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CHAPTER 7

LUCAS

T he ground tears beneath my paws as I run, every stride a promise. The silver flash beside me is Sophia—quick, fearless, all instinct and muscle. The thing we’re chasing darts ahead, a blur of movement too fast, too wrong. It doesn’t smell like anything natural. Chemical rot, bile, scorched fur. It’s not just a mutant. It’s something else entirely.

We push harder, breath syncing, the woods falling away behind us. The scent trail leads us up a narrow ridge and down again, slicing through a hollow where the earth is dark and waterlogged. The path veers toward a place I’d hoped I’d never need to see again—the cabin.

It slouches in the trees like it’s rotting from the inside out—just the way we left it after Ryder, Isabella, and I fought those mutated freaks from Crimson Claw. I slow near the tree line, watching the shadows coil around the sagging roof. The scent we’ve been following thickens here, clinging to the ground and walls like mold.

I drop the bag and step into the clearing, signaling Sophia to circle left. She flanks me immediately, silent and sharp. When I’m sure there’s nothing lying in wait to ambush us, I let the power rise through me. The wind picks up, mist swirling at my feet. Lightning crackles through it as it climbs up my body and then thunder rolls deep in my chest.

When the mist clears, I’m standing in human form, naked but grounded. I pull on the boots, jeans and shirt I packed and sling the duffle over my shoulder as Sophia shifts beside me.

Mist coils tight around her, streaked with violet and silver. Thunder hums low as her form vanishes into the stormlight. When it clears, she stands—naked, breathtaking, and utterly unbothered by it.

“Staring’s a good way to get surprised,” she says, plucking her clothes from the bag and tugging on a slouchy sweater.

“Hard not to look when you practically dare me to,” I mutter, dragging my gaze back to the cabin.

“Consider it a stress test,” she says, pulling on the rest of her clothes. “You failed.”

I almost grin, but the stench of blood and sulfur curdles in my nostrils. I push open the splintered door. Inside, it’s worse than I remember. We step inside. The place is cold, darker than it should be. Sophia slams the door shut behind us, and the sound echoes through the dead space like a gunshot. The fireplace is empty, but soot stains the walls like something burned too hot, too fast. Blood is everywhere. Spattered across the floorboards, smeared on the wall. But no bodies.

“No bodies,” Sophia says aloud, echoing my thought. She steps inside, eyes scanning, careful not to touch anything. “They bled out fast. And not from natural wounds. Look at the spray patterns—arterial.”

“Do I even want to know how you know that?”

She grins. “Probably not.”

I nod, crouching near the hearth. Something heavy landed on the stone beneath it, cracking it. Or something fought to stay down.

The walls are worse. Symbols cover the cabin's interior, drawn in long, jagged strokes. Some in ash, others in blood that’s turned rust-brown with time. But some are fresher. Still tacky. They weren’t here the last time I was.

Sophia walks toward the far wall, lips parting. “I know these.”

I straighten. “Explain.”

“They’re Windrider glyphs. Old ones. Forbidden,” she says, tracing a symbol with a gloved finger but not touching it. “This one means breach. This one—” she hesitates, pointing to a crescent inside a broken circle “—means transformation without unity. It’s a warning.”

I stare at her. “Transformation without unity. What the hell does that mean?”

“It means something’s taken the shifter’s natural process and broken it apart. Body without mind. Mind without soul. The kind of change that leaves you stuck between.”

“Something mutated, like mutants.”

She nods once, sharp and sure. “Exactly like them.”

My stomach clenches. I don’t scare easily. I’ve seen more blood than most wolves do in a lifetime. But this? This is different. This is intentional. Someone’s trying to force a new kind of transformation—something designed to sever a shifter from their humanity.

Sophia turns toward me. Beneath the light filtering through the boarded window, her pale face shows a jaw set like steel. “We need to tell Ryder. And your regional council. They won’t like hearing it, but…”

“They’ll ignore it,” I say flatly. “Blackwood’s already dismissing this as Crimson Claw being a minor irritant. He won’t believe it until they’re at his door.”

Sophia crosses her arms. “Then we go around him. You’re the beta. You have authority.”

“I have limits,” I growl. “Ryder would back me, but the rest of the council still sees me as the younger Stone with something to prove.”

“Then prove it,” she snaps. “Or what the hell are we doing out here?”

She moves toward me, quick, eyes blazing. Her scent wraps around me—stormlight, wildflowers, heat. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, responding to her challenge like she’s prey worth chasing.

