Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Neil
Branches whip at my face as I dart between the trees, each step taking me farther and farther from my mate while every part of me screams for me to go back. Every part except one. My wolf.
Because it’s the wolf who is in control, blindly following my alpha’s command to run as the word echoes through my mind like a drumbeat.
I’m well aware of the power of an Alpha command, but this is the first time I’ve actually been subjected to one, and the sensation is much more unpleasant than I expected.
My mind is fighting it and the mental struggle causes a sharp ache to flare up behind my eyes.
But no matter what my head wants, my body is not my own right now.
Well, technically it is. I’m just not the one in control of it at the moment.
Or at least the human part of me isn’t, just my wolf urging me forward faster forward.
And that’s another experience I’ve never had before.
Shifting has never been a priority for me.
After my first disastrous shift, I lived in the human world, no one knowing or really caring what I am.
So, it’s been at least a year since the last time I took wolf form—well, except for back at the casino, but I’m not counting that—and even then, it wasn’t like this.
Now I’m a puppet dancing on the strings of animal instinct and the primitive drive to obey my alpha.
And there’s nothing I can do about it, no way to fight it.
Thorns scratch at my snout as I make a sudden shift in direction, instinctively making my way to who the hell knows where.
Sure, I saw a map of the area, but I didn’t exactly commit it to memory, and even if I had, there was no detail about Rockcastle territory so I have no way of knowing where I’m heading.
Or, rather, where my wolf is taking me. Because, at this point, I’m just along for the ride, my heart pounding in my chest and creating a steady tempo for the beat of Blake’s command in my mind—run run run—until the word drowns out almost everything else.
I swear, if I survive this, I might just throttle him. He had no right to order me away, forcing me to leave him to face the danger alone.
Twigs and rocks poke at my paw pads, tiny pricks of pain that do nothing to slow the wolf, but leave the human part of me wincing. My wolf will not be swayed, though, pushing past the pain, and more gradually, the limits of my body.
Being a shifter means I’m naturally pretty healthy, but regular exercise isn’t something that’s ever been on my to-do list. Add in the forced shift, the unfamiliar terrain, and the fact that I missed lunch, and that means I’m quickly tiring—muscles twitching uncomfortably and tongue lolling from my mouth with my heavy, panting breaths.
My chest aches with the struggle for oxygen, and the farther I get from Blake, the more it feels like flames are licking at the back of my neck. The sensation isn’t constant, but it is uncomfortable, and it takes me longer than it should have to figure out what it means.
The fated mate bond has been a subtle presence urging Blake and me closer since that first time we locked eyes. The bond can’t force us to be together. We can choose to walk away, but that doesn’t mean fate, or maybe biology, won’t find a way to make that difficult.
And apparently painful.
The fiery pain in the back of my neck—the exact location a claiming bite would be placed—is the beginning hint of what shifters call the mating frenzy.
The pain I’m experiencing is biology’s way of trying to keep Blake and me close to each other long enough for us to complete the bond.
Things would’ve been fine had Blake and I stayed in proximity to each other, but now that we’ve been separated, the bond is making its displeasure known, something that will only get worse because biology doesn’t know shit and can’t take nuances into account.
Like the fact that mine and Blake’s current separation isn’t voluntary and punishing me—us—for it helps absolutely no one. But there’s nothing I can do about it now since I can’t exactly argue with biology.
So, I release the mental reins and just let my wolf run.
At some point, the driving force behind Blake’s command fades, becoming quieter, softer, and easier to ignore. My steps slow, first to a jog, then to a walk. Until eventually, I just stop, chest heaving with labored breaths and my tongue lolling from my mouth in a strained pant.
I hang my head, dragging in the deepest breaths I can manage and wait for the adrenaline to fade and my heartbeat to return to normal.
My wolf finally recedes, allowing my human mind to take full control again.
Though, to be perfectly honest, being lost to my instincts might be preferable in my current situation.
At least when the wolf was in charge, I had no time to worry about being lost. In the fucking woods. The woods that just happen to be part of an unfamiliar pack’s territory, a pack that has a history of being reclusive, violent, and generally not all too friendly.
But that’s another worry for later. For now, I need to deal with my most pressing issue which is that I’m very definitely and hopelessly lost. In the woods. With no supplies and no survival skills when it comes to this kind of setting.
Until a few days ago, I spent my whole life in Vegas, venturing past the city limits only rarely, and this city boy doesn’t know what the fuck to do with all the trees and plants and hills and crap.
Not to mention, I’m stuck in fur unless I want to walk around naked. In the woods. That’s a big no from me. All these poky sticks and thorny bushes are bad enough with fur to protect me. My fragile human skin will not fare half as well.
I huff and plop my furry butt down on the layer of leaves—and dirt and who knows what—on the forest floor to take stock of my situation.
