CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The forest breathes around us, the tension thick as we wait for the unknown. Our eyes are locked onto the shadows that dance with the moonlight when the sound of rustling leaves shatters the silence.
"Wait," Kyle's hand gently presses against my arm, brown eyes calm but alert. "They're ours."
I strain my senses, and the familiar scent floods in. Relief courses through me like a river breaking free from winter's grasp. Out of the darkness emerge eight figures, shifting seamlessly from wolf to human form, their bodies covered in the scents of the West Mountains pack.
"Emmy! Melody!" My voice carries, a mix of joy and disbelief. Melody's red hair is like a beacon in the night as she approaches, her green eyes gleaming with an unspoken story.
"Good timing," Emmy sneers
