Page 22 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

I sit in the office surrounded by the familiar scent of fresh lumber laced with the faint tang of sawdust like my studio at home.

The baby sleeps in my arms, a perfect little angel with red curls and cheeks so soft, they seem too fragile to be real. My fingers trace the curve of her tiny cheek, marveling at how peaceful she looks nestled against me.

I’m a stranger, but she doesn’t seem to care.

But why was she alone in the forest? My mind lurches back to that moment when she was a wolf cub, her fur slick as she trembled and whimpered and then, impossibly, shifting into this perfect human shape in the span of a heartbeat.

Did I imagine it? Was it a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and adrenaline?

My breath catches. It can’t be a werewolf, can it?

I snort quietly, embarrassed by the thought, recalling teenage fantasy novels about high school werewolves, tales I wrote off years ago as nonsense.

But then I think of Finn wandering off into the trees, drawn by an unknown, and the dog-wolf returning in his place.

More wolf than dog, although I didn’t want to admit it at the time.

Something’s going on here.

Muffled voices filter in from outside: Nixon’s controlled baritone, Finn’s low rumble, and Reed’s sharper edge. They all sound tense as they debate what will happen next. My grip on the helpless baby tightens.

Any normal person would have dialed the police the moment they suspected an abandoned infant, waiting for them to dispatch a worried social worker to swoop in and declare the child safe. But this? This is far from normal.

I shift the baby so she nestles closer. Her tiny fist unfurls and curls around my finger, and my heart splits open, like a ripe fruit fallen to the ground.

No. She’s not just an abandoned child. She’s... something else. An abandoned changeling. A miracle clothed in flesh and unanswered questions.

But how did Finn know she was out there?

“Scarlet?” Finn’s voice at the door interrupts my thoughts.

I look up, adjusting the child as he fills the doorframe. His expression flickers from hope to fear and finally to wary tenderness. He’s such a soft-hearted man.

I swallow. “She’s not human?” I whisper, more to myself than to him.

“Not entirely.”

Behind him, Nixon’s shadow looms, and then Reed’s. They fill the office with their tall, muscular frames and their intensity.

I close my eyes, cradle the baby close, and steel myself for whatever comes next. Because whatever they decide, I know one thing for sure: she’s safe in my arms, and I don’t want to let her go.

Nixon’s shoulders are curved like he’s carrying the burden of centuries of worry. His eyes find mine, intense, but not unkind. The baby stirs against my chest, her cheek nuzzling my collarbone, and I tighten my hold without even thinking.

“There are things you don’t know about the world, Scarlet. Things we haven’t been ready to tell you, but this… this discovery has brought forward an inevitable discussion.”

“Inevitable?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Listen through to the end, okay.” He sighs and looks at the ceiling, searching for inspiration.

“There was a time when the goddess, our goddess, grew tired of humankind, destroying her forests, slaughtering animals without thought, poisoning the rivers. So she gave a few humans something new. Animal aspects. Wolf forms. Bear forms. A reminder of the beauty of the wild. It was supposed to be a lesson in humility and connection.”

I stare, not blinking, holding my body tight.

“She thought it would teach compassion. If your brother could turn into a bear, maybe you wouldn’t hunt bears for sport.

If your lover could become a hawk, maybe you’d leave the skies alone.

Your lover could tell you of the freedom of the hawk and the beauty of the skies, and you’d think before you acted in a way to destroy either. ”

My arms tighten instinctively around the child. “This sounds like a myth.”

“Mythology is often rooted in distant truth. We make stories from the parts of history that seem too distant to be real.”

My lips part, but no words come. It’s too much.

Too strange. My mind reels, trying to fold this wild tale into something logical, something grounded.

Shifters? A goddess punishing mankind with animal blood?

It’s the kind of thing you read in dusty old books or hear in half-remembered folklore, not something whispered in a quiet room, by men you know to be serious.

Not something that makes your skin prickle because some part of you knows…

saw the truth of it. I shake my head, more to clear it than in denial. “So it’s not just a story?”

He shakes his head. “It’s real.”

“So, what happened?”

He looks at me then, and the raw and haunted depth of his gaze spears me. “The shifters were hunted. Rejected. Feared. Packs scattered. Many died. Those who survived learned to hide in plain sight.”

My voice is barely a whisper. “So, you’re saying that this baby is a shifter. A wolf-human. A werewolf.”

“Yes.”

I blink, heart thudding, glancing between the three men who have been my rescuers and my company, my friends and my lovers, dread swelling until it almost chokes me.

“How do you know this story, Nixon?”

“We’re not what you think, Scarlet.” he says softly. “We’re the same as this child.”

The night of the attack rushes back: the snarling wolves, Nixon’s inhuman strength, the wolf in the house. This can’t be right. It’s stories. Old folklore. The kind of thing my mom would drag out to warn me of the dangers of the world.

“You’re saying you’re… shifters.”

“Yes…men… and wolves.”

The breath I take rattles through me. “And the night I was attacked?”

“Finn and Reed found you,” he says gently. “They fought off your attacker. Protected you. And the wolf you saw in the cabin?”

“Finn,” I murmur, heart twisting. “It was him.”