“You think I haven’t?” I demand. “You think I haven’t bled for this territory? For these wolves? You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to keep this region from ripping itself apart.”

She stops inches from me. “Then stop pretending you’re still in your brother’s shadow. Step the fuck into the role you were born for. You’re not some rookie pup. You’re Lucas Stone. Act like it.”

My hand shoots out, wrapping around the back of her neck. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Her chin lifts, and her eyes spark with fury and something else.

Desire.

“You don’t get to push me like that,” I say low.

She presses closer. “I just did.”

My grip tightens, just enough to remind her who’s in control. I could kiss her. I want to. Her mouth is right there, parted, waiting. But the blood on the floor beneath us, the stench in the air—it claws at my focus.

“We don’t have time for this,” I growl, letting her go and stepping back.

She doesn’t follow, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “You’re right. But don’t think for one second I’m finished with you.”

I believe her. God help me, I want to finish what we started.

I turn back to the wall, eyes catching on another symbol—this one different. A handprint, larger than it should be. Four scratches—like a wolf paw—elongated. Burned into the plaster, not drawn.

Sophia sees it too. “That’s not Windrider.”

“No,” I say quietly. “That’s Crimson Claw.”

Her voice is sharp now. “But mutated. Look at the spread. The claws.”

We stare at it together, the smell of ash and blood curling around us like smoke from a dying fire.

“They’re not just changing,” she whispers. “They’re evolving.”

I nod once. “And from what we’ve learned so far, someone’s helping them do it.”

The cabin creaks above us, something in the rafters shifting. Not a sound of danger, but decay. Whatever happened here is done—but it left an imprint. A warning.

I glance at Sophia again. She’s still tense but controlled. Fire and ice under pressure. She’ll hold.

“We get back. We regroup. And then we tear this wide open,” I say.

Sophia nods, but her voice is quiet when she speaks. “You felt it, didn’t you? When we were hunting. The way we moved. The pull.”

I don’t lie to her. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t smile. She just looks at me like she knows exactly what I’m refusing to say out loud.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this place existed until now.”

I drop the duffel with a thud near the hearth. “Wasn’t exactly keeping it secret, McKenna. I didn’t think we’d be back here.” I turn, and she’s right in front of me again, toe to toe, fire in her every breath.

“You didn’t think,” she repeats, voice sharp.

“And you never stop talking long enough to listen,” I shoot back. “You act like you’re the only one who can see what’s coming.”

She shoves me. Hard. “Because I see it, Lucas. You’re too busy playing alpha-lite in your brother’s shadow to realize how close we are to losing everything—the Crimson Claw isn’t the only threat. The other wolf packs are practically at each other’s throats. My people want to pick sides. Other shifters as well. The Cascades are a fucking tinder box, and I think someone’s got a box of matches.”

She shoves me again, but I catch her wrist before she pulls away, my grip firm. “Careful, Windrider. You’re not in your territory.”

Her chin lifts defiantly, that wild gleam in her eyes growing sharper. “I don’t have a fucking territory. I’m Windrider, remember?”

The air between us crackles. My wolf growls, pacing the corners of my mind. Sophia’s pulse is visible in her throat, but she doesn’t flinch. She never does. That’s the problem. That’s why I want her.

“You keep pushing,” I growl, closing the gap between us, “and eventually, you’re not going to like where that gets you.”

“Then take your best shot, Stone,” she hisses, shoving me again. “I’m tired of pretending this doesn’t matter.”

I don’t think. I move. My mouth crashes against hers, and she responds like she’s been waiting for it—teeth, tongue, nails digging into my shoulders. I spin her, pressing her back to the nearest wall. She kisses like she fights—all heat and bite, like she needs to prove she can survive it.

I break away just enough to yank her sweater over her head, and she rips my shirt down the center without blinking. Her bare skin hits mine like a brand.

“You want to fight?” I growl, dragging my mouth down her neck, biting hard at the curve of her shoulder. “You want me to prove you can’t just walk through my life and leave it unchanged?”

Her hands go to my fly. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t already belong in mine.”

I haul her off the wall and toss her over my shoulder, determined not to give into my lust. I stride out of the cabin and into a the forest, finding a small, soft moss-covered clearing just beyond. The air outside is cool, but she’s burning in my arms, squirming free of her leggings, pulling at my jeans with equal fire. I pin her wrists above her head, grinding my hips against hers, my cock thick and aching between us.

