CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I sit atop the back of Jackson’s wolf, his long legs eating up the yards beneath us. The Ghost Moon pack flanks us, a protective entourage as we head to a place I've only heard whispered about in wary tones. Jackson's furry back is a solid wall in front of me, his muscles flexing with every movement. I cling to him, less out of necessity and more because his presence is the only certainty in this blur of uncertainty.
We burst through the tree line into an expansive clearing, where a collection of houses and cabins nestle against the backdrop of towering pines. The territory of the Ghost Moon pack unfolds before me, wild and untamed, just like its inhabitants. There's a raw beauty to it that tugs at a part of me I thought was dormant — the part that yearns for freedom