Finding Blake is my number one priority, but I have no idea how the hell I’m going to do that, especially without knowing who I’m up against. I didn’t get more than a quick glance at the two shifters who ambushed us—how the hell did they find us anyway?
—but I did see what looked an awful lot like the triumvirate’s logo on the shirts they were wearing.
Does that mean they were praetorians? How did they even find us all the way out here?
I haven’t had many dealings with the triumvirate, but a couple of their officers randomly accosting two shifters out in the middle of nowhere doesn’t seem like normal operating procedure.
But that’s a mystery that’s going to go unsolved, because right now, my focus needs to be on figuring out where the hell I am, and getting my ass out of Rockcastle territory before somebody catches me.
I sneeze and scratch at my ear, then glance around at my surroundings, hoping for some small sign of civilization, but there’s nothing but trees.
And more trees. Lifting my nose, I sniff at the air.
The basic earthy scent of vegetation—fucking trees—is strongest, but there are hints of other things.
Like wildlife, what must be a creek somewhere, and a distant whiff of wood smoke.
The smell of smoke isn’t strong enough to be a forest fire—at least I damn sure hope not—and the scent of cooking meat is layered within it. I’m going to guess the main pack compound is in that direction, making that way a definite no-go and leaving me with… about a million other options.
I let out an irritated huff. Knowing what direction not to go in is slightly helpful, but not enough for me to find my way out of here.
Maybe I should head to the creek? Isn’t that a thing people are supposed to do if they get lost in the woods? Find some water and follow the flow or something?
I’m not sure whether I’m remembering that correctly or not, but it gives me a direction to travel in, and I can always change course if I need to. There’s no way I’m not going to be lost in these woods forever, right?
Nope. I refuse to even think about that.
I push to my feet and, nose to the ground, pad my way toward the smell of water. By the time I run across a narrow creek a few minutes later, it feels like I’ve inhaled a whole damn tree’s worth of pine needles. I sneeze and paw at my nose, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation.
I really hate the woods.
The creek is only a foot wide or so, but the water is moving so “going with the flow” won’t be an issue. Hopefully it leads me to civilization. Or at least a road that can take me to civilization.
Anywhere but the damn woods.
I squish my way along the muddy bank of the creek. My paws quickly become wet and caked with dirt, but I keep moving, a new sense of hope growing in my chest.
Wolves are animals, I guess, so even if I personally haven’t spent much time in the woods, my wolf should know what he’s doing, right? I nod to myself, answering my own question. Going this way feels right somehow, so I must be going in the right direction, trusting my gut and all that.
At first, progress is slow. I stop every twenty feet or so to look around to see if the trees have thinned or a gas station has suddenly appeared, but after the tenth disappointment I just keep my nose down and follow the water.
The creek widens, nearly doubling in size, and the banks grow taller, forcing me to walk inside the shallow ravine they create.
This is definitely working. The creek will lead me somewhere, I’m sure of it.
I can do this.
So overconfident in my new “survival” skill upgrade, I don’t even notice the other shifter until I’m right on top of him. Or, rather, he’s up on the bank looking down at me, my legs splattered with mud as I splash through the creek.
A second shifter comes to stand next to the first, raising a brow as he stares at me now frozen in place. They’re both wearing uniforms similar to the two who ambushed me and Blake, and now I can clearly identify the triumvirate’s logo on their shirts. Definitely praetorians then.
That’s… not a good sign.
“I think that’s him,” says the first guy.
Oh shit. That’s even worse.
I take two slow steps backward, but the other shifters are faster. Or, more accurately, better prepared, because a third shifter jumps down into the creek behind me, blocking my retreat. And this one is holding a small, silver pistol.
A dart gun, my mind supplies.
With the steep banks corralling me in from the sides and the fact that the first two shifters are all Obi-Wan with the high ground, there’s nowhere for me to go, so…
I shift. Being naked and vulnerable isn’t exactly my best idea, but at least I can talk in this form. Maybe these guys can be reasoned with?
“Hey, uh, so… how’s it going? What are you guys doing out here?” I mentally face-palm. Could I sound even more suspicious?
“Neil Cahill?” asks Dart Gun Guy.
My stomach drops. This situation just gets worse and worse. Why in the hell do they know my name? And why would they be looking specifically for me?
When I don’t respond, one of them pulls out a phone, glances at the screen, then shoves it back in his pocket. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Wait a second,” I say, waving my hands frantically. “What’s going on here?”
But none of them bother to explain. There’s a soft puff-hiss noise of the dart gun followed by a stinging bite of pain in my shoulder. I rip the dart out, but it doesn’t matter. The world goes blurry, and I slide to the ground, my eyes slipping closed only seconds later.