Page 4 of Wild Games

I pause mid-stride, nostrils flaring. There, beneath the familiar scents of the packhouse, and the generic mix of new wolves flocking to the Games,somethingis inviting me in.

Female. Powerful.Mine.

The trace is faint, carried on air currents from somewhere above, but it’s enough to make my wolf lunge against my control with shocking violence.

Find her.

“No.” I growl, digging my fingers into my palms until the pain grounds me. The basement walls feel closer today, pressing in as my wolf fights for dominance. This is a frequent occurrence. My wolf and I are far from living in harmony, as most shifters do. But today, he’s even more determined to break from the prison I trap him in when my control is slipping.

And today, with that delicate scent taunting me, the man in me is feeling weak, too.

I should stay down here. It’s daylight. The compound is crawling with competitors, pack members, and visitors for the Games. They already give me a wide berth when they have to acknowledge me at all, sensing the wrongness that clings to me like a second skin.

Dean says it’s my imagination, that if I stopped scowling, maybe I could make some friends, but I know better. I make them uncomfortable. The broken wolf who can’t control his beast. They just hide it better when he’s around.

Find her. Now.

The compulsion is stronger than anything I’ve felt before. My wolf isn’t asking or suggesting. He’sdemanding. I find myself at the basement door before I realize I’ve moved, my hand on the lock, ready to set him free.

This is a mistake. I know it’s a mistake, but climb the stairs anyway, through the back passages of the packhouse that I use to avoid the common areas. My wolf guides me with disturbing certainty, following a scent trail that’s so faint, I shouldn’t be able to detect it, yet somehow, I know exactly where to go.

And what I’ll find.

I stick to the tree-line, using skills honed by years of self-imposed isolation. The forest knows me, accepts me in ways the pack cannot, at least, not until I’ve healed from the sickness that plagues me. But I doubt I ever will.

Blending into the shadows, I move silently, revelling in the hunt. Here, among the dense scrub, my wildness feels normal and natural, and not like the curse it does when I’m back in the company of those who should be my own.

The scent grows stronger as I move through the territory, not yet sure what I intend to do when I find her. Just knowing that I have to, just as I have to breathe.

Voices ahead make me freeze. Through the trees, I spot Callum walking with someone.

Her.

Her blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, swinging from side to side, as she moves with the fluid grace of a trained fighter. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s no ordinary she-wolf.

She’s spectacular.

My wolf surges forward so hard that I have to brace against a tree trunk, bark splintering under my claws, because her scent is the one we’ve been tracking. The one driving my wolf to madness.

Mine.

The possessive thought can’t be mine. I don’t know this woman. My instincts are so screwed up that I normally don’t trust them. In a moment of self-doubt, I wonder if I can even be sure this isn’t some twisted figment of my imagination.

But my wolf doesn’t care about reality. He just wants to get closer.

I keep my distance, the rational part of my brain screaming at me to turn back, while my wolf drives me forward.

With his deep voice carrying on the wind, Callum is explaining something about the Games.

She asks questions in a voice that’s professional but warm, her gaze constantly moving, scanning the crowd around her, and taking in every tiny detail.

Callum keeps his hands by his sides as they walk toward the guest cabins, but as they continue to move further away from the milling crowds, my wolf fumes, not liking that she’s alone with the powerful wolf. The one who’s helped me subdue my own on occasion when Dean hasn’t been around to put my wolf in his place.

They stop outside one of the isolated cabins. In one way, it’s good that she’ll be away from the others, safer from the chaos of the Games, but some primitive part of me doesn’t like how far it is from my den, how secluded. Unsafe.

Callum gestures at the quaint wooden house, still talking about where everything is located on the grounds, the schedule of the Games, throwing in the odd joke to make her feel at ease.

When she smiles and laughs, my wolf bristles, taking a step forward before I can stop him, almost revealing our position. When the beta touches her bag, helping her with her belongings, I barely manage to smother the growl that builds inside me.