Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
ISABELLA
A ll I can think about is getting those strong hands wrapped around me, pinning me to the ground. The she-wolf in me recognizes his alpha as both predator and mate and wants to make him chase her.
"Alpha?" My voice is husky, and it pulls his gaze up from where he's been steadily devouring me with his eyes. He braces himself, ready to go against every primal instinct in his body if I tell him to. He's ready to turn away from me. He’s so fucking noble.
"Mate?"
"Catch me if you can."
The wind tears through my fur as I push harder, my paws pounding against the ground. Branches whip past, some snapping against my sides, but I don’t slow. I can hear him behind me—closer than I want him to be. His growl echoes through the trees, low and commanding, a reminder that he is alpha and I will bend to his will.
I glance over my shoulder just long enough to catch a glimpse of his massive black form cutting through the underbrush, his eyes locked on me. He’s gaining. Damn it. My she-wolf snarls in protest, and I leap over a fallen log, landing with barely a sound before weaving between the trees.
Faster. Faster.
The scent of pine and earth fills my nose, but it’s his scent—smoky, wild, unmistakably Ryder—that makes my chest tighten. I dart left, hoping to lose him in the thick undergrowth. For a moment, I think I’ve done it—his footsteps fade—but then I hear it. A crack of branches, a burst of speed. He’s right there.
He growls again, closer now, and my wolf surges forward, driven by the thrill of the chase and the desperation to stay ahead. But as the trees thin ahead, opening into the wide expanse of the meadow, I realize I’ve run out of places to hide.
Ryder slams into me like a semi-truck of instinct and arousal. He drags me to the ground, grappling with me until I'm pinned beneath his huge bulk, growling in a way I know means he wants me to shift. Seemingly against my will, I do. Human worries like modesty or dignity are left behind. All I can do is fill my nose with the rich, musky scent of him as I reach for his body.
He won't let me, though. He grabs both of my wrists in one of his hands and pulls my arms over my head and holds them tight. My body is stretched out in the dirt, naked and glistening with sweat and slick. Ryder takes advantage of my immobility to press his nose into the crook of my neck and inhale. As he fills his lungs with my scent, he growls low, then marks the spot by the hollow of my throat with wet, open-mouthed kisses, drowning me in his own scent.
"Ryder, please..."
My sex is swollen almost to the point of being painful, and I'm too far gone to care about my dignity.
He drags the length of his cock down through the engorged lips of my labia, still pinning me to the ground with one hand. He straddles my thighs and guides his cock until the hot, velvet skin of its crown teases at my lips, making me cry out when he doesn't press in.
I buck my hips up, begging for him to ease my need. But he holds me still. He's immovable, and I can't do anything other than lay here and take whatever he gives me. I try to soothe myself with how he surrounds me: his scent, his touch, his body, all of it caging me in and holding me tight.
When he finally pushes himself into my entrance, I whimper. He's thick and long, but my body opens up to him greedily. I need to be filled. My inner muscles clench around his shaft, attempting to pull him deeper.
As he settles himself balls deep, finally, I feel whole. There's no time to adjust as he begins to thrust into me, but I don't care. I need it. The forest blurs around me as my body seems to dissolve into a wave of need and pleasure. I let myself go lax, safe in his hands.
My eyes fall closed, and nothing exists outside of the jolt of my body every time he snaps his hips against me.He groans in my ear as his cock flexes inside me. I can feel it swell and twitch—he’s getting close.
His thrusts become faster and more jarring. My body tenses, bearing down around him and holding him tight as he pulses inside me. The splash of hot seed fills me exactly where my pleasure-wracked body needs it, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure and rightness through every inch of me that makes me scream.
I wake after a restless night. I shower, dress, and head out into the clinic. My dreams were filled with images of running as a wolf through the wilderness. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but they always ended the same way… fucking with Ryder. What is it about him that seems to capture every facet of my imagination?
