Part One — Dustin
The moment Dustin crested the hill, he knew Rowan had been here.
The snow was torn open in violent crescents where paws had raked the ground. Blood spattered in irregular arcs—fresh, bright against the white. A pine trunk bore deep claw marks gouged into the bark, sap still glistening at the edges. The air held Rowan’s scent sharp and wild, threaded with something darker and unfamiliar.
Dustin’s heart slammed in his chest.
“Damn it, Rowan…” he muttered, crouching low as he traced one of the claw marks. Ice crunched under his glove. “What the hell did you get into?”
Maverick snarled in the back of his mind.
Those prints there—packing formation. Three wolves. Maybe four. They were hunting.
Hunting what?
Not Rowan. He forced them back. But they were chasing something