Her breath catches as I lower my head to her chest. I take her nipple into my mouth, slow and deliberate, suckling until she arches into me, whispering my name like a prayer that ends in a curse.

"I will not be gentle," I declare, my voice a feral growl. With one hand, I roughly free myself while the other forcefully pins her beneath me. "Not this time."

"I don't remember asking for gentleness," she retorts, her eyes blazing with a challenging fire. "Just know that I give as fiercely as I receive." Her legs wrap around me like a constrictor, dragging me closer as I hastily undo my fly. My cock finds her molten heat like a missile locked onto its target, and I plunge into her with a single, electrifying thrust. She gasps sharply, the sound blending with the feverish rustle of our movements, yet her eyes never leave mine, even as her fingers tangle desperately in my hair and her hips rise eagerly to meet my forceful rhythm.

We crash into a primal cadence swiftly—not frenzied, not rushed. Just deep, deliberate, and charged with every unvoiced desire that crackles in the air between us. She pulls me down, capturing my lips with a hunger that seems intent on devouring my very breath, moaning gutturally into my mouth as I thrust deeper. I pin her hands to the ground beside her head, our fingers interlocked, refusing to shatter the intense connection of our locked gazes.

"Mine," I growl against the tender skin of her throat, my voice a raw, possessive snarl.

"Yours," she breathes out with a fiery whisper, her hips surging to meet each powerful, deliberate thrust of my body against hers. "And you're mine."

I pound into her with relentless force and burning intensity. Each thrust more feral than the last.

I reach my climax with a profound, primal growl against her skin, buried as deeply inside her as possible. She quivers beneath me, her body convulsing around mine, releasing a sound that is a mix of my name and an urgent plea I can’t fully decipher.

For what feels like an eternity, we remain entwined—bodies interlocked, breath gradually tapering into a gentle, shared rhythm. I gingerly shift my weight, sliding off her, only to pull her tightly against me. Her skin is slick with perspiration, and her breath is a warm, soothing caress against my chest.

Neither of us speak. There’s no need. Something’s different now. The argument, the chase, the fire—it burned through whatever flimsy denial we’d been clinging to. But that doesn’t mean either of us is ready to say it aloud.

Her fingers draw slow circles over my stomach. “That thing we felt in the woods… it wasn’t just adrenaline.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And this…” She hesitates. “This changes nothing.”

I glance down at her. “Only if you fight it.”

She doesn’t reply, but the way she curls into me says more than words ever could.

I kiss the top of her head, then ease away, pulling my jeans back on and reaching for the duffel. “I want to check inside to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

I move back to the cabin and enter. Sophia follows. The scent of blood still lingers, sharp and acidic. I need to clear my head before the reality of what we found here slips away.

That’s when I see it… tucked into the corner of the hearth, barely visible beneath a collapsed floorboard, something glints. I move the broken slats aside and pull it free—a photograph, crumpled but intact.

The image stops my breath. It’s not a pack photo. Not wolves. It’s human—five people, dressed in sterile white. Scientists. One of them stands out. A man in a lab coat, tall, pale, with narrow eyes and a familiar scowl. He doesn’t belong in this forest. He doesn’t belong in any world I know.

But he matches the description of someone Isabella told me about once. A name that showed up in Arthur’s stolen records, in half-burned pages among Arthur’s notes. Dr. Everett Cain.

And behind him, barely visible through the glass of what looks like a reinforced holding cell, is an enormous wolf, but somewhat misshapen, twisted. Watching.

Sophia kneels beside me, eyes locking onto the image.

“But where did they come from?” she whispers.

“Unknown, but it looks like they’re mutating wolves—creating some type of superior species.”

She glances at the symbols on the wall.

“What?” I ask, my jaw set.

“That fits with what we found—the symbols, but what if the wolves they’re using aren’t from this plane of existence?”

“Huh? Explain.”

“There are legends about wolves and other shifters that were pushed into a pocket of the world that lies beneath the surface. Tales about miners digging too deep, about dragons pushing something from our world…”

“Fairytales…”

“To you, maybe. But to Windriders? Not so much. We feel like the earth is becoming poisoned, or something is bleeding into our world, and that it needs healing... This ‘poison’... could be linked to the declining birthrates.”

“Do you believe it?” I ask.

“Do you have a better explanation?”

I don’t.

Sophia’s eyes meet mine, and I see it there—whatever the Crimson Claw is or isn’t, it’s not of this world, and somebody is trying to use that to capitalize on it, but to what end?