CHAPTER 3 :THE RESTLESS FORESTS
1642 Words
“Dad?” Skye’s voice trembled as she shut off the engine. The sky had gone steel-gray, the kind of heavy dusk that pressed on her chest. She sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. Derek’s face flashed behind her eyes—his crimson gaze, that impossible warmth—and then her father’s message bled back in, sharp and cold.
The forests are restless.
The phrase had haunted her childhood, whispered when things in the woods moved wrong, when her mother’s tone grew quiet and distant. Tonight, it felt like an omen.
The front door creaked as she stepped inside. “Dad?”
The air was thick, still. The smell of chamomile and cedar clung to the walls, her mother’s scent, but something underneath it—something raw—spoiled the comfort.
“In here,” came a low voice.
Skye crossed the hall, heart pounding. Her father stood by the window in his study, staring into the woods beyond their property. His reflection in the glass was a ghost—gray-streaked beard, shoulders sagging, eyes hollow.
“You’re home,” Dane Garrick said without turning. His voice was rough, uneven. “I didn’t think you’d make it before dark.”
“What’s going on?” She dropped her bag, the leather notebook Derek had given her thudding softly on the floor. “You said Mom’s trip was delayed—what does that mean? Is she okay?”
Dane didn’t answer. His hand gripped a small wooden carving of a wolf, thumb tracing the grooves her mother had made with her knife. When he finally looked at her, the grief in his eyes hit her like a blow.
“Dad,” Skye whispered. “Tell me.”
He inhaled sharply. “Kaida went with me—last night. A scouting trip. She wouldn’t stay behind.”
“What? Why? You said—”
“The Red Pack’s on the move.” His voice hardened. “They’re growing bolder. Damon’s building an army, forcing wolves to his side with something he calls purification. It’s madness. He’s breaking packs apart—turning them.”
Skye’s mind spun. Damon. The name slid through her thoughts like a blade. “You mean Derek’s father?”
Dane nodded once, jaw clenching. “The same.”
The silence between them stretched until it broke.
“Where is Mom?” she asked, voice small.
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the carving in his hand, and that silence told her everything.
Her knees weakened. “No… no, she can’t—”
“She fought,” he said, voice cracking. “God, she fought like fire itself. She stood her ground, tried to get the others out. But he—” His throat tightened, the words barely pushing through. “He killed her, Skye. Right in front of me. Thought she was one of us. Thought she was the White Pack’s Luna.”
The words tore through her chest, sharp and final. Her mother—warm, stubborn, the woman who taught her to laugh through pain—gone.
Skye’s breath hitched, and then broke into sobs. Dane crossed the room in two strides and pulled her close, his arms a fortress that couldn’t hold back grief.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice shaking. “I tried to protect her. I swear I did.”
Skye clung to him, her tears staining his shirt. The study, the house, the whole world tilted off its axis. “He murdered her,” she whispered. “Because of a lie.”
Dane’s jaw tightened. “He’ll pay. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll call the other Alphas—we’ll end Damon before his madness spreads.”
But his vow didn’t feel like hope. It sounded like the beginning of a war.
Far from their quiet home, deep in the forest, the world was teeth and blood.
The Red Pack’s training grounds pulsed with violence—dozens of wolves sparring in a circle, their growls echoing against the pines. The air stank of sweat and earth and rage.
At the center stood Damon Clawson.
He watched the chaos with a general’s detachment, every muscle in his massive frame coiled with control. Scars mapped his skin; his red eyes burned under the moonlight. He didn’t flinch when a young wolf crashed into a tree and crumpled.
“You’re late,” he said without looking as Derek approached. His tone was quiet, but it carried through the clearing like thunder.
“Had business at the university,” Derek replied, keeping his voice even. He could still taste the metallic edge of blood from training earlier—but his mind wasn’t on the forest. It was on Skye. Her voice, her stubbornness, the way her touch had felt like lightning.
Damon turned, his smirk a slow, cruel thing. “Ah, yes. Playing human again. Pretending you belong among them.” He stepped closer, the scent of iron and rain clinging to him. “Tell me, son—what is it you learn there? How to hide your teeth?”