I’ve been scrubbing every surface for hours, trying to erase the neglect that settled here after Arthur’s death—perhaps even before. Dust still clings to the corners of the shelves, but the sunlight streaming through the windows makes the place feel alive again, like it’s breathing for the first time in months, if not years. I wonder if there were things Arthur let slide in order to pursue his investigation. Not the care of his patients—everyone in town has been very clear that he was an excellent vet—but there are parts of the clinic that seemed to have been let go.
My grandmother was a wolf-shifter and Arthur a fox-shifter. Would they have banished her if she’d fallen in love with Arthur?
Shaking my head to banish those thoughts, I step back, hands on my hips, and survey the room. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. The rows of medicine bottles are organized, the exam table gleams under the overhead light, and the waiting area doesn’t look like it belongs in a time capsule anymore.
The sound of a vehicle pulling up outside grabs my attention. Through the window, I see an old delivery van parking as its driver’s door swings open. Dorothy climbs out, balancing a tray of something covered in a checkered cloth. Her ever-present smile is firmly in place, but there’s something in her eyes—an edge that’s been there since I first arrived.
“Bella, dear!” she calls as she steps through the front door scanning the waiting room, the bell jingling above her. “Look at this place! It’s like you’ve worked a miracle.”
I smile, brushing my hands against my jeans as I meet her at the counter. “It’s coming along. Still a lot to do, but it’s becoming functional again. I don’t want to officially open yet, but if someone’s got an emergency, I want to be able to help. Spread the word for me, will you?”
She sets the tray down, pulling back the cloth to reveal a pile of pastries that smell like heaven. “Of course I will. People are going to be so grateful. Anyway, I figured you could use some sustenance—what with all the work you’re doing.”
“Thanks, Dorothy,” I say, meaning it. “I didn’t even realize I was hungry.”
She waves me off. “Busy hands forget about hungry stomachs. Arthur was the same way.” Her smile falters just slightly, her gaze dropping to the counter.
I pour us both cups of coffee from the pot I’ve been nursing all morning, sliding one her way. “He loved this place,” I say softly.
“That he did,” Dorothy replies, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “He put his heart and soul into it. Into this town, too. Always trying to take care of others when most wouldn’t have bothered.”
I hesitate, watching her carefully. “You mean the animals he treated?”
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, sharp and deliberate. “Among other things.”
The weight of her words hangs between us, and my grip tightens on the coffee mug. “Dorothy,” I say cautiously, “what aren’t people saying about Arthur? Was he… in trouble?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “Truth is, I don’t know. Trouble isn’t always something you can see coming. Sometimes it’s just something you stumble into.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes narrowing. “If Arthur saw something that didn’t look right, he couldn’t just look the other way.”
The cryptic tone in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. “What was he looking at?” I press.
She sets her cup down, her expression softening just slightly. “Like I said, I don’t really know. I just know he’d want you to be careful,” she says, patting my hand. “Curiosity can be a dangerous thing in a place like Shadow Hollow.”
Before I can ask more, the bell jingles again as one of the townspeople steps inside, carrying an unhappy cat in a carrier.
Dorothy straightens, her smile firmly back in place. “I’ll leave you to it. But don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.” She’s gone before I can stop her, leaving behind the pastries and the faint, unsettling echo of what had sounded like a warning.
That evening, I’m back in Arthur’s office, surrounded by his notes. The mess is more organized now, but it’s still overwhelming—scraps of paper, faded photos, half-filled notebooks that seem to follow their own twisted logic.
I sift through some of the non-medical files, jotting down anything that seems relevant. Arthur documented so much, from routine injuries to things that don’t make sense. Animals found in the wild with deep lacerations and no clear explanation, tracks that seem to vanish mid-trail, animals behaving in ways they shouldn’t.
One note catches my eye. It’s scribbled on the back of a flyer for a town fair, the handwriting messier than usual:
Large pawprints near Silver Creek. Too big for local wildlife. Seen twice in the last month. Possibly one of the Crimson Claw?
I freeze, so he knew about the Crimson Claw.
