Chapter 16
739 Words
Sleep didn’t touch her.
By morning Amara’s eyes burned, but her legs carried her downstairs on habit. The house hummed low: wolves talking softer than usual, shoulders tight. Rogues. Rumors. Bugs. Nobody said the last part where pups could hear.
In the patrol shed, Jace looked her over and winced. “You look like a hunter’s leftovers.”
“Feel worse,” she said.
He hesitated. “You… holding?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m standing.”
He nodded, like that was enough, and shoved a folded sheet at her. “New west routes. Paired with Blackridge. Apparently we’re best friends now.”
Before she could answer, a shadow filled the doorway.
“Frost,” Rowan said.
Jace straightened. “Alpha.”
Rowan’s gaze stayed on her. “Joint patrol. West border. Ten minutes. Walk it with me.”
She wanted to say no. Instead: “Fine.”
They took a battered Silverpine truck. She drove; he sat passenger, too proud for the back. Pines slid past, the heater wheezing lukewarm air.
“You should sleep,” he said after a minute.
“You should stop giving advice I didn’t ask for,” she shot back.
He almost smiled. Almost. Then the truck jolted over a rut and the moment cracked.
At marker twelve she killed the engine. Silence thudded in after the motor’s fade.
They walked the line. Amara pointed out creeks, roots, the slant of ground where scent pooled. Business. That part was easy.
They reached the old pine where she’d first scented him days ago. Her steps slowed without permission. His тоже.
“This was it?” he asked. “For you?”
“Yeah.” Her throat felt tight. “Your scent hit here first.”
“Same,” he said quietly. “For me.”
Wind hissed through the needles.
“You made me visible last night,” she said. “Then you cut me off. You know that?”
“I know,” he said. “And I know whoever’s been strapping cameras to rogues just saw a pack divided in half on cue.”
“Neat,” she said. “They’ll love the drama.”
Something glinted on the far ridge. High, where no hikers bothered to go. A tiny flash, there and gone.
Her wolf’s hackles lifted. “Rowan—”
“I saw it.” His voice went flat. “Don’t look again. Head down. Walk.”
“Another camera?” she whispered.
“Or glass,” he said. “Either way, I’m assuming someone’s up there with more range than these bugs.”
They turned back toward the truck, pace casual on the surface, tight beneath.
“Rowan,” she said, eyes on the ground. “If they have footage from that hall. From our yard. From my room.”
“I know,” he said.
“And if they hand it to humans as proof monsters live in the trees?”
He didn’t answer right away. Branches cracked under their boots.
“Then we burn their version before it spreads,” he said at last. “Or make it useless.”
She gave a humorless huff. “Ambitious.”
“Necessary,” he said.
At the truck, his hand closed on the door handle, then stilled.
“I can’t fix what I did to you,” he said, still not looking at her. “The bond. The speech.”
“Correct,” she said.
“But I can make sure you’re not the easiest thing for them to hit,” he went on. “If you let me.”
She laughed once, low. “From where I’m standing, the only difference between you and whoever’s up there is they didn’t pretend first.”
This time, the flinch was visible.
He opened his mouth—
The truck radio crackled to life. No key in the ignition. No one touching it.
“Base to west unit.” Gideon’s voice, sharp. “Respond.”
Rowan snatched the handset through the open window. “West here. Go.”
Static, then: “Silverpine just got a call from the human sheriff.”
Amara’s stomach dropped.
Gideon’s next words were clipped, every syllable clear.
“Someone sent them video. Wolves. Fighting. In our yard. Sheriff’s bringing people up to ‘check on a report of dangerous animals.’”
The radio hissed in Rowan’s hand.
“They’re already on the mountain.”
- Writer
