I sigh, unclip Alora from the bouncer, and wrangle her into the carrier. She goes stiff for a second, but as soon as she’s upright and pressed to my chest, she burrows in like she’s always belonged there. She’s heavier than she looks, her body all dense baby muscle, and I love the way she leans her head against my collarbone like she’s giving me an unspoken vote of confidence.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I tell her. She blinks up at me, then lets out a little huff of air. I take that as agreement.
I grab the diaper bag, knowing I could take the truck, but instead, head out along the track toward the town and park by the river. It will take longer on foot, but the sun is out now, and we need this.
I take the path I’ve run a hundred times since moving here; the one that loops around the whole town, skirting the river and the park and eventually doubling back past the little cafe with the patio that always smells inviting. The path is muddy today, the runoff pooling in the ruts and low spots, so I pick my steps carefully. Alora’s heat against my body is a reminder to stay upright; the last thing I need is to take us both down face-first into a puddle and have to explain it to her dad.
I wonder if I’ll see Fiona at the cafe, or maybe Fern at the bakery, or Ruby on her lunch break, and the thought isn’t as unwelcome as it would have been a month ago. I catch myself, surprised. Somewhere between my new role with Alora, the lottery, and the weird, electric nights, I’ve let this place settle into me. The pack is drawing me in, one gentle intrusion at a time.
I almost text Caleb to let him know where we’re going, but the urge pisses me off. I want to want space from him, not crave the safety of his attention. I share my location instead so he’ll know I’m not taking Alora anywhere near the forest, and then immediately regret it, but it’s done now, and I know he deserves to know his daughter is safe at all times. I’m left to wrestle with the fact that a part of me wants him to know where I am at all times. Which is maybe the most embarrassing confession of all.
Alora, sensing my mood shift, roots around for my hand and clamps onto my thumb with a startlingly strong grip. I lookdown at her and catch the faintest edge of a smile, and the impact is immediate, like a punch to the chest. I stop walking and kiss the top of her head, breathing in the smell of baby shampoo and milk and the faintest trace of shifter. My wolf, maybe, or Caleb’s, or just the collective scent of Silvercreek. I don’t care. I want to cry and laugh at once.
“Yeah, you win,” I whisper, and she gurgles, triumphant.
I never meant for any of this to happen. I was going to do my job, keep a safe distance, and not get attached. The plan was airtight except for the part where I didn’t anticipate how much this little girl would be impossible not to love, and that some men, no matter how much you wish you could hate them, are even harder to erase from your heart.
I try to lose myself in the rhythm of my steps, but my wolf has other plans. She’s on high alert, ears pricked to every snap of a branch, every shift in the wind. There’s a tang in the air that’s not quite right. It’s not necessarily a threat, but it’s not the usual riverside scents either. I tell myself it’s just the aftermath of last week’s border drama, the lingering paranoia, but the hairs along my arms disagree. It’s subtle, the way you know you’re being watched even when there’s nothing to see.
I’m halfway around the loop when I spot movement up ahead; a runner, tall and fast, moving with the kind of purpose that says he’s not here for the scenery. I don’t recognize the stride or the shape, and that alone is weird; Silvercreek isn’t big enough that strangers can go unnoticed. Still, there’s nothing overtly dangerous about him. He’s moving away from me, not toward, and for a moment I try to rationalize the spike of adrenaline in my chest. Maybe it’s just a guest, or a new wolf, or a townie trying to get in shape before the next pack run.
He disappears around a bend, and I tell myself to let it go. But my wolf is restless, pacing under my skin, and when I round the same curve a minute later, the trail is empty. No runner. No footprints, even though there should be after all that rain. My hackles go up, and I shift Alora’s weight on my chest, tucking her tighter under my jacket. She’s asleep now, limp and heavy, like a weighted reminder of my responsibilities to keep her safe.
I pick up the pace, not running but moving with intent, scanning the trail ahead. The woods are denser here, and I make the decision to cut back toward the center of town, where the path splits near the old playground. It’s only just up ahead, so I keep going until I catch a flash of blue through the trees; another shifter, maybe, or the runner doubling back on a shortcut.
As I hit the crossroads, my heart stutters at the sight of a truck parked at the trailhead, idling where no vehicles are supposed to be. It’s old, battered, the kind of generic pickup that half the men in town drive, but the plates are caked in mud and the windows are dark. I freeze, and the air suddenly feels thick and heady. The runner is nowhere to be seen.
