“Are we going to dinner?” I ask carefully, forcing my voice to stay light as I bend down to tie my shoes. “I should probably bandage my neck. I don’t want?—”
“Hurry up,” Brayden barks, snatching the truck keys from the entryway table with a sharp clink. I freeze for a second, staring at the familiar black key fob in his hand. He’s not taking the Mercedes.
He’s taking thetruck.
He only takes the truck when we go for a drive into themountains, and we haven’t done that in months. Not since the weather turned cold. I mean, there’s nothing but nature trails up there. It’s remote. Quiet.Isolated.
A chill slips down my spine.
I slowly stand, then shove my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that I’m trembling.
“Are you ready?” Brayden’s voice is flat and icy. His anger is still there, but it’s stripped of any heat.
“Yes,” I whisper, barely able to get the word out before he steps forward and curls his hand around my upper arm. Then he jerks me forward.
I glance over my shoulder, back at the living room down the hall. I look at the pristine furniture. The neatly fluffed pillows and soft throws. The framed photos of our family dot the hallway.
My pack.
Brayden, Martin, Douglas…and me.
We are smiling in all the pictures—laughing even. They were taken a week after they claimed me from the Clarendon Academy. We were all so happy to finally be together.
But that feeling is long gone.
And somewhere deep in my gut, a hard certainty settles.
Because I have a feeling that I’ll never see this house again.
The Mountains
Skyla
I stareat the map glowing on the center console. My eyes trace the blue squiggle that marks our path. It winds endlessly through the mountains, curling deeper into nowhere. Our destination still hasn’t appeared on the screen. More road. More darkness.
Nervous, I shift in my seat, watching trees blur past outside the window—tall, black silhouettes pressed against the night sky. There’s no sign of a town. No gas station. No lights. Nothing but wilderness.
It also doesn’t help that it’s almost midnight.
Even if therewassomething out here, what could possibly be open now?
I hate that I don’t know where we’re going.
I want to believe Brayden is taking me somewhere for the two of us to reconnect. Maybe he wants to talk privately. Maybe this is what mates do when things get hard. But deep down I can feel that this isn’t a drive to clear our heads.
Brayden’s phone buzzes on the dash. I startle at the sound, pulse spiking as Martin’s name flashes across the screen.
Again.
He’s called and texted at least a dozen times in the past hour, and Brayden has ignored every single one. He doesn’t even glance at the screen.
It’s not like him.
Brayden always stays in contact with the pack. Heneedsto be in control. Always watching, always aware. That’s who he is.
Or at least, that’s who he was before I broke him.
“Get that look off your face,” Brayden says suddenly, his voice deep in the otherwise quiet truck.
