Page 7

CHAPTER 6

SOPHIA

W hat little sleep I got last night was restless. Oscar, Kylie and I have headed out into the wilderness beyond the Nightshade’s forest. We’re Windriders. Staying in one place for any length of time is difficult for us.

The forest is still—too still. No birdsong. No rustle of leaves from foraging creatures. Just the cold bite of pine-saturated air and the soft crunch of damp moss beneath our boots. We’re back at the ridge, where there are claw marks slashed into bark, stained with blood, like warnings no one’s willing to say out loud.

Oscar walks ahead of me, eyes sharp, steps careful. Kylie brings up the rear, knife already out, fingers flipping it like she’s trying to keep herself entertained. Neither of them speaks. They don’t need to. The silence says enough.

I crouch near the tree where we found the markings, brushing aside a clump of wet leaves. Something glints faintly under the debris. Not natural. Definitely not forgotten. I reach in carefully and pull it free.

My stomach knots.

“Is that—?” Oscar steps closer, eyes narrowing.

I nod, holding the object in my palm. What’s left of it, anyway. The twisted cord, the cracked stone bead, the shredded leather tie. It used to be a Windrider talisman. The kind we only gift to kin or blood-sworn allies.

Kylie whistles low. “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

“It’s not just a threat,” I murmur, fingers tightening around the remnants. “This was deliberate. They wanted someone to find it.”

Oscar kneels beside me. “Do you think it belonged to the scout who went missing?”

“No.” I scan the tree line, heartbeat pulsing hard in my ears. “This one was mine. I gave it to Max Bennett six months ago, when we fought alongside the Ironclaw Pack. I gave it to him before the battle, and later, he said it kept him centered when his wolf was close to snapping.”

“So you told him to keep it?” Oscar asks.

I nod, but say nothing, turning the talisman over in my hands.

“You think he’s dead?” Kylie asks, quiet for once.

I don’t answer. I don’t know how to. The talisman is torn, but it’s not destroyed. The blood dried into its fibers is fresh enough that whoever left it wanted me to know they’d touched it recently. They’re watching. They’re studying us. They’re sending a message.

I rise slowly; the wind brushing against my cheeks, teasing strands of hair across my face. I tuck the talisman into my pocket and look out over the ridge.

“They’re escalating,” I say. “First disappearances, then taunts. Now this.”

Oscar stands beside me, arms crossed. “You think it’s the Crimson Claw?”

Kylie clicks her tongue. “Who else? They’re the only ones freaky enough to make art out of someone else’s pain.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But this doesn’t feel like their usual calling card. This is personal.”

They watch me, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I don’t say what’s clawing at my insides. That I can feel someone moving just outside of sight. Every hair on my arms is standing on end. That my wolf is pacing just beneath my skin, unsettled in a way she never is—not unless he’s near.

Lucas. Damn it.

Even when he’s not here, his presence lingers like smoke. It's not just his scent—cedar, pine and heat—but the echo of his voice, the way he says my name like it’s both a warning and a promise. I can’t get him out of my head. And worse? I’m not sure I want to.

Oscar mutters something under his breath and moves toward the next set of tracks, crouching to examine them. Kylie follows, but I stay rooted where I am, staring at the tree where the claw marks dig deepest into the bark.

My fingers brush against the gash. Deep. Clean. Precise.

Not random. A signature.

I close my eyes for a second, letting the forest speak to me—not through sound, but feeling. My people call it wind-sense, the way the earth and air speak when you’re quiet long enough to hear. Right now, everything hums off-key.

Lucas said something’s broken. He was right. But it’s more than that. It’s fractured. Poisoned.

And I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me the other night, like he could see straight through every defense I’ve ever built. He’s the last wolf I should trust. The last male I should let anywhere near my walls. But I’m not stupid.

Fate doesn’t ask for permission-it drags you along in its wake.

I hate that I’m starting to believe it. Hate that when I imagine him walking out of the trees right now, I don’t brace for a fight—I brace for impact.

“Hey.” Oscar’s voice cuts through the fog. “You okay?”

I nod, turning toward him. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Kylie studies me, eyes sharp. “About the talisman, or the Nightshade’s beta, who keeps pretending he’s not tracking your every move?”

I lift an eyebrow. “You’re imagining things.”

“Mmhm.” She twirls her blade. “And I’m a dainty flower.”

Oscar chuckles. “You can flirt with Nightshade’s beta later. Right now, we need to figure out what this means.”

He’s right. We’ve got missing wolves, mutilated messages, and an entire region acting like denial is a viable strategy.

