By morning, the clearing looked almost peaceful. Dew glistened across the grass, and the first gold of dawn crept over the trees. If it weren’t for the huge wolf lying motionless in the center of the reinforced pen, it might’ve been easy to forget the unease from the night before.
But no one in the packhouse had slept well. Not after what we’d seen in those eyes.
Asher stood beside me at the fenceline, mug of coffee in his hand, jaw tight as he watched the creature. “Still hasn’t shifted?” He asked.
“No.” I said, crossing my arms. “And it doesn’t look injured enough to stop it from doing so. It just won’t.”
The wolf’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Its fur shimmered a deep charcoal color in the morning light, muscles rippling even in rest. It wasn’t just big. It was unnatural
