Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
ISABELLA
T he box is old, the cardboard brittle and yellowed around the edges. It’s tucked into the corner of Arthur’s storage room like it’s been hiding there forever. I don’t even notice it until I bump into the shelf, scattering a cascade of dusty files. The heavy box tumbles forward, landing on my foot with a painful thud.
I crouch down, brushing off the grime, my name catching my eye—my full name, scrawled in Arthur’s tidy handwriting.
Isabella Gordon.
It’s written in black ink, bold and deliberate, like this box was meant for me to find.
Curiosity blooms in my chest as I open it, pulling out a stack of aged envelopes bound with a faded blue ribbon. The scent of paper and time wafts up, triggering a pang of nostalgia. I undo the ribbon carefully, my fingers trembling, and slide out the first letter. The handwriting is unfamiliar but neat, elegant.
My dearest Bella,
it begins, and my breath catches.
I glance down at the signature:
Margaret.
My grandmother.
I sink to the floor, the room around me fading as I read the first letter. And then the next. And then the one after that.
Each one is a story, a piece of her life I never knew. She writes about being part of the Nightshade Pack—is she talking about a wolf pack?—about growing up in the shadows of the Cascade Mountains. She’d told me similar stories, but I’d always attributed them to being just fairytales. But the more I read, the more I realize they contain information I can’t dismiss. She writes about meeting my grandfather, a human. She calls him human as if that is different than her. She speaks of falling in love despite the warnings. About how the pack—again with the pack—cast her out for choosing him. About the loneliness, the rejection, the pain of being torn between two worlds.
They called it betrayal,
one letter reads, the words underlined in anger.
I called it love. They said I was weak, but they were wrong. It takes strength to leave everything you’ve ever known to follow your heart. But sometimes, strength isn’t enough to fill the emptiness you leave behind.
Tears blur my vision as I reach the last letter, dated just months before she died.
To my granddaughter, Isabella: If you’re reading this, it means I am gone and never shared my secrets with you—at least not in a way that made you understand your heritage. For that I am sorry. But if you ever feel the pull of your wolf, don’t fight it. Don’t be afraid of it. You’re more than they’ll ever let you believe. You’re both, human and wolf, and that makes you stronger than they could ever understand. Find your path, my darling, and don’t let anyone tell you who you’re supposed to be.
Her words wrap around my heart like a vise. All my life, I thought her stories about being a wolf, about being some kind of shifter who could change at will between her human self and her wolf self, were just that—stories. Fairytales. But if the stories were real, then what happened in them cost her everything. Are they real? If not, could these just be the ramblings of an aging mind?
I clutch the letters to my chest, my mind racing. Arthur must have known. The final piece of paper contains a brief note from him.
Bella, your grandmother is speaking the truth. Her truth, and mine as well. I too am a shifter, as is everyone in Shadow Hollow. I am a fox, but your grandmother was once part of the powerful Nightshade Pack. If you’re reading this, you have stumbled upon questions to which you want answers. Ryder Stone is now alpha to the Nightshade Pack. You can trust him. I always knew I would tell you the truth if you asked. If you’re reading this, I’m gone, and you need to know. Arthur
I stand slowly, breathing heavily. They’re all true—my grandmother’s stories. It’s one thing to dismiss her stories as just that, but Arthur’s note? There’s no way he’d have written that if it wasn’t true. He kept these papers for me, waiting for the right moment to hand them over. And now that I have them, and he’s not here, leaving me with more questions than answers.
The moonlight spills into the clearing behind the clinic, casting long shadows across the ground. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of the wild, as I step outside. My grandmother’s words echo in my mind as I stand barefoot in the grass, staring at the trees.
If you ever feel the pull of your wolf, don’t fight it.
I close my eyes, letting the stillness settle around me, and take a deep breath. I don’t know what I’m doing, but closing my eyes and breathing deeply seems like it should be a part of it.
My pulse thrums in my ears, and I focus on the memory of her stories—of shifting, of running through the woods with the wind in her fur, of the connection she felt to the earth and sky. She called it shifting and described the sensation as stilling her mind and calling her wolf forth. There was a swirling mist of color, thunder, and lightning that would surround her and allow her to transform.
I want that. I want to feel it, to know what it’s like to let go and become something more.
I stand in the pool of moonlight, stilling my mind and exhaling slowly. “Come on,” I whisper, more to myself than anything. “You’re there. I know you’re there. Just… show me.”
The stillness deepens, and I swear I feel something stir—a flicker of heat, a faint tingle beneath my skin. My heart leaps, and I latch onto it, willing it to grow.
But it doesn’t.
The sensation fades as quickly as it came, leaving me standing in the dark, alone and human. My chest tightens with frustration, my fists clenching at my sides.