Still, as I walk toward the clearing’s edge, the talisman burning in my pocket, I can’t shake the sense that this message wasn’t just for Windriders. It was for me.

They want me rattled. They want me vulnerable. Unfortunately for them, Lucas Stone already beat them to it.

My thoughts splinter as Oscar calls me over. “The tracks split here. One went deeper into the woods—heavy, lumbering gait. The other peeled off toward the western creek. Lighter. Faster.”

“Two targets?” Kylie asks.

“Or a decoy,” I say. “Trying to pull attention in opposite directions.”

Oscar frowns. “What do you want to do?”

I glance between the two paths. “We follow the heavier one. A wounded or mutated shifter would leave that kind of imprint. The lighter steps might just be bait.”

Kylie nods. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”

I smile sweetly. “Don’t worry, I’m saving my real wisdom for when you need rescuing.”

She winks. “Can’t wait.”

We start down the path, weapons ready, senses stretched thin. Every branch that snaps, every shifting shadow makes my skin prickle. Even so, beneath all of that... my mind drifts back to Lucas—the way he felt under me during training. The way he didn’t flinch when I straddled him just looked up like he was already choosing which sin to commit first. That mouth of his—firm, ruthless, made for snarling commands and kissing ruin into people.

I should hate him. Instead, I’m craving the next moment we collide—and if that isn’t proof that I’ve lost my mind, I don’t know what is.

Kylie slows as the trail steepens, her boots skidding on a patch of loose stone. Oscar holds out a hand to steady her, but she waves him off. I pause near a large rock formation, scanning the ridgeline. Something’s out of place. The sound. The smell. The…

“Stop,” I say sharply.

Oscar halts mid-step.

I kneel and press my hand against the ground. Something unearthly scorched the soil here faintly. Not a burn. Not lightning, but heat from within.

Kylie crouches beside me. “What the hell is that?”

I shake my head. “The Crimson Claw’s base instinct is destruction. This is methodical. Controlled.”

Oscar grunts. “Like someone’s testing what they can get away with.”

I rise slowly, gaze locked on the tree line.

“You feel that?” I whisper.

The others go still. The forest isn’t quiet anymore. It’s listening. Watching. Waiting. We’re not alone. We back away quietly and seek the relative safety of the Nightshade Pack.

Later, I wind my way along the ridge trail above the compound. It cuts through the forest like a vein, narrow and winding, its edges brushing the drop-off that disappears into the valley below. The air smells of pine needles and smoke from the lodge's distant hearth, but there’s something else here, something older beneath the surface. I feel it in the dirt, in the land's pull under my feet.

Isabella walks beside me, silent for a few minutes as we climb. Her presence is calm, a different kind of strength than Lucas or Ryder—less command, more gravity. I like her. She listens before she speaks. She watches everything.

“You’ve been pacing,” she says finally, her voice soft but edged with steel. “In your room. In the hall. Like your skin doesn’t quite fit.”

I glance sideways. “You stalking me now?”

She smiles faintly, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “No need. You walk like someone being hunted by her own thoughts.”

She’s not wrong. I kick a stone down the slope, watch it bounce off a boulder and vanish into the brush. “It’s difficult to ignore the feeling that something’s coming. Something big.”

Isabella nods slowly. “It is, and it isn’t. The trick is learning which instincts are warning you—and which are dragging you back into old patterns you should’ve broken years ago.”

We reach the overlook, a flat stretch of rock that juts out past the tree line. The view is stunning—layers of evergreen fading into mist, the lodge a small shadow tucked into the ridge behind us. She folds her arms and leans against a moss-covered outcrop, her eyes scanning the horizon like she’s reading more than the terrain.

“I didn’t believe in fated mates,” she says.

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Her gaze stays forward. “Keep in mind I knew nothing about shifters. When I heard about it, I thought it was just some fairytale designed to keep she-wolves obedient and hopeful. Some biology-meets-romance nonsense that didn’t hold up in the real world.”

“But Ryder?—”

“I didn’t want him,” she cuts in. “Not at first. I fought it. I told myself it was a coincidence. That I was just drawn to his prowess in bed, not something deeper.”

I grin as I watch her closely, crossing my arms. “And now?”

She looks at me with a sly grin. “Now I know better.”

The wind rushes past us, tugging at my braid. I don’t answer right away, because I don’t want to admit how much her words hit me square in the chest.

