3. Caden
3
CADEN
Avery’s scent follows me long after I let her go. I do my best to finish checking the borders with it tickling my nose. It’s distracting. Far sweeter than I remember when I last caught it on the wind.
I shouldn’t be able to pick up her scent still. Not at this distance, diluted by the smells of nature and other packmates as I venture closer to more populated areas.
Even as an alpha shifter, my heightened senses have a limit. So how the hell am I aware of exactly which direction she’s in on this mountain right now?
Scrubbing my face, I dismiss it as my damn imagination conspiring with my lack of sleep to toy with me.
I know this land like the back of my hand. I’ve committed every mossy patch, every trickling stream, every tree hollow to memory since I was a pup knowing it would become mine to guard and protect when it was my time to take over the responsibility for my father as his successor.
Of course I know where Avery Morgan is. It’s the alpha’s duty to always be aware of his enemies.
Tonight is the full moon. As shifters, our connection to it and the moon goddess is strongest on these nights. We run as a pack to honor the gift she bestowed on the first wolf to walk amongst man and nature. It’s a time of celebration every month, to guide the younger members of the pack coming of age for their first shift, but I’m not in the mood.
Coming off yet another territory squabble between elders doesn’t help. They’re debating over a stretch of land connecting their homes. I’ve been mediating it for them since I became Alpha. I swear, those crabby old bastards have been arguing over who the patch of sparse bushes and rocks belongs to for decades.
It’s not just the trivialities I often have to deal with on top of my day to day agenda. Something’s different today. It’s in the brisk autumn mountain air that’s made me off kilter, acting on odd impulses that I can’t justify—like that inexplicable incident with Avery. It’s growing more noticeable as the afternoon goes on.
Worse, since the moment I sent Avery away, my wolf has been acting strangely restless. He’s more interested in turning around and tracking her over the gnarled roots of the trail she took rather than finish the task at hand. I pointedly ignore the yank on my instincts, continuing my descent along the edge of my territory.
I squeeze my nape to alleviate the tight bunch of muscles, finding no relief. Hopefully when I go to fur later tonight, this agitation will cure itself.
Another waft of fresh honey and summer rain teases my nostrils. I cast a glare over my shoulder.
“You’ve got me nearly believing the pack’s whispers about you becoming a witch up here with this trickery,” I mutter.
The only response is the sway of the branches overhead and the screech of a hawk soaring through the clouds. It’s my memory that supplies the way Avery used to laugh when I told her something outlandish and how brightly her amber eyes would light up with amusement.
Gritting my teeth, I don’t hesitate before swinging my fist against a thick trunk with a growl. The bark splinters, fragments exploding everywhere. A deep crack travels up the wood in staggered breaks. It ends at the base of a large branch that creaks ominously before snapping free, crashing to the ground .
Those memories are off-fucking-limits.
Any happy memories of Avery were locked away the day her family betrayed us, going from our most trusted allies as my father’s beta to a threat when he challenged his alpha for the right to claim the pack.
I stare at the damage I’ve done to the tree and my knuckles. Black fur has sprouted on the back of my cut up hand and my nails have extended into claws. I heave a sigh as the angry gashes in my skin begin to mend thanks to the accelerated healing shifters are blessed with. They’re gone by the time I’ve made short work of breaking the fallen limb into smaller pieces to use for firewood at tonight’s bonfire.
A soft giggle alerts me to an audience peeking at me from behind a holly bush. Two children, a boy and a girl around age ten, step out when I wave them over. The girl bravely comes right up to me while the boy hovers behind her, glancing at me for permission.
I grimace. Kids were never wary of me when I was younger.
“Are you out here playing?” I ask.
The girl nods. They peer up at the abused tree with curious gazes.
Damn it. I hate anyone seeing me lose control. It’s bad enough I have to work daily to make this pack respect my leadership, even four years after I became Alpha at twenty. It was necessary to be firm to ensure they’d follow me when others thought there were other choices better suited to lead the pack than one as young as me.
The girl turns to me. “Are you sad?”
I frown. “No.”
“Mad?” She tilts her head. “Our Da goes into the trees behind our cabin to do that. Our Ma says he’s working on his frustrations.”
“No.” The furrow in my brow deepens with a new worry to add to my endless list. I’m not sure their family name—possibly Merryweather’s pups, but they could pass for the Farrows line with their eyes. “It’ll be dinnertime soon. About time you ran back to your dam, isn’t it? ”
“Yes, Alpha,” they answer in unison.
