Ennis Moonstone had been patrolling the rugged northern border of Moon River Pack territory for three hours when he saw the first one.
The dense forest pressed in on either side, ancient trees looming overhead, their branches lacing together so thickly that sunlight filtered through in mottled patterns. Damp moss and fallen needles cushioned his paws, and the earthy scent of loam mingled with the sharp tang of pine. Every so often, a startled squirrel darted up a trunk, or a crow cawed high above, but otherwise the woods felt unnaturally hushed. The distant rush of the river threaded through the silence.
Ennis’s ears pricked forward, his nose twitching, every sense attuned for any sign of trouble—be it a snapped twig, a foreign scent, or the subtle shift of air that meant he was not alo