I consider doubling back, but then I hear the crunch of gravel behind me. A second figure steps out from the tree line, then a third, both moving with the loose, hungry grace of wolves who know how to hunt. They’re not pack. I can see it in their eyes, the way they avoid looking past my face, the way their bodies angle to block any escape. They’re Cheslem, or what’s left of it, and the magic that coats their scent is the same I recognize in all my nightmares.
I pull Alora tight, feeling her head press to my chest. For a second, I debate screaming; someone might hear, but I know it’s unlikely. Instead, I fish out my phone and hit call, waiting for Caleb’s voice to come through, knowing by the time it does, theChelsem wolves will have attacked, and I won’t be able to talk, but he’ll hear what’s going on.
Chapter 15 - Caleb
The sound on the other end of the phone is a chaos I can barely interpret. It’s just a rush of wind, and then the high-pitched sound of Alora screaming, followed by the snarl of a wolf I don’t recognize, and Dina’s voice, urgent but not afraid. Not yet. That realization is what chills me the most; it means this is worse than fear, it sounds like she’s running.
I’m still standing in the locker room in the pack hall, surrounded by Nick, Thomas, and Bryan, all of us fresh off perimeter and high on adrenaline and instant coffee. The world is too loud, the fluorescent lights too bright, and I hold my phone out in front of me as I switch it to speaker. My wolf is on autopilot, immediately sensing the danger. The others notice the change before I can even explain; the color has drained from my face, my hands are shaking, and my own heartbeat is deafening.
Nick’s eyes go flat, ice blue, and he steps in. “What’s happening?”
I can’t speak. I can only hold out the phone, let them hear a sliver of Dina’s world: the sound of her breathing, fast and ragged, the baby’s escalating wail, the crunch of gravel, and somewhere in the background, a voice that is male and threatening. And then nothing but static and the hollow, echoing line of a call still open but no longer attached to her.
“Where is she?” Thomas asks, dropping his bag, voice all Beta command. Bryan’s already shouldering his jacket, reading the room.
I fumble with the phone, thumbs clumsy and useless until I get the tracker app open. The dot is pulsing in the middle of town, not the edge, not the border where it would make sense for a threat to show up. She’s at the riverside park. My brain can’tprocess it. That part of town should be safe. There is a lack of cover, the nearness to the center, the fact that no one should ever be in danger there, especially not my daughter, not the woman I…No. I don’t let myself even finish the thought.
“She’s at the park,” I say, and my voice is so strange I barely recognize it. “There’s…there’s more than one. At least three, maybe more. They’ve attacked right in the center of town.”
Bryan swears, the word a bare growl, and Nick is already on his own phone, voice clipped and lethal as he raises the pack-wide alarm. Thirty seconds later, the whole building is a riot of movement. I can’t think straight; my body wants to tear itself in half, half of me pulling toward the threat, the other half stuck in this room, immobilized by the knowledge that my child is out there, that Dina is out there, that the universe is about to take everything from me, and there is nothing I can do.
Thomas grabs my shoulder, hard enough to anchor me. “You’re not driving,” he says, and for once, I’m grateful. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost drop the phone. He shoves me toward the hallway, which snaps me out of it, because if he doesn’t, I won’t make it out of the building. I’m stumbling after him, barely present, as the four of us sprint through the back hall, out into the parking lot, where shifters are already spilling from the doors, some half-shifted, some still buttoning up jackets. We don’t wait for backup. There isn’t time.
The drive is a blur with Thomas at the wheel, cursing every slow car and every red light. I have the phone pressed to my ear, but the call is nothing but static. My wolf is battering at my skin, wild with terror and rage, and every second that passes is a new, sharper pain. Nick is barking orders, Bryan is already texting in the background with rally points, coverage, and instructions to sweep every alley and yard between the hall and the park.
I think about the last time I saw Alora, her little face, her hand wrapped around Dina’s fingers, and the thought that this could be the last memory I have of her is so obscene I nearly black out. My hands clamp down on the headrest in front of me, knuckles white, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, just to keep myself from screaming.
We hit the curb by the park and barely bother with doors; we’re out and running before the truck has stopped moving. The air is sharp, the river angry and high from the melt. I search for the sound that will tell me where to go, but there is nothing; no sound of a baby, no fight, no sign of life except for our boots on the trail.
Nick is already at the trailhead, scanning for tracks. He’s in Alpha mode, all senses on high alert for his pack. We follow the line of disturbance and find a drag mark, broken branches, and a patch of blood that puts my heart in my throat. I drop to the ground, sniffing, tasting the air, but all I get is the faint smell of where they’ve been but clearly no longer are, and a hell of a lot of fear. There’s nobody, no sign of Dina or Alora, just the chaos of the struggle and deep sets of footprints.
