I hesitated, then turned toward the faint side path marked on Cooper’s map.
“I’ll check on the caller,” I said. “You start here.”
Gino gave me a measuring look. “You good solo?”
I flashed him a grin that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Always am.”
He snorted. “Check in every fifteen.”
I nodded and headed off, boots crunching softly over pine needles as the forest closed in around me.
The cabin appeared suddenly, tucked into a fold of trees like it had grown there by accident. It had weather-beaten boards and a sagging roof patched with mismatched metal sheets.
There was no visible road leading up to it, just a narrow footpath worn into the underbrush. I slowed, lifting my scenting instinct before I even knocked.
Old smoke and oil. Something sharp and clean underneath it all that made my wolf tilt its head in interest. I knocked once, firm but not aggressive.
Footsteps scuffed inside. A pause. Then the door creaked open a few inches.
The anonymous caller, Mason, peered out at me, eyes wary, shoulders hunched. He was younger than I’d expected. Mid-twenties, maybe.
He had dark hair and dark, wary eyes. His clothes were patched and practical. He had a lean frame. Mason reminded me of someone who lived light and kept moving even when he stayed still.
“You the one who called?” I asked gently.
His fingers twitched on the doorframe. “Yeah.”
“I’m Levi, a tracker from the Pecan Pines Pack.”
At the word pack, his scent shifted.
I held my hands up slightly, keeping my posture open. “You’re not in trouble.”
He hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Didn’t think I was. Just didn’t know if anyone would come,” he admitted.
“I’m glad you called,” I said honestly.
Up close, his scent hit me harder. Not wolf. Definitely a predator, though.
Something sleek and small. A coyote, maybe? My wolf stirred, curious and alert, the way it did when it caught a rival’s trail or locked onto prey that wasn’t prey.
I had the sudden, absurd urge to lean in and scent him properly. I shoved it down hard. Do your job, I reminded myself. There was no time for distractions.
“I just need to ask you a few questions,” I said. “About the shifters you mentioned.”
He nodded, swallowing. “They were deer shifters. Four of them, all young. Early twenties, maybe.”
“Nomads?”
“Yeah.” His mouth twitched. “Didn’t stay anywhere long. They said roads felt safer than towns.”
I felt a flare of anger at that. At a world that made shifters feel safer sleeping in the dirt than asking for help.
“They came through here two nights ago,” Mason continued. “I gave them food. Let them crash here for the night.”
“You didn’t have to,” I said.
He shrugged, eyes flicking away. “Didn’t feel right not to.”
