Page 40 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

FINN

The convoy winds through narrow forest roads as we follow Hunter’s truck toward the compound. It’s a thirty-minute drive, and the further north we go, the quieter it gets, like the trees themselves are braced for what’s to come.

Nixon sits beside me in the passenger seat, eyes forward, one hand clenched against his knee.

He hasn’t said a word since we crossed into bear territory, but the tension pulses off him in waves.

I don’t know if it’s possible to be ready to face the people you’ve been told are your enemy your whole life without a sense of trepidation.

Even so, he gives off the silent command of a man preparing for a fight he hopes he doesn’t get dragged into.

Scarlet is behind us, humming something soft to Ahya as the baby plays with the edge of her sleeve.

The compound comes into view as the road flattens. High fences wrap around a sprawling stretch of old stone buildings tucked into the base of a mountain ridge. There are watchpoints at the corners. Bears don’t believe in passive defense, it seems.

Hunter’s truck rolls through the gates first. We follow close behind.

And within seconds, the scent of wolf we’re emanating sets the compound into a frenzy.

I see them before they shift, bears in human form gathering near the central courtyard, their nostrils flaring as our truck rolls to a stop. Their instincts hit like a tidal wave. One by one, fur rips through flesh, and massive bodies fall to four paws.

A defensive ring forms around the path ahead.

Nixon opens his door slowly, stepping out with his chin high and his eyes locked on the largest bear approaching us. I climb out the other side, rolling slightly on the balls of my feet in case this goes south fast.

But Hunter steps between the lines before the growls escalate.

His arm lifts, strong, steady, and drops over Nixon’s shoulders like they’ve been blood brothers since birth.

“They’re with me,” he says.

Silence follows, thick and crackling. The nearest bears pause. Then, reluctantly, the largest among them shifts back, rising to human form. The others follow, fur sinking into skin, the tension ebbing with every breath.

We’re not welcomed with open arms.

But we’re not being torn apart, either.

Goldie steps from the truck behind us, cradling one twin and calling gently for the other.

The moment her feet touch the ground, the tone shifts.

Mates rush from the buildings to greet her with soft laughter, exclamations, and hands flying to her belly.

Someone pulls her into a hug so tight, I feel it from across the courtyard.

We’re led into the main hall, a vast open chamber carved from the mountain stone, sunlight filtering through a high skylight. Elders and enforcers fill the room, some seated on benches, others standing with arms crossed, the old lines of battle worn into their postures.

Hunter advances with his usual determined stride. Beside him, Nixon carries Ahya. Scarlet trails at his side, and the rest of us form a silent shield around them.

When Ahya lifts her head and waves at the crowd in human form, hair wild, eyes impossibly blue, a murmur ripples through the room.

“This is the child,” Hunter says, voice echoing against the stone. “Born of both lineages.”

The bearded leader steps forward, his chest bare and thick with muscle, and his long hair touching his shoulders. He doesn’t look at Hunter. He looks at Ahya.

“Impossible.”

The urge to roll my eyes at the similarity between my father and this bear-leader is strong. What is it about some alphas that makes them so arrogant, as though they know every secret the world has to offer and are bored with it?

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Hunter says.

There’s another murmur in the crowd. As if on cue, Ahya shifts in Nixon’s arms, first into a tiny wolf pup with soft fur and blue eyes that pierce the entire room, then back into her human form again. It’s only when she shifts into her furry brown bear form that the crowd reacts.

She hops from Nixon’s arms, lands light on her paws, and growls.

It’s not the cry of a baby, or the howl of a wolf, or even the growl of a bear. It’s something that merges all three.

A call.

A summons that charms everyone around her.

It changes everything.

The room is silent for a second, then it explodes into whispers. It can’t be. Is it real? Can she be three?

A single man steps forward from the shadows. He’s older than any of the others, his skin weathered like bark, eyes milky with the touch of cataracts and spirit. He carries no weapon, but every bear gives way when he walks.

The clan’s mystic.

“I’ve seen her,” he says, voice soft but resonant. “In a vision. She is the child born of pain but destined for balance. A link forged in shadow to protect the creatures of the ground from the creatures of the sky.”

“What does that mean?” the leader demands, but his voice falters.

The mystic turns his gaze toward Ahya, now curled up against Scarlet’s chest in wolf form.

“There is a threat,” he says. “One not of fur, but of wings, claws, and fire. It will fall from the sky like hunger and tear through packs and clans alike. The only way to survive is to stand together, and she is the key.”

My blood chills.

No one moves.

Ahya yawns, shifts back into a baby girl, and wraps her arms around Scarlet’s neck with a happy sigh.

This child, this miracle, is the storm and the shield.

And we will defend her with everything we are.