Page 7 of The Pack

CHAPTER 7

Z ara

The next few days passed in a strange, uneasy rhythm. The pack moved like a machine, each man fitting into a role they’d practiced for two hundred years. Magnus organized repairs on the castle’s crumbling walls, Tobias patrolled the perimeter with an ever-watchful glare, Callum kept the campfire blazing and food ready, Killian scouted with reckless ease, and Thorne fetched water for the group.

As for me, I mostly kept my distance. I helped where I could, but I was still figuring out what help I could even offer. They didn’t push me, didn’t demand explanations or expect much from me. That made it easier to watch and listen, to try to fit the pieces of myself back together.

Four days later, I was walking through the woods with Thorne beside me and I looked over to him, noticing that he was tempering his long strides just so I could keep up with him.

“Why are you out here with me?” I asked, breaking the silence.

His pale blue eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to the trail ahead. “Magnus’s orders. You shouldn’t be alone. And I needed air anyway.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You needed air? Or you wanted to keep an eye on me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Both.”

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, you’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

We walked in silence after that, the quiet of the woods pressing in around us. The steady rhythm of our footsteps on the damp earth lulled me into a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in days.

Then I stepped on a branch.

The crack sounded ear-splitting in the still air, and I froze. My breath hitched and my heart pounded as something inside me broke open.

The sound triggered a memory.

I was walking through the woods outside the walls. My brother was ahead of me, his strides confident as he wove between the trunks.

“Come on, Zara,” he said, his voice bright, but edged with tension. “We don’t have all day.”

I hurried to keep up, my breath puffing in the cold air. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said without turning around.

The woods were alive with sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of birds—but my focus was on him. His dark hair caught the light as he glanced back at me, his eyes sparkling with something mischievous.

Then, without warning, he stopped.

“Watch this,” he said, grinning.

And in the blink of an eye, he wasn’t human anymore.

His body rippled, his limbs twisting and shifting as fur sprouted along his skin. The change was seamless, fluid, and when it was over, a wolf stood where my brother had been. His coat was a deep, glossy black, his eyes the same warm brown I’d known my whole life.

“See?” his voice echoed in my mind, though his mouth didn’t move.

I stared, my breath caught in my chest. “You… you’re…”

“Still me,” he said, tilting his head.

“But you’re not feral,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning. “They said… they said wolves can’t…”

“They lied,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Zara.”

Thorne’s voice broke through the memory, and I blinked, the present rushing back to meet me. He was watching me, his eyes narrowed with concern.

“What?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“You stopped. You look… pale.”

I shook my head, my pulse racing as I tried to make sense of what I’d just remembered. My brother had shifted. He’d been a wolf—but he wasn’t feral.

He’d been… himself .

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, brushing past Thorne and forcing my feet to keep moving.

But I wasn’t fine.

The memory lingered, sharp and vivid, like another piece of the puzzle sliding into place. My brother wasn’t like the others. He hadn’t gone feral. He’d proved they were wrong.

He’d proved England wrong. That meant everything I’d been told—everything the government had drilled into us—was a lie.

Thorne’s footsteps were silent as he followed me through the woods. I could feel his presence behind me, steady and unyielding, like a shadow I couldn’t shake. My heart was still pounding from the memory, my thoughts tangled as I tried to make sense of it.

“Zara,” Thorne said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re not fine.”

“I told you, I’m totally fine,” I snapped, quickening my pace.

He didn’t let it drop. “You froze back there. I saw it. Something’s bothering you.”

I whirled to face him, the words bubbling up before I could stop them. “Why do you care?”

Thorne stopped, his eyes meeting mine. They were so calm, so still, but there was something behind them—something heavy, like the weight of an entire world pressed against his shoulders.

“Because I’ve seen that look before,” he said simply.

My jaw clenched, my arms crossing over my chest as I tried to shield myself. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is if it gets you killed out here,” Thorne said gently.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. The memory of my brother’s face lingered, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Thorne stepped closer, his movements slow and cautious, like he was approaching some wounded animal that was about to bolt.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone,” he coaxed.

I let out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I know what it’s like to carry something too heavy for too long.”

His words made me falter, the sharp edge of my anger softening just slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Thorne’s gaze shifted, his eyes distant for a moment, like he was staring at something only he could see. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I had a son,” he said, the words falling heavily between us.

I blinked, caught off guard. “You… what?”

“Two hundred years ago,” he said, his tone steady despite the pain lacing his words. “Back during the Collapse. He was seven. His name was Alaric.”

I didn’t know what to say, the heaviness of his words pressing down on me. “What happened to him?”

Thorne’s eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “The Collapse happened. The world was burning, and the virus was spreading so fast no one could stop it. Ireland and England were at each other’s throats, and no one cared about the people caught in the middle. We thought we could keep the fighting away from our town, but…” He trailed off, his voice tightening.

“But what?” I asked gently.

“There was an attack,” Thorne said, his eyes dropping to the ground. “A group of feral shifters tore through our town. They didn’t care who they hurt—man, woman, or child. I tried to reach Alaric, but by the time I got there…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “He was already gone.”

My heart ached at the pain in his voice, still raw after two hundred years.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said quietly.

Thorne shook his head, his expression hardening. “I was his father. It was my job to protect him. I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” I insisted, my voice trembling. “You couldn’t have stopped a feral, especially a group of them. No one could’ve.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to live with,” Thorne said, his voice low.

