Chapter three
1504 Words
Eira 'S POV
“All we have to do today is find the rival gang of monsters,” Art says as we move through the outskirts of the territory. “If everything goes right, there won’t be any fighting.”
I glance at him sharply. “I didn’t sign up for fighting.”
It comes out more defensive than I intended, but it’s true. Fighting has never been my strength not with claws, not with weapons, not with brute force. I survive by being careful, by being faster, by knowing when to run.
“I thought they just needed a tracker.”
“That’s all we’re using you for,” Art says easily. “Soren and Draven and I will handle anything physical.”
I relax a fraction at that, though my shoulders remain tense. “You’re wolves too?” I ask, studying them more closely now that we’re out here, away from Titus’s oppressive den.
From their scent alone, I’d been almost certain. There’s a sharpness to them, a clean animal undertone that monsters never have. Monsters smell wrong like rot layered over sweat and blood, like something that shouldn’t exist but refuses to die anyway.
And there’s nothing monstrous about these three.
Their appearances don’t repel me the way monsters always have. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve always found monsters grotesque, even when I lived among the fae host, even when some of us drank monster blood to borrow their strength for a time. I never touched the stuff. Never even considered it.
Monster blood and fae magic don’t mix. History has proven that in a hundred brutal ways.
These men, though? There’s nothing grotesque about them at all.
I’m not saying I want to drink their blood that would confirm every nightmare story the shifters have about my kind but I am saying that I find them… appealing. Attractive in a way that’s dangerous to notice.
“Soren’s a wolf,” Art says.
Soren bares his teeth at me, sharp and white. I can’t tell if he’s being playful or testing me. “At your service,” he says, flicking his sandy hair back from his eyes with a grin.
“But not all of you?” I frown slightly. “I thought you were brothers.”
“Half-brothers,” Art says. “Same mother. Different fathers.”
“I see,” I say slowly.
“Is that not how things worked in your pack?” Art asks, genuinely curious. “Different men having children with the same woman?”
My pulse spikes.
Of course he assumes I grew up in a pack. Of course he does. It’s the most natural assumption in the world for a wolf to make. And I can’t correct him. I can’t let even a sliver of the truth slip through.
“No yeah,” I say quickly. “That’s how it was. I just… when you said brothers, I thought you meant full brothers.”
“We don’t look much alike for full brothers,” Draven says with a short laugh. He gestures between himself and Soren. “It would've been a hell of a genetic trick.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to question you,” I say, forcing a smile.
Inside, unease coils tight. I have the distinct impression that they’re cataloging my reactions, filing away my words. If they start digging, really digging, the cracks will show. And once that happens, I don’t know if there’s any coming back from it.
But Art only shrugs.
“Let’s get this done,” he says. “Once we report the location of the other monster den, we’re finished for the day. And I could use a damn drink.”
He turns to Soren. “Go ahead and shift.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Soren starts stripping without ceremony.
My heart rate jumps sharply because f**k.
I hadn’t expected that. The clean lines of his muscles become unmistakable as he pulls his shirt over his head, shoulders rolling loose and powerful beneath his skin. He’s all lean strength and relaxed confidence, and my instincts flare in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
I have the sudden, inappropriate urge to sink my teeth into his upper arm.
The thought makes me shiver.
“You too,” Art says, turning his gaze to me.
I swallow hard and nod.
It’s just business. That’s all this is. I step out of my shorts and T-shirt, folding them quickly, my movements efficient and controlled. I don’t let myself think about the fact that I’ve never shifted in front of anyone before.
Never beside another wolf.
The Sorenge hits me harder than usual.
The moment my wolf rises, I feel it the presence of another animal too close, too aware. My hackles lift instinctively. My lips pull back from my teeth in a silent snarl before I can stop myself.
“All right, all right,” Art says sharply. “Get over yourselves, both of you.”
I shake myself, trying to break the reflex.
Soren has already shifted. Where the man stood a moment ago is now a sandy, long-limbed wolf, his hackles raised, body coiled low and tense. His tail sticks straight out behind him, rigid with alertness.
“You’re working together,” Art continues. “You’re not enemies. Get it together.”
He’s right.
We aren’t enemies. And I can’t afford to let the proximity of another wolf distract me from the task at hand.
“Okay,” Art says. “You two range out ahead. No more than a mile in any direction. If something goes wrong, I want you running back to Draven and me not trying to handle it alone.”
I bob my head, hoping it translates as understanding. Communication like this feels strange, instinctive rather than deliberate. I’ve never shared this space with another wolf before.
Soren jerks his head in a sharp motion and takes off at a steady run.
I fall into stride beside him.
The ground eats our footsteps as we move, my body settling into the rhythm effortlessly. This isn’t hard. It’s familiar in a way that surprises me.
The hardest part of this job isn’t tracking.
It’s trusting someone else.
For months now ever since Cassian drove me out of the host I’ve survived by avoiding others. By catching the scent of rival groups on the wind and steering clear long before they ever knew I was there.
Sure enough, it takes only moments for the stench to reach me.
Monster.
The scent is unmistakable thick and sour, like unwashed socks left to rot in damp heat, layered with something sharp and predatory beneath it. My stomach clenches, but I don’t slow.
I veer slightly toward the source.
I hesitate, unsure how to signal Soren, but he turns with me immediately. I don’t know if it’s instinct, training, or conscious choice. Maybe it’s all three.
A quiet, unexpected satisfaction blooms in my chest.
I’m leading.
It wouldn’t have been like this with Cassian. He made the decisions. I followed. I didn’t question it because I didn’t know there was another way.
But I’ve been alone for months now.
I’ve learned to survive on my own terms.
I won’t ever be dependent on someone else again.
As the scent thickens, Soren and I slow together. The monster's presence is strong now, concentrated. I force myself to breathe through it, to stay silent.
Soren stops abruptly and digs a claw into the bark of a nearby tree.
Marking.
Understanding clicks into place. He’s noting where the scent is strongest, creating a subtle trail only we’ll recognize.
He nods once at me, approval clear even without words, then turns back the way we came.
I fall into step on his shoulder.
Every few yards, one of us marks a tree light scratches, varied angles, nothing obvious. We’re careful not to leave a clear pattern. Monsters aren’t subtle, but they aren’t completely stupid either.
They rely on brute force, not observation. When they need finesse, they outsource it.
Which is exactly what Titus’s crew has done with us.
We return to Art and Draven quickly. Soren shifts back the moment we reach them, yanking his pants from Draven’s arms.
“It’s done,” he says. “We found them. The trail's marked.”
“Did they see you?” Art asks.
“No,” Soren replies without hesitation. “They don’t know a thing.”
He grins. “We’re definitely getting the bonus.”
Bonus?
No one mentioned a bonus.
“Eira ’s the one who picked up the trail first,” Soren adds. “We should split it with her.”
Art studies me, eyes narrowing slightly.
“We should, huh?”
My instincts tense but then he nods.
“Fair’s fair,” he says. “Get dressed, Eira . Let’s go collect the first chunk of our pay.”
Something warm settles in my chest as I reach for my clothes.
Maybe this job really will Sorenge everything.
- Writer
