Page 35 of Forest Reed (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #8)

Zoe

The second the gym lights flickered, I was already moving. Forest was right behind me, boots pounding pavement as we sprinted across the square. Jason cursed into comms, warning the others, but I tuned him out.

Because I knew. North’s wolves were already inside.

We hit the gym doors hard, shoving past deputies who looked stunned to see us coming in hot. The stench of sweat, fear, and too many bodies hit me like a wall. Kids clung to parents, voices murmured sharp and nervous.

And there—by the far wall, where crates were stacked too neatly—three men in deputy vests froze mid-motion. Wrong posture. Wrong eyes.

Not deputies. Wolves.

“Down!” I shouted, shoving the nearest civilian flat as Forest’s rifle barked.

The first wolf dropped, chest blooming red. The other two ripped rifles from beneath their vests, opening fire into the crowd. Screams erupted. Parents threw themselves over their kids. Chaos detonated.

Forest charged forward, his body a wall between the shooters and the civilians, while I flanked hard left, Glock hot in my hand. I dropped one in the shoulder—he spun, snarling, firing wild until Forest’s second shot cut him down.

The last one grabbed a boy, maybe ten years old, yanking him against his chest with a pistol jammed to the kid’s temple.

The crowd froze, every scream choked back into terrified silence.

“Everybody stop!” the wolf barked, sweat streaking his soot-stained face. “One more step, and he dies!”

Forest raised his rifle, steady as stone. “Then you die first.”

The wolf’s eyes darted between us, wild. “North said you’d follow! Said you’d chase us right into the nest!”

Zoe’s pulse hammered, her aim locked on the bastard’s skull. “Let the kid go. Last chance.”

The wolf’s grin was cracked, manic. “You don’t get it. You’re already too late.”

And then his free hand dipped into his vest—toward something that blinked red.