Arthur had theories—wild ones I always brushed off as the eccentricities of a man who spent too much time alone in the woods. But now, looking at the pattern of injuries, the pawprints, the repeated references to something more dangerous lurking beyond the edges of the town, it all feels too deliberate to ignore.
My pulse quickens as I flip through more pages, the pieces starting to come together in a way that makes my stomach churn. Whatever Arthur was chasing, it wasn’t just a wild animal. It was something bigger.
The sound of a low growl pulls me from my thoughts, and I freeze, my heart pounding. It’s faint, coming from outside, but unmistakable.
I grab the flashlight from the desk and make my way to the back door, stepping onto the porch after turning on the lights and using my flashlight to scan the yard and trees. I really need to get a gun—something simple. Something that’s just point and shoot. The night is eerily still as I step outside.
The growl comes again, this time closer. I shine the flashlight into the woods, the beam slicing through the darkness, but there’s nothing there. Just trees and shadows that feel like they’re watching me.
“Hello?” I call, my voice steady despite the chill creeping up my spine.
No response, but the feeling lingers, the sense of being watched pressing against me like a weight.
I retreat back into the clinic, locking the door behind me but leaving the porch lights on. My mind races as I return to Arthur’s notes, my pulse still pounding. Whatever he was looking into, he wasn’t doing it out of intellectual curiosity. There was something troubling Arthur, something he was willing to risk his life for, but what was it?
The night is still, the kind of quiet that is almost suffocating, making every sound sharper. I sit at the clinic desk, surrounded by Arthur’s endless chaos of notes, my fingers aching from hours of sorting through them. Outside, the moonlight spills through the windows, casting faint silver streaks across the room.
I pause, brushing a strand of hair out of my face and leaning back in my chair. My eyes burn from staring at page after page of cryptic scribbles, but it’s not just exhaustion gnawing at me. It’s the sensation crawling up my spine, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
I glance toward the window again, my pulse quickening as I go to stand beside it. The clinic’s backyard stretches into the woods, nothing but dark silhouettes and the occasional shift of branches in the breeze. I squint, my gaze searching the shadows, but nothing moves.
Shaking my head, I grab the flashlight from the desk. “Get it together, Bella,” I mutter under my breath, but my voice feels too loud in the silent room.
I step onto the porch, the cool night air biting at my skin. The beam of the flashlight slices through the darkness as I scan the yard, my breath puffing out in soft clouds.
“Hello?” I call again, my voice steady even though my heart pounds against my ribs.
The light catches nothing but the gleam of damp grass and the edges of the forest beyond. Yet the feeling lingers, thick and undeniable, like the presence of something just out of reach.
And then I see it—a shadow moving at the edge of the tree line—large, deliberate, unmistakable. The outline of a wolf emerges into the moonlight, its fur gleaming darkly in the moon’s pale light. I freeze, my breath catching as I lock eyes with it. The flashlight shakes slightly in my hand, but I can’t bring myself to move.
It doesn’t growl, doesn’t bare its teeth. It just stands there, watching me, its eyes glowing faintly amber in the dark. There’s something about the way it holds my gaze that sends a shiver down my spine—not fear, not exactly, but something primal.
Refusing to turn my back on the darkness, I retreat to the clinic, my mind racing. Once inside, I lock the door behind me, leaning against it as I catch my breath. I feel a lingering unease, my thoughts spinning faster than I can keep up.
The wolf didn’t feel like a threat. But it didn’t feel like just an animal, either. Could it be a shifter? A member of the Nightshade Pack? Lucas? Ryder? Shadow Hollow has become a mystery wrapped inside an enigma. I’m not sure I’m ready to understand, but it’s not something I can’t let go of.
RYDER
The forest is alive tonight, but not in the way it should be. There’s an edge to the air, something sharp and wrong, the kind of anticipation that sets my inner wolf on high alert. Lucas is a few paces ahead, his movements fluid and deliberate as we move through the trees. The moonlight catches on his face, highlighting the faint crease in his brow. He feels it, too.