“Damn it,” I hiss, pacing the clearing. “Why won’t you come out? Why can’t I...”
A low growl rumbles behind me, cutting me off. I freeze, my breath catching, and turn slowly. The trees form a dark wall, almost impenetrable, but there’s movement—subtle, deliberate. My heart pounds as I take a step back, my gaze scanning the darkness.
Then I see him.
Ryder steps into the moonlight, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his dark irises glowing with their faint amber rims. His presence hits me like a wave, heavy and undeniable, and my frustration twists into something sharper, hotter.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he says, his voice low and rough, laced with an edge of warning.
“I could say the same to you,” I snap, crossing my arms even as my pulse races.
He steps closer, his gaze locked on mine, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing, Bella?”
“Trying to figure out who I am,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “ What I am.”
He stops just a few feet away, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “You think you’ll find that by standing in the dark?”
“My grandmother told me to still my thoughts and call my inner wolf forward…”
He barks a short laugh. “Your grandmother told you?”
“When I was a child, she would tell me tales, and she left some letters with Arthur. I never even knew she knew him.”
“They were friends. What were you hoping to do?”
“Shift. Can you help me?” The fact that he doesn’t scoff at my request or even question my use of the word shift lends credence to my grandmother’s stories being true.
His jaw tightens, and the air between us feels electric, charged with something neither of us wants to acknowledge. “Doubtful. Your only ancestor with a full measure of wolf DNA would be your grandmother. With each succeeding generation, it would be diluted. I doubt there’s enough of it in your bloodstream to allow you to shift, and there’s no way of knowing if you shifted that you could control your wolf. She might take over and never relinquish control back to you.”
“That’s it?” I ask incredulously. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Go home.”
“This is my home, asshole.”
Ryder bristles with anger. “You find out something your grandmother told you as a child is true. Fine. What do you think should happen? Are we supposed to welcome you with open arms? You don’t belong here.”
“She was right about that too. You’re the alpha of the Nightshade Pack. Arthur thought I belonged here, and I’m beginning to agree with him.”
He steps even closer, his voice dropping to a snarl. “You don’t even know what you don’t know.”
“Then tell me,” I whisper, hating the pleading tone in my voice.
He just stares at me, his eyes burning into mine, and I feel like I’m standing on the precipice of something vast and unknowable. His jaw clenches, but before he can answer, the wind shifts, carrying a sound that makes his head snap toward the trees. His entire body goes rigid, something dark and dangerous flashing in his eyes.
“Go back inside,” he says, his voice a low command.
“Why?”
“Because I told you too,” he growls, his gaze scanning the woods.
The tone in his voice sends a shiver down my spine; I don’t argue. It’s almost as if I am compelled to obey. As I turn back toward the clinic, the feeling of being watched skitters along my skin, and I know one thing for sure—whatever is out there is closer and more dangerous than I could have imagined.
RYDER
I rush into the forest. It closes in around me, a tangle of shadows and whispers as I remove my clothes and call forth my wolf. For a brief moment, I imagine a time where I will run as a wolf with Bella by my side. She may not have enough wolf DNA to allow her to shift now, but once I have claimed her as my mate—the Elders be damned—the claiming bite should infuse enough of what’s needed to allow her to claim her heritage.
Emerging from the swirling mist, my paws pound the earth, kicking up leaves and dirt as I run, the cool night air slicing across my fur. Members of the Crimson Claw leave a scent that is sharp and acrid, an oily trail that winds between the trees. I catch a flash of movement up ahead—just a glimpse, but enough to keep me going.
I’m fast, but the mutant seems faster. Bigger, too, with its misshapen form. My muscles burn as I leap over a fallen log, my claws scraping against the bark as I land and push forward. The moonlight filters through the branches, flickering across the forest floor like broken glass. The mutant’s scent grows stronger; I’m closing in.
A shadow darts between the trees to my right. My head snaps toward it, ears pinned back as I veer sharply to follow. My heart pounds in my chest, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. I can hear its footfalls now, uneven and frantic, crashing through the underbrush.
But then… silence.
I skid to a stop, my sides heaving as I scan the forest. My ears swivel, catching nothing but the faint rustle of leaves and the distant cry of an owl. The mutant’s scent lingers in the air, teasing, but it’s weaker now, dispersing. I curse under my breath, my growl low and frustrated.
It’s gone.
I pace the clearing, nose to the ground, searching for any sign of where it might have doubled back or slipped away. A broken branch here, a faint pawprint there, but nothing leads me further. My claws flex against the dirt as I lift my head, scanning the darkness, scanning the shadows, but they reveal only stillness.
The mutant has outmaneuvered me—this time.
My pulse is still racing, adrenaline thrumming in my veins, but there’s no point in continuing. It seems to know this terrain better than I do. How is that possible? Grinding my teeth, I let out a sharp exhale of frustration and bid my wolf to retreat.
