We reached the eastern border in minutes, our wolves eating up the distance. Duke's massive black form led the way, with Brennan's silver-gray wolf keeping pace beside me. Behind us, six of our best fighters followed, their presence a reminder that trust only went so far.
The scent hit us first- blood, fear, and the acrid smell of pursuit. Then I heard it: labored breathing, the stumbling gait of someone running on pure adrenaline.
A wolf burst through the tree line, smaller than average, limping badly. Male, I realized with surprise. His left hind leg was torn, bleeding heavily, and there were bite marks across his shoulders.
Behind him, four larger wolves emerged, their eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction.
Marcus's pack. I recognized the lead wolf, one of his enforcers.
Duke s
