"You will if I tell you to." The alpha command is back, harder this time. "I won't risk you. Not for anything."
Her jaw sets. Stubborn. Perfect. Terrifying.
We step out into the grey dawn, and I can already feel them circling. Patient. Hungry.
Time to go home.
CHAPTER 3
MAREN
Trust him? I just watched him turn into a grizzly bear.
The pre-dawn air bites cold as we step out of the cabin. Frost coats the ground, slick beneath my boots. My truck sits twenty feet away, windshield rimed with ice that catches the grey light. Twenty feet that suddenly feels like a mile.
Because the shadows are out there. I can feel them the same way I feel the shimmer. That wrongness pressing against the edges of my awareness.
"Stay close." Jonah's hand finds my elbow, steadying. "Move fast but don't run. Running triggers predator instinct."
My heart hammers. "You're giving me advice on how not to get eaten by interdimensional shadow creatures."
"Yeah." His grip tightens. "Welcome to my life."
We move together across the clearing. My camera bag bounces against my hip. The satellite phone digs into my pocket. Normal things that feel absurd in the context of hunting shadows.
The cold intensifies with each step. Not natural cold. Shadow cold. I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Dark shapes flowing between the trees, pacing us.
"I see them," I whisper.
"Good. Keep moving."
Fifteen feet. Ten. The shadows edge closer, testing. One breaks from the treeline, tendrils reaching.
Jonah doesn't shift. Doesn't change. Just moves his body between me and the threat, and somehow that's enough. The shadow retreats.
Alpha presence. Even weakened and corrupted, he radiates enough power to make them hesitate.
We reach the truck. I fumble with my keys, fingers numb. The locks click open and we're inside, doors slamming shut. The shadows press against the windows, darkening the glass, but they don't breach the metal and steel.
"Go," Jonah says. "They can't hold the truck. But they'll follow."
I start the engine with shaking hands and pull out of the clearing faster than is probably safe. In the rearview mirror, I watch the shadows dissolve back into the forest. Watching. Waiting.
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache as we bounce over ruts in the forest road, headlights cutting through dim light. Jonah sits in the passenger seat, borrowed clothes hanging loose on his frame, black veins pulsing up his neck in patterns that make my photographer's eye want to look away.
"The satellite phone," he says quietly. "You should call now. Give them time to prepare."
Right. The check-in. My required call to the sheriff's office so they don't send search parties to the wrong location. Except now I'm calling to tell the sheriff I found his brother.
I pull the phone from my pocket, fingers shaking as I dial the emergency number and place it on speaker. It rings twice beforea man's voice answers, professional and alert despite the early hour.
"Sheriff's office. This is Hayes."
My throat tightens. "Sheriff Hayes? This is Maren Rivers. I'm okay. I'm not lost." I pause, looking at Jonah. His eyes are closed, jaw tight, like he's bracing for impact. "But I'm bringing your brother home. Jonah. He's alive."
The silence on the other end stretches so long I think the connection dropped. Then Sawyer's voice, raw and breaking: "Say that again."
"Jonah is alive. I found him. We're heading to the compound now."