“Go on now.”
I watch them scamper away, chasing each other in a zigzag along the trail until they reach the fork that leads towards the central part of the packlands. Once I no longer hear them, I work my jaw, scanning the wooded path along the borders the Blackburns have been guardians of for generations with a narrowed gaze.
My wolf chuffs in my head, tongue lolling from the side of his grinning maw. The bastard’s amusement is another unwanted irritation. His eagerness for tonight’s run has been impossible to ignore all day. While I’ve been taking care of preparations, he’s frequently pressed close against the thin veil that separates a shifter’s skin and beast forms. He’s ready to be in control as usual.
It’s not as though I don’t shift every chance I get outside of the full moon. Some packs only let their wolf out once or twice a month. I get too restless to go more than a few days. It’s a waste of a shifter’s power to stay in one form all the time.
I take his taunting as his desire for me to hurry up so we can run and hunt with our pack, gathering the broken up pieces of branch and tucking the bundle beneath my arm.
No , his voice echoes through my psyche, thunderous and commanding. Go back . Find the female.
Some days he deigns to communicate with me with words rather than simply influence my instincts. Usually when he’s being stubborn and wants something I’m not concerned with. Not all shifters can hear their wolf’s internal manifestation when they’re not in their fur, let alone converse with them.
The she-wolf smells good. We should hunt with her. She will be fast .
My brow furrows and I shake my head. He’s wrong. She doesn’t shift. There’s no wolf for us to run with. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.
He’s barking up the wrong tree. Or maybe he’s gone insane with moon sickness if he thinks I’d want that with Avery. When I take a step, he stops me in my tracks, pulling hard with the need to turn around. I ball my free hand into a fist with the effort to remain planted in place.
This needs to stop. It’s pissing me off now.
He has nothing else to say, growling as he turns around and flops down, tail thumping in agitation. Great, now he’s fucking pouting.
Being at odds with my wolf is a first for me. Typically we’re in harmony, agreeing on when to eat, when to assert our dominance, and when to mark what’s ours. As long as I give him enough time in fur, he lets me do what I need to when it comes to everything else. He doesn’t even have interest in chasing tail the way other males young and old always do, which works fine for me because I have enough on my hands managing pack matters to add juggling the attention of females who only want to fuck the alpha to lord the status over the others for a better cut of meat at dinner. It’s better if I don’t show anyone my favor to keep the rank-chasers from thinking I’ll choose them as a mate.
I don’t have time for any of this. Not with the impending summit.
This year it’s being hosted by Timber Hollow Pack’s alpha, Alistair Ryan. Packs from all over the region gather once a year as part of the accords between the groups of shifters that broke free from the Original Pack hundreds of years ago.
The pack was made up of direct descendants of the first shifters, and it died out thanks to the tyrannical rule of the successive line of power-hungry alphas driving its people away. Those that made their new settlements in the surrounding areas banded together in a treaty for alliance and prosperity while other groups went out into the world until the shifter population grew, rivaling today’s human population globally.
Beyond the harsh terrain of Wanderer’s Canyon to the far south, where feral and rogue shifters roam in their wolf forms, the wasteland known as the Deadlands serves as a warning to all shifters in the region of our history before we worked together peacefully.
If all goes well, I’ll be able to improve trade between Silver Falls, Timber Hollow, and our other nearest neighbor, Crescent Valley Pack. It’ll be my first time pushing for anything in this year’s accords. The last few winters have been harsh. Alistair’s pack and Crescent Valley both have better resources than we do on the mountain to sustain them throughout the year, which has only grown more challenging since I made the decision to cut back on unsanctioned travel off packlands.
I spent the most time in Timber Hollow’s territory when other packs hosted me as heir apparent to Silver Falls as part of the peace agreement. It’s a way for those who are next in line can build relationships between nearby packs for trade and learn different methods to lead. It’s Silver Falls’ turn to host Alistair’s heir. I’m hoping that will make Alistair want to support my bid for an updated trade agreement between our packs.
I peer through the trees as the path curves around the south face of the mountain. The forest where Timber Hollow Pack lives is just visible in the distance past the foothills and woods surrounding Ashbury between our territories.