Lucas is a pain in my ass. He’s cold and sharp and entirely too used to people falling in line. But I’ve never wanted to rip someone’s clothes off and punch them in the face in the same breath. No one has ever kissed me like that—like a claim of ownership, like I was about to be conquered, and I liked it.

“It makes little sense,” I mutter. “He and I… we’re built for different lives. He believes in territory, control, structure. I don’t even like staying in the same zip code for more than a month.”

Isabella shrugs. “Maybe that’s the point. Balance doesn’t come from finding someone who mirrors you. It comes from the one who can challenge your shadow without being swallowed by it—a counterweight, if you will.”

That’s bothersome; I stare down at the valley, my pulse thudding at the base of my throat.

“Have you told him?” she asks.

I snort. “Lucas? Please. He’d either laugh or have a heart attack.”

Isabella steps away from the rock, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Maybe. Or maybe he’d stop pretending he hasn’t already felt it.”

I shoot her a look. “You sound awfully confident.”

“Lucas might act like he believes in nothing and that life is just one big joke, but he’s not stupid. He knows something’s happening between you.” She hesitates, then adds, “Just be careful. The more you ignore it, the more it’ll control you.”

I want to argue. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that I have it under control. But the memory of his mouth on mine, the way he touched me like I belonged under his hands, steals the words before they form.

I nod instead. It’s the best I can do.

It’s past midnight when I head outside again. Restless. The lodge and other buildings are dark except for a few lanterns flickering near the main entrance. Fog blankets the woods beyond the training grounds, and the air tastes metallic, like ozone before lightning.

Lucas steps out from behind the tool shed like he’s been waiting for me.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks, voice low.

I shake my head. “The forest is too quiet—almost like it’s holding its breath.”

He nods once, and we fall into step together, walking the perimeter like we’re both pretending we’re not here for the same reason.

Then we see it—the deer lies just beyond the tree line, its body contorted, legs twisted at unnatural angles. Something tore it open along the flank—deep gashes clawed through muscle and bone. What’s worse, the eyes are gone. Hollowed.

Lucas crouches beside the carcass, jaw tight. “Same markings as the scouts.”

“It’s a warning,” I whisper. “And it’s too damn close to the lodge.”

He looks up at me, golden eyes flashing. “We’re going after it.”

I nod, pulse jumping. “Together?”

“You up for that, Windrider?”

“Try to keep up, Stone.”

He grins—not the charming kind. The kind that promises we’re not stopping until something bleeds.

In one smooth motion, Lucas strips out of his clothing—unbothered by his nudity—stuffing his clothing into a duffle bag he had with him. A low growl vibrates in Lucas’s chest, and then the surrounding air crackles. Mist curls at his feet, swirling upward in threads of lightning and shards of deep, storm-lit color. Thunder rolls low through the trees, not from the sky—but from him. The mist surges, swallowing him whole in a sudden flash, and when it clears, the man is gone.

In his place stands a massive wolf—dark gray, broad-shouldered, his eyes sharp and burning gold. Power hums off him, quiet and coiled, the forest seeming to bend around his presence. My heart stutters in my chest. He’s beautiful. And dangerous. And mine, whether or not I want to admit it.

I drop, kick off my boots and remove my clothing, stuffing it into the bag as well before calling on the storm in my blood. The wind wraps around me like a promise, and I let go.

The shift hits me hard—like falling into lightning. The wind rises around me as the storm inside answers my call. Mist coils at my feet, laced with lightning, and flickers of silver and violet. It wraps around me, a living current, and then thunder splits the air. When the mist dissolves, I’m no longer standing on two feet.

I’m a wolf. Four paws grounded to the earth, muscles primed, silver coat gleaming under the moonlight. Ready.

Lucas howls once, short and sharp. A command. I answer with a growl, already surging forward, my wolf aching to hunt. He picks up the bag, holding it in his teeth, and takes off. We move fast, weaving through trees like we’ve done it together a hundred times. No words. No second-guessing. Just instinct. Just chase.

The scent trail is thick and twisted, laced with rot and something chemical. Not natural. Not right. Lucas leads, moving fluidly and aggressively, cutting through the underbrush as if born to do so. I run beside him, our wolves synced in pace, breath, purpose.

A shadow darts ahead—too fast for a normal shifter. It moves like it doesn’t obey the same rules of physics we do. I catch a flash of crimson eyes through the fog.

We found it. Or maybe… it wanted us to.

I give chase, picking up speed, Lucas matching me stride for stride. Somewhere inside me, buried beneath the adrenaline and sharp pine air, a thought flickers like fire licking dry tinder: whatever this is, it may only be beginning.