Gino glanced at me then, his expression unreadable but steady. A silent acknowledgment:You belong here.
“Be careful,” Cooper added. “If this is connected to the anti-shifter group, they won’t hesitate to set traps. And if you get a bad feeling, you pull back.”
I met his gaze squarely. “Understood.”
Inside, something fierce and unyielding had already taken root. I knew what it was like to be hunted. To live on the margins where no one noticed if you disappeared.
I knew the fear that settled in your bones when night fell and you realized there was no one coming if things went wrong.
If someone was doing this, targeting vulnerable shifters, then I was damn well going to find them.
Gino pushed to his feet. “When do we move?”
“Tonight,” Cooper said. “Low profile. Pick your team carefully.”
He stood as well, and for a moment the tiredness fell away, replaced by the quiet authority of an alpha who refused to turn a blind eye to shifters in need, shifters who didn’t even belong to the pack.
I rose, heart pounding. As we turned toward the door, Cooper spoke again. “Levi.”
I paused, hand on the knob.
“Bring them back,” he said.
Something in my chest ached at that. Hope, fear, and determination braided tight.
“Yes, Alpha,” I replied.
The door closed behind us with a soft click.
In the hallway, the pack house hummed with life. Laughter from the common room. The clink of dishes from the dining hall. Normalcy. Everything the missing shifters didn’t have.
Gino exhaled slowly beside me. “You alright?”
I nodded, even as my wolf paced just under my skin. “Yeah. I am.”
Somewhere out there, shifters were missing. They were probably alone and scared. I rolled my shoulders back and started down the hall, already mapping logging roads in my head.
I was going to find them.
* * *
The old logging roads were barely roads anymore.
They curled through the forest like forgotten scars, narrow and uneven, reclaimed by moss and pine needles.
Fallen branches crisscrossed the dirt, and young trees had started growing right through the ruts where trucks used to grind past. There was no traffic or noise.
I slowed my steps automatically, letting my senses stretch.
“This place hasn’t seen use in years,” I murmured.
Gino nodded beside me, eyes sharp as he scanned the treeline. “Which makes it perfect for anyone who doesn’t want to be seen.”
Packless shifters. Nomads. People who learned early that blending into the edges was safer than standing in the open. I understood that instinct too well.
Two other Pecan Pines wolves fanned out behind us, quiet and focused. Everyone knew their role.
Gino took point near the abandoned clearing while the others began sweeping the perimeter for tracks, disturbances, anything that didn’t belong.
