CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The night is a cloak of silence, the moon a watchful eye. I move through the shadows of the new territory, each step deliberate and silent. My paws leave faint impressions on the soft earth, the scent of pine and cold mountain air fill my nostrils. But then, something new mingles with the familiar fragrances—a musky, wild scent that sends a shiver down my spine. Rogue wolves.
My heart pounds faster, adrenaline surging as I switch from patrol to hunter. I follow the scent trail, leaving the comfort of my pack's land behind. The rogue scent grows stronger, more potent. This isn't just one wolf passing through; it's an unmistakable sign of encroachment.
I round a boulder, and there he stands. Ethan. His tan fur bristles in the moonlight, power emanating from him in wave