“Smell that?” Lucas says, his voice low, a growl riding beneath his words.
“Yeah,” I reply, my jaw tightening. The scent lingers on the wind—sharp and musky, with a bitter edge that makes my wolf snarl. Crimson Claw.
“They’re getting bolder,” Lucas mutters, scanning the shadows. “Too bold.”
I nod, my jaw tightening. “They’re testing us. Pushing the boundaries to see how far they can go before we push back.”
“And you’re just going to let them?” he challenges, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“For now,” I say, my voice grim. “One thing I learned in my time in the military: don’t engage your opponent until you know everything about them you can find. At this point we don’t know what they truly are, how they came to be, what they want, or who’s behind them. Way too many unknowns.”
“What are you doing about that?”
“I have some of our people trying to track them down. I’m talking to the other alphas…”
“Oh God, the Elders will have a fit.”
“As I’ve said before, fuck the Elders. We need information more than we need outdated rules and feuds. It doesn’t serve any of us.”
Lucas doesn’t argue, but I can feel his frustration simmering beneath the surface. I get it. I feel it too. There’s a connection between the Crimson Claw and Arthur’s death—I can feel it—but I don’t have all the pieces yet. Who knows? Maybe even the declining birthrate is a part of it.
We move in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of leaves underfoot and the faint whisper of the wind moving through the branches of the trees. The scent grows stronger, more distinct, and I know we’re close.
Lucas stops suddenly, his head snapping to the side. I catch it too—the faint sound of paws on the ground, deliberate and cautious. My wolf pushes forward, the growl rumbling low in my chest as I scan the shadows.
“They’re circling,” Lucas murmurs. “Two, maybe three of them.”
“Then let’s make sure they know we’re here.”
I step forward, letting my wolf rise to the surface, allowing the swirling mist to begin to envelop my body, shifting just enough to let the feral edge of my presence ripple through the air. A warning. The sound stops, and I halt my shift before it can take over.
The mutants know we’re close now, and after a long, tense moment, the wind shifts, carrying their scent away with it.
“Cowards,” Lucas mutters, but his voice is still wary.
“They’re not ready for a fight, either,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “Not yet.”
Lucas relaxes slightly, his shoulders dropping. “If they’re this close to Shadow Hollow, we need to make sure the others know.”
“I’ll handle it,” I cut in, my tone firm.
Lucas studies me and then nods. As Lucas heads back toward the lodge and surrounding estate, a part of the pack’s main territory, I linger, my feet carrying me to the edge of the forest where the trees thin and Bella’s clinic comes into view. The lights inside are off now, the building quiet, but her scent still lingers in the air—soft, warm, unmistakably her.
I stop just short of the tree line, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin. The pull toward her is relentless, stronger than I expected it to be. It’s more than curiosity, more than duty. It’s something raw, primal, and it’s only growing harder to ignore.
She might not be pack, but she’s mine, and I will claim her.
The Crimson Claw was too close tonight. Too close to her. The thought of them circling her property, their scent mixing with hers, sends a fresh wave of anger surging through me. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to charge back into the forest and hunt them down.
I’ve tried convincing myself she’s just a woman—a human for the most part—but it’s a lie, and I know it. Bella is so much more. She’s fire and stubbornness and a thousand questions that cut too close to the truth. She’s a gale force waiting to explode, and I’m standing in its path.
But tonight, as the forest shifts and the danger grows, one thing becomes clear: I can’t let anything happen to her. Not the Crimson Claw. Not the pack. I’ll protect her, even if it means breaking every damn rule in the book.
A soft movement catches my attention—a shadow at the window. Bella. She’s standing just behind the glass, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of moonlight. She’s watching the forest, her posture tense, like she knows something’s out here.
I let myself look, let the pull of her steady me even as it threatens to undo me. Then I step back into the shadows, the trees swallowing me whole.
The Crimson Claw will be back. I can feel it. And when they return, they’ll find out exactly what happens when they get too close to something that’s mine.