Visiting other packs opened my eyes to many things that make an alpha worthy of leading their pack, but those weeks down in that forest only made me want to come back here. They interact the most with humans and their technology out of all of us, and it was exhausting to regulate control over my more wild behaviors for their sake. Besides, the lake in Timber Hollow doesn’t compare to the natural springs dotting the mountain. I missed hiking to the highest point for the best view in the region and the falls…and?—
I cut myself off from reminiscing about what it is that makes this mountain home, tearing my gaze from a fallen leaf that’s the right shade of amber to match?—
Fuck . No. I blow out a terse breath and roll my neck, stretching a tense knot from my shoulders.
The interaction with Avery refuses to leave my head, poisoning every thought and bringing my awareness back to her no matter how much I steer myself away. If I don’t address it head on, she’ll own my mind the rest of the night.
A snort jerks my head. This shouldn’t surprise me by now. After all, none of the Morgan clan turned out to be who my family thought they were.
Yet I’m stuck on her. More than I should be, noticing more than I allow myself to.
Like the dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. How lean she’s grown ahead of the winter season.
The way the afternoon light catches on her golden light brown hair. The shape of her expressive mouth. The challenge in her eyes that always makes the blood in my veins pump faster. I bring my thoughts to a halt once more.
Noticing anything about Avery is a dangerous path. One I don’t grant myself permission to venture. Not anymore.
Not since her father challenged mine a mere week after I returned home from Timber Hollow Pack.
I swipe a hand over my mouth, turning the encounter earlier over in my head. There’s something I want to pin down about it that bothers me more than usual—other than the obvious way my wolf reacted to her rebellious attitude with interest—yet it evades me. What was she doing all the way at the edge of that border when she lives by the northernmost part of the territory?
I write the fixation off as part of my dedication to ensuring my pack is safe and cared for. Even traitors like her who live one step above banishment. Every shifter within this territory is my responsibility.
“I don’t need this right now,” I grumble.
Frowning at the picturesque view below the mountainside speckled in an array of oranges, reds, and yellows, I scratch my chest to rid myself of the phantom sensation of a spark attempting to flicker to life.
“What are you doing? ”
I still at the voice, shocked I was so lost in thought that I didn’t sense my second in command approaching. “Liam.”
He dips his head in greeting, attention pausing on my shirt with a raised brow. I stop scratching and drop my hand, along with the bundle of wood.
“Itching to go to fur? Me too.” He ruffles his dark brown hair with a lopsided grin. “Wolf’s been acting up even though I went for a long hunt last night. You’d think he’d found his mate.”
My lips quirk. I appreciate that he’s never one to pry. He’s been with me through everything. We’ve grown up together from pups. Once I was officially named heir at fifteen, I knew I’d appoint my best friend as my top lieutenant. There was no other choice I’d trust more than him for the role of my beta.
For the briefest second, I consider the possibility that an impending mate bond is my wolf’s problem, quickly dismissing it. He’s never taken much interest in any female in the pack before. I’ve also never heard of a fated pairing with a Wolfless shifter. An arranged mating, sure. As far as I know, no Wolfless has ever awoken a mating bond with someone.
Avery’s the only Wolfless currently in our pack. Any we had in the past were blotted out when a wolf didn’t emerge at coming of age ceremonies, driven from the territory or put down for tainting bloodlines with weakness. My jaw clenches. It’s not how things are done around here anymore.
“Always is when there's a full moon.”
“I don’t know how some of the other packs out there handle not running whenever they want.” He shudders. “It doesn’t seem right.”
I shrug. “They’re traditionalists. They go by the oldest of ways, respecting the moon goddess’ cycle. I couldn’t live like that permanently, but it wasn’t so bad when I spent time with the nomadic Tullut in the remote northern tundra during my time traveling to different packs. It makes you appreciate the shift more.” My mouth stretches with a taunting smirk. “Teaches you how to maintain a harmonious balance with your wolf so you learn not to give in every time they want you to do stupid shit.”
His expression mirrors mine. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got us all beat there. Are you done up here? The border line is good. I checked it myself this morning.”
There’s still one stretch left, but I let it go with a nod. “I got some extra wood for the bonfire.”
Liam eyes the pile at my feet skeptically. “Wood? Those are twigs at best.”
I exhale in amusement. “Shut up.”
Gathering wood with him is the most normal I’ve felt all day. But as we follow the trail back to the center of the packlands, the odd sensation of flickering dances through my chest again.