The night air was cold, sharp against Marcus’s skin as he moved through the trees. He didn’t shift; his human form was more stealthy for this kind of work, his senses tuned to the silent language of the woods. The two figures had retreated from the oak tree, moving with unnatural quiet toward the denser part of the forest behind Selene’s property. They were professionals, but they weren’t hunters. Marcus knew hunters—their movements were aggressive, their scents carried the metallic tang of weapon oil and righteous fury. These two smelled of… something else. Something old and dry, like parchment and cold stone.
He tracked them easily, his own footsteps silent on the damp earth. They were heading toward the old creek bed, a place where the pack’s territory blurred into unclaimed wilderness