Next time, the mutant won’t be so lucky. I let my breathing even out, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been played. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Behind me a twig snaps. I whirl around to see Lucas standing there with the twig in his hand.
“I wanted to see if you wanted me to watch the clinic for you.” He tosses me my clothes. “When I spotted these, I thought there might be trouble. She’s not going to back down.”
I pull on my clothes. Lucas’s easy demeanor grates against my agitation. “She’s relentless, Lucas. She keeps asking questions. And where is she finding all of Arthur’s notes? I thought the sheriff searched the clinic after Arthur died. The more she digs and finds out, the more danger she will be in. I ought to just take her back to the lodge and be done with it.”
“They call that kidnapping, bro, and even Barnes frowns on that kind of thing.” Lucas tilts his head, watching me with that infuriating calm he always carries.
I stop, leveling a glare at him. “She knows about her grandmother.”
“Shit. Are you sure?”
“Yes. She was standing outside the clinic trying to figure out how to shift. And that’s not the worst of it…”
“There’s more?”
“We know Arthur was on to something—probably something having to do with the Crimson Claw—and now Bella’s got it between her teeth like a dog with a bone.”
“She’s not stupid, Ryder,” Lucas says, folding his arms
Ryder shakes his head. “That’s the whole problem. We had a very brief discussion where I pretty much confirmed what her grandmother said was true and that she’d probably never be able to shift.”
“Holy shit, Ryder. Not your brightest move. This is just what the Elders feared.”
“Fuck the Elders.”
“Now you’re talking,” laughed Lucas, “although personally the idea isn’t all that arousing.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “I don’t give a damn about the Elders and their respect for tradition, fear of change and guilt over what they did to her grandmother. If we don’t guide what she’s looking into, she might end up like Arthur.”
“And if we do?”
“She might be able to figure this out…”
“Which ‘this?’” asks Lucas.
“The Crimson Claw, the declining birthrate, Arthur’s death. Take your choice. They all feel connected.”
“So you don’t buy the ‘natural causes’ explanation for his death either.”
“No. Do you?”
Lucas shakes his head.
“She’s too damn curious for her own good,” I say, raking my hand through my hair.
Lucas studies me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “So, how about if we come up with a new realistic plan that doesn’t get you carted off to prison? I think we can agree that the current plan of you lurking around all broody and angsty isn’t getting the job done.”
“I keep telling myself she doesn’t belong here, but I know better. I owe it to Arthur to keep her safe, and I’m not sure I can that.”
“You’re wrong. If nothing else, you will keep her safe. This is her ancestral home, and some part of her genetic memory knows it,” Lucas counters, his voice calm but firm. “She’s connected to Arthur, the clinic, the people in town. Hell, half the locals already like her more than they like us. She’s not just some outsider anymore, Ryder. And pushing her away isn’t going to help the pack or you. It’s only going to make things worse.”
I hate that he’s right. Bella’s presence isn’t just a complication anymore; it’s a fuse waiting to ignite a wildfire that could burn out of control.
Lucas keeps going, his tone softening. “Look, I get it,” he says. “She’s a risk. But she’s also got connections to humans, maybe even to law enforcement. She’s a veterinarian—she knows all that medical science shit. That could be useful. But you’re going to need to mend your ways, big brother. You’re not going to win her over by acting like the world’s biggest asshole.”
“I know you’re right…”
“Oh my God, you finally admitted it.”
I glare at him. Sometimes younger brothers are a pain in the ass regardless of their age.
He continues. “I don’t see the trouble with you answering her questions about her grandmother. Who knows, maybe there’s something in her altered DNA that would help with the birthrates, and besides, the prophecy…”
I groan. “God, you don’t really believe in that fairytale, do you?”
“I’m not sure what I believe, but what if the prophecy is right? And what if your mate is the key to the whole damn thing?”
I shoot him a dark look and growl.
“What? I wasn’t supposed to have figured out that she is your mate? Regardless of whether she, or the two of you together, can stem the tide, so to speak, you have a right to be happy. And I think Bella could make you happy.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Lots of reasons, but the primary ones are she isn’t afraid of you, she won’t put up with your shit, and nobody is going to make her back down.”
I shoot him a look, but he just grins, unfazed. He isn’t wrong.
“Let me handle it,” he says, standing. “I’ll build some trust with her, see if I can steer her in the right direction. Keep her focused on figuring out not just what happened to Arthur, but what he was up to.”
“You want to tell her everything…”
“Don’t you?”
Ignoring his question, I ask, “You think she’s just going to trust you?” My voice is laced with skepticism.
Lucas shrugs. “Of course she is; I’m the charming brother, remember?”