see about that."

Lucas shakes his head, turning away and stalks off. Damn him. Damn me. Because for some insane reason, I’m looking forward to finding out what happens next.