“Yes. When he changed back, you saw him in his human form.”

Everything inside me feels like it’s turning inside out. Fear and fascination war for dominance, but I have a million questions, and the most pressing ones involve this child. “So, this baby…” I glance down, brushing a thumb across her tiny cheek. “She’s a shifter, too?”

“Yes,” he says. “Born to a woman named Aura. Mate to a neighboring alpha, Gregory. He claimed her as his mate before she was ready. Then she was attacked by a rival. Left for dead. Gregory cast her aside because she was carrying a bastard child.”

I can barely breathe. “She’s a baby… an innocent.”

“She’s a miracle,” he says. “And a warning. Shifters are almost always men. In all our years amongst our own kind, this is the first female shifter any of us have seen.”

I stare at the child, so small and precious against my skin, and warmth blooms in my chest.

Then I look at Reed. “Show me,” I say, voice steady.

He flinches. “Scarlet…”

“I need to see it,” I insist. “I need you to show me it’s real.”

He meets my eyes, holding them captive. The air shift before it happens with a release of invisible pressure, laced with electricity, like a storm on the horizon.

His body quivers, muscles tightening, spine curving.

In seconds, he’s gone and, in his place, stands a wolf, huge, sleek, golden-eyed, and silent.

My breath leaves me in a rush, overwhelmed.

It’s not a costume. It can’t be. And it’s not a trick. Reed’s clothes are in a pool at the wolf’s feet.

It’s a real wolf… a wolf housing the heart and mind of a man.

Reed lowers his head to me like he’s bowing.

I reach out my hand, filled with awe and wonder, and when he nuzzles into my palm, gently licking my skin, I want to laugh out loud and cry, too.

There’s something so tragic about this; men forced to live with half their natures concealed. They’re beautiful, rare, and special, and yet they hide themselves in the mundane, fearful of rejection or persecution.

How many years have they lived like this, building furniture with calloused hands, managing lumber shipments, all while something primal simmers beneath their skin?

I see it now, the way their silence was never emptiness but restraint.

The way Nixon’s eyes held storms he didn’t dare let break.

The way Reed wore laughter like armor. The way Finn softened everything, even his secrets, like he was trying to apologize for what he was before I ever asked the question.

And I never would have asked, not before today.

But now I know.

Now I’ve held the evidence in my arms: a baby girl who shifted forms as naturally as a sigh, and did it in the safety of my hands, as if trusting me with her truth before I even knew how to hold it.

They’ve been carrying this alone.

The weight of their own inheritance.

And it hits me sharply that everything I’ve felt —the pull between us, the connection that defied logic —might not be some random twist of chemistry. The bond between us is stronger than it should be after so little time, and the desire I have for them is instinctual.

They’re not just men. They’re wolves.

And they’ve been letting me come close without knowing if I would run screaming the second I glimpsed what lay beneath their skin.

God. The strength that must be taken.

It makes me ache, not with fear but with fury. That the world has told them they must hide. That being this powerful, this magical, this other, is something they should apologize for.

But they don’t need to hide from me.

Not anymore.

I might not have known this truth when I first arrived in this town, but I know it now, and it doesn’t scare me.

What terrifies me is how much I already care.

How much I want to protect the miracle child sleeping in my arms. I want to fight for these men, not because they need saving, but because they deserve to be seen.

Wholly.

Truthfully.

Unconditionally.

Even the wild parts.

Especially the wild parts. Even if only by me.

When Reed shifts back, it’s quick, accompanied by a rustle and gust of air, and one form merges into another. There’s no spilled blood, no cracking of bones. An arched back, a gasp, and he’s standing there again, naked but unashamed, his chest rising and falling with effort.

I can’t take my eyes off him. The stunning carved lines of the firm muscle that shifts beneath his human skin, the huge black tribal tattoo over one pec and shoulder, and the wolf’s head inked on his arm.

A slight sheen of sweat has formed across his chest, and when my eyes drift lower, I stare at the dark curls around his impressive cock and the scar that mars his thick thigh.

I cradle the baby tighter, stunned. “I believe you,” I whisper.

Nixon steps closer, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder as Reed dresses. His touch is warm and grounding. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he says. “We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t want to frighten you away.”

“Why would you tell me? Why would you want to trust me with this?”

Nixon’s jaw tics, and he doesn’t reply.

I could have left, and I would have been none the wiser.

Their secret would have been safe. Immersed in my ordinary life, I never would have learned about the hidden world that exists behind the curtain of normality.

I could have spent the rest of my life believing that fairy tales were merely far-fetched stories concocted by the minds of darkly creative imaginations.

Instead, I’m here, with my eyes open to the wonders of the world, with a sweet girl in my arms, an impossibility made flesh, and three men around me who’ve treated me like a princess they snatched away from imminent danger.

I’m living my own fairy story.

I glance up at Nixon, at Finn, and at Reed.

“I’m not leaving,” I say. “Not while she needs me.”

Not while my heart is swelling with feelings I’m not ready to voice.

Nixon lets out a long sigh that sounds like relief.

Their secret is out now; our world has shifted, and none of us can pretend otherwise.

“I think we should go home,” he says.

Home?

Funny how their cabin in the woods is already starting to feel that way to me.