Derek’s hands curled into fists. “You sent me there. To keep an eye on the White Pack’s girl.”
“I sent you to watch,” Damon said, circling him. “Not to feel.”
Derek froze. His pulse spiked. “What?”
Damon’s eyes glinted. “You reek of her, Derek. That human girl. Don’t think I don’t know.”
The words sliced through him. Skye’s name stayed trapped behind his teeth.
“She’s nothing,” he said through clenched jaw.
Damon’s laughter was cold. “Nothing is the most dangerous thing of all. That’s how rot begins. Weakness. Love. Compassion.” He spat the last word like poison. “The White Pack breeds it. But you won’t.”
He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Four wolves stepped forward—Kael, Roric, Silas, and Jax. All older, harder, their eyes glowing like embers.
“Teach him what strength feels like,” Damon said.
They didn’t hesitate.
Kael lunged first, his fist catching Derek across the jaw. Pain burst bright. Derek staggered back, barely ducking as Roric’s claws slashed air where his throat had been. He retaliated—one, two strikes—sending Jax sprawling. But the others pressed in, relentless. A boot caught his ribs. A claw raked his shoulder. Blood sprayed the ground.
“Pathetic,” Damon growled. “Again!”
Derek’s vision blurred. He spat blood, his body screaming. But something fierce flared beneath the pain. Skye’s voice echoed in his head—her taunt, that spark of defiance. Should I be afraid of you?
No.
He roared and surged forward, every strike born of defiance. Kael went down first. Then Roric. Jax hesitated—and Derek used it, slamming him into a tree so hard bark exploded.
He stood there panting, chest heaving, surrounded by groaning bodies. Damon watched, expression unreadable. Then he smiled.
“Better,” he said softly. “But not enough. The Mega Alpha rises soon. I need an heir forged in blood, not weakness.”
Derek didn’t respond. He just stared at the forest beyond the clearing, the wind whispering through the trees like a warning. His father didn’t know it, but the weakness he mocked was the only thing keeping Derek from becoming a monster.
Night fell hard over the Garrick house.
Skye sat on her bed, knees drawn up, the wooden wolf resting beside her lamp. The silence was heavy, pressing against her chest until it hurt. Her mother’s absence filled every corner.
She pulled Derek’s notebook from her bag and stared at it. The soft leather cover, the faint scent of him—it should have been a comfort. Instead, it burned in her hands.
Her phone buzzed. Mia: Heard about Derek. Are you okay? Campus is going crazy.
She ignored it, tossing the phone aside. Words meant nothing right now.
She opened her laptop, staring at her Mythology notes. The Mega Alpha: a wolf born of chaos, blood, and divided hearts. The line blurred before her eyes. Was that what this was all leading to? Two packs tearing each other apart—two bloodlines, and her, caught between them?
A floorboard creaked outside her door. “Dad?”
No answer.
She stood, heart hammering. The hallway light flickered once, then steadied. She pushed open the door to the landing. Dane’s study was dark now, the window wide open, the curtains swaying in the wind. The scent of forest air drifted in—sharp, damp, alive.
And underneath it… another scent. Metallic. Familiar. Wrong.
“Dad?” she called again, voice thin.
From the woods beyond the yard came a sound that didn’t belong—a howl. Not mournful, not wild. Commanding. A Red Pack howl.
Her blood ran cold.
She backed away from the window, pulse roaring in her ears. The wooden wolf on her nightstand toppled to the floor, landing with a hollow thud.
Miles away, under the same moon, Derek stood at the edge of the forest, blood drying on his knuckles. The pack had dispersed, their howls still echoing.
He could feel it—the forest shifting, restless, the way it did before something broke. His father’s voice rang in his head: Weakness will destroy you.
But as he looked toward the distant lights of Northbridge, he felt the pull anyway. Not weakness—warning.
He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Skye’s number, though he didn’t remember saving it.
The screen lit with a message before he could move.
Unknown Number: She’s one of them. The White Pack’s blood runs in her. End it before he does.
Derek’s breath froze.
He stared toward the horizon—the direction of her house—and for the first time, he didn’t know whose side the darkness was on.
- Writer
