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Chapter 1
Three Years Ago
Evening hunts are the best.
I live for them. I live for the way the Montana sky spreads overhead, larger than even seems possible in a watercolor of purples and oranges. I live for the cold wind coming off the mountains to ruffle my fur and for the scent of our prey floating on that same breeze.
I live for the pursuit.
For the takedown.
For the thrill of it all.
So what the fuck is wrong with me tonight?
Amora, take the left, Ridge orders from somewhere close by. His voice is just as low and gruff in our telepathic mind-speak as it is in his human form.
I don’t have a visual of him since we’ve spread out around the herd of deer in the growing twilight. Carter’s crouched in the weeds about ten feet away—a massive chocolate brown wolf with blue eyes and an almost preternaturally keen sense of smell. Beyond him, I catch a glimpse of Luna’s golden fur as she inches forward, low to the ground. She’s not the greatest hunter among us, but she’s light and quick, which is always a plus on a team hunt.
Right now, I don’t even feel like the greatest hunter among us. I shake off the antsy, unsettled feeling that’s been hovering over me for the last hour and follow my alpha’s orders, moving fast and low to the left.
Two young deer are grazing alone on the outskirts of the herd. As I close in, their heads pop up and their ears swivel toward me. I drop to my belly and slow my breathing, waiting out their unease.
Yeah. I feel you, deer dudes.
My own ears swivel toward the sounds of the forest around me. The unease I’ve been feeling since before we shifted to head out on the hunt grows. It’s like I’m feeling the strange charged sensation that fills the canyons when a storm is brewing over North Pack lands. The sky is clear, however, and there’s not a hint of rain on the wind. It’s either all in my head or… it’s only something I can feel.
I don’t know which of those possibilities is better, really.
Ridge barks out another order in mind-speak, this time to Carter, and our pack moves ever closer to the unsuspecting deer.
Dammit. I can’t fucking focus. I keep closing in slowly, manning my corner of the herd as best I can even while my body tingles, itching to race off into the trees somewhere else. There’s no reason for me to feel like this. It’s not like me to feel this antsy. I’m laid back to a fault. Go with the flow. Easy as fucking pie.
Usually.
Tonight, I’m wound as tight as a nun’s legs.
Of course it would be now, when my focus is shot to shit, that the largest buck in the herd takes off in my direction.
His sudden dash causes chaos to erupt throughout the herd. The deer scatter and my pack lunges into motion after them, baying into the silent evening. The buck leaps past me, nothing but power and grace and thick thighs that make my mouth water.
