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Ridge enters the room, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the two women. “What’s going on here?”
Sable clamps her mouth shut and attempts to wipe the grin off her face, but her eyes are still dancing mischievously. “You know you’re supposed to extinguish matches before you drop them, right?”
Ridge turns his narrowed gaze on Amora, who simply smiles enigmatically.
I shoulder my pack and nudge the other alpha with my elbow. “Don’t sweat it, man. My dad’s been telling her embarrassing stories about me every time he sees her.”
“I just feel closer to all of you that way,” Sable teases. “It makes you less like fearsome alphas and more like normal, adorable men.” She touches my cheek, and I melt at the tips of her fingers.
Nobody can disarm an alpha quite like their mate.
Trystan and Dare join us, and we gather in the front yard to shift. The sun is long gone from the sky, replaced with the purple of deep twilight. The feeling that we’ve timed this wrong rises up inside me again. I have the unsettling thought that things are just going to get harder from here, but I tamp back my emotions and prepare for the hunt.
“I could go with you,” Amora offers. “You can’t go wrong with more manpower.”
“No, I want you here. With the pack,” Ridge replies pointedly. “But I appreciate your willingness to help.”
It’s clear to me what he’s saying without actually putting it to words.
We don’t know what to expect when we get to Sable’s uncle’s house. The last time we were there, our presence revealed to him that Sable is in shifter hands. For all we know, he’s since added weapons to his repertoire that could cause big problems for us.
Ridge wants Amora to remain behind in case none of us come back.
27
Sable
Shifting comes strangely easily, now that I know the wolf exists inside me. The getting naked right before shifting part is not as easy, because old, modest habits die hard, but I do it anyway. I figure the more I get naked—both in and out of bed—the more I’ll get used to it.
It’s odd running alongside my mates after so many trips where I rode on Ridge’s back. My wolf is a little unwieldy, and my paws feel like giant trash can lids beneath me, so the first half-mile of racing across the plains is a stumbling nightmare. At least I don’t pitch over and end up on my face like a newborn giraffe learning to walk.
But at some point, something clicks, and suddenly I’m flying, all the parts of my body working together in tandem. It’s as natural as breathing, and I want to howl my excitement at the rising moon.
My mates have made this trip before, so I fall in line in the center of the small pack while Ridge and Archer take the lead. My mind is too busy chasing ghosts—thinking of the years I suffered under my uncle’s reign of terror—to notice how far we run or how much time passes. The night sky is vast and dark, sprinkled with thousands of stars. Running through the woods makes me think of Devil’s Ditch, the place where Ridge found me the night I ran away from my uncle, and how we’ve come full circle.
Now we’re headed back to Clint. Yet so much is different now.
I’m different.
And no matter what happens, I won’t let him hurt me again.
I race forward, breathing the cool, brisk air and feeling like I’ve finally found my place in the world. Out here in the Montana wilderness, nothing else feels as big and vast as the starry sky above. It’s a gentle reminder that the world will go on no matter what we find out tonight, and I cling to that thought in a desperate attempt to stave off the fear that churns inside me.
We stop by Clint’s house first and find it empty, all the lights out. His giant pickup truck is sitting in the driveway, but he’s definitely not home.
He’s probably at the bar, I say, using the strange mind-speak that allows me to project my thoughts into the men’s heads. It’s in town. I don’t know exactly where it is, but it can’t be too hard to find.
We’ll head downtown. We’ll be able to smell the pheromones, Ridge tells me, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
Getting used to everything having a scent—even old guys trying to get laid in a bar—will be the hardest part of this transition. There are some things I just don’t need to know about.
We stick to the shadows as we walk through the downtown area. I’ve only seen this place a handful of times before. My most recent trip down these streets was while riding on Ridge’s back after they rescued me from my uncle. It’s a small, run down town full of buildings with old, wooden facades and faded signs out front. Flickering street lights illuminate cracked sidewalks but are dim enough to cast much of the street in shadow.
And it turns out Ridge wasn’t exaggerating—I smell the bar before I see it. It’s a heady smell that makes me think of whiskey barrels, body odor, and desperation.
We move one by one as we pass through the glow of the streetlamps and into the back alley where we won’t be seen, keeping an eye on the few patrons crowding around the sidewalk outside to ensure they don’t notice us.
Concealed in the alley, Ridge nudges me with his snout. Can you smell your uncle?