The grief in his words left me speechless, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, I let out a shaky breath, the memory of my brother’s face flashing in my mind again. For a moment, I glanced at Thorne, deciding whether or not I should open up. There was something about his quiet confidence that felt safe, though, and before I even knew what I was doing, I started to speak.

“I remembered my brother,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Thorne looked at me, his piercing gaze softening slightly. “Tell me.”

“He was a shifter,” I said, the words trembling as they left my lips. “But he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t go feral. He proved they were wrong, that England lied to us all.”

“Do you think he’s still alive?” he asked.

I shook my head, the rest of the memory slipping through my fingers like smoke. “I don’t remember anything other than that.”

Thorne was silent for a moment, his eyes studying me. “He probably has something to do with why you’re here,” he said quietly.

I nodded, the truth of it settling heavily in my gut. “I think so.”

Thorne’s eyes softened a bit more, the faintest crack in his icy exterior. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he answered.

I looked at him, his expression now warm and comforting. For the first time, I felt the faintest spark of hope.

Maybe I didn’t have to carry this alone.

The walk back to camp was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Thorne stayed by my side, his presence a silent reassurance as my thoughts churned about my brother and what his being a shifter might mean.

When we stepped out of the forest, the rest of the pack was gathered around the fire. The scent of roasting venison filled the air, rich and earthy, making my stomach growl despite myself. Callum was hunched over a large skillet, using a stick to stir something while Killian lounged nearby, a mischievous grin on his face as he teased Magnus about the castle walls.

“We’ll need more timber,” Magnus was saying, his silver eyes glinting as he traced lines on a paper map spread across a flat stone. “The southern tower is holding for now, but another storm and it’ll collapse completely.”

Tobias, seated on a rock with his arms crossed, nodded. “We’ll focus on the tower tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just eat.”

“Not a bad idea, mate,” Killian said, stretching lazily. “You get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

Tobias shot him a glare, but Callum chuckled, waving us over. “Thorne, Zara, you’re just in time. Grab a seat. Venison’s almost done.”

Thorne moved to the fire without hesitation, lowering himself onto a log beside Magnus. I hesitated, hovering at the edge of the group, but Callum caught my eye and patted the ground next to him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got to be starving.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking between them before I forced myself forward. Sitting down felt strange, too casual after everything that had happened, but the warmth of the fire and the smell of the food eased some of the tension that was still knotted in my chest.

Killian handed me a plate—a simple metal one, scuffed and dented—and I mumbled my thanks as he grinned. “You’re welcome, lass. Venison’s fresh. Caught it myself.”

“Caught it,” Tobias muttered under his breath. “More like scared it half to death with all your noise.”

Killian shrugged, unbothered. “Still caught it.”

I took a bite, the rich, smoky flavor of the meat grounding me for a moment. The fire crackled, the flames causing flickering shadows to dance on the worn stone walls of the castle.

Magnus traced a finger along the map spread out on a flat stone, his eyes narrowing as he studied it.

“They’ll come through here if they find us,” he said, his tone resolute and steely. “We’ll need to seal off the vulnerable points. If we don’t, it won’t matter how well we hide.”

The word hide echoed in my mind, triggering a memory that hit me like a thunderclap.

I was in my apartment, the lights dimmed, and my heart pounding in against my ribcage like a hammer. My brother sat on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest, his dark eyes wide with fear.

“Zara,” he whispered. “This isn’t going to work.”

“It has to,” I said, my voice trembling. My hands were shaking as I pressed the hidden panel back into place, sealing him into the small room I’d built behind the closet. “Just stay quiet. They won’t find you.”

The sound of boots pounding on the stairs made my breath hitch, and I turned to face the door just as it burst open. Uniformed officers flooded the room, their voices loud and commanding.

“Zara Yorke,” one of them barked, stepping forward. “You are under arrest for harboring wolf shifter Logan Yorke, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent…”

The words blurred, their meaning lost as two officers dragged me forward. I fought against their grip, my eyes darting toward the hidden panel, willing them not to see it.

But they did.

One of them pulled the panel aside, revealing my older brother curled up inside. His eyes met mine, wide with panic, as they dragged him out.

“Don’t touch him!” I screamed, struggling against the officers holding me. “He’s not dangerous! He’s not like the others!”

My pleas fell on deaf ears. They hauled him out the door, their grips rough, and I was forced to watch as they carried him down the stairs and out into the cold night.

The memory shifted, the edges of it blurring as the scene changed.

We were outside now, the air rife with the scent of exhaust and rain. My brother was being loaded onto the back of a truck, his hands bound, his eyes filled with terror.

The vehicle was dark and unmarked, save for a single detail that stood out in stark relief: a single word painted across the bumper.

Dublin.

The realization slammed into me like a punch to the gut.

He was sent to Dublin.

“Zara, you okay?”

Callum’s voice brought me back to the present, his gray eyes filled with concern as he leaned toward me. “Are you alright?” he pressed further.

I blinked, the memory still fresh in my mind. My hands were trembling, and I clenched them into fists. “I’m okay,” I said, though my voice wavered.

Thorne’s gaze was inquisitive as he studied me, but he didn’t press.

I took a deep breath, my heart still racing as I tried to process what I’d just remembered. My brother was in Dublin. Or at least, that’s where they’d sent him.

And now, for the first time since I arrived in this godforsaken place, I had a somewhere to start.