Chapter 3 - Bryan
Skylar vanishes into the forest before I can shove my way through the crowd to reach her.
I push past the celebrating pack members and ignore the hands grabbing at my shoulders.
Someone shouts my name, but I don’t stop to see who.
Connor steps into my path with his mouth open to say something, and I sidestep him without breaking stride.
The only thing I care about is the woman who just bolted into the trees like her life depended on getting away from me.
Maybe it does. Maybe seeing my face again is the worst thing that’s happened to her in years, and she’d rather take her chances with the forest at night than spend another second breathing the same air as me.
I hit the tree line, and her scent wraps around me like a fist to the chest. Honeysuckle and herbs, a combination so familiar my wolf nearly howls at the recognition.
We spent two years memorizing that scent, burying our face in her hair, and pressing our nose to the curve of her neck.
Ten years apart hasn’t dulled the memory one bit.
I strip off my clothes and call on my wolf before my jeans even hit the dirt.
The change comes fast and easy after a decade of constant use with the agency.
Bones snap and reform as muscles stretch and fur ripples across my skin.
Within seconds, I’m on four legs with my muzzle pressed to the ground.
Her trail cuts through the underbrush in a zigzag pattern, suggesting she was either panicking or deliberately trying to confuse anyone following her.
Knowing Skylar, probably both. She was always smart, always thinking three steps ahead, even when her emotions were running high.
I barrel forward and leap over a rotting log as my paws tear into the soft earth.
The forest rushes past me in shades of gray and green.
I dodge between tree trunks and crash through patches of ferns, following the thread of her scent like it’s the only thing that matters.
My wolf pushes harder, desperate to close the distance before she disappears.
We’ve tracked targets across three continents and hunted Cheslem wolves through terrain far more treacherous than this.
Finding one woman in the forest we grew up in should be simple.
It’s not.
The scent goes cold at the stream near the eastern border.
I skid to a stop on the muddy bank and pace back and forth with a whine building in my throat.
The water rushes past, carrying away any trace of where she went.
She must have walked through the stream to wash away her trail, and I have no way of knowing which direction she chose.
Upstream toward the mountains? Downstream toward the lake?
Straight across and deeper into the territory where the old-growth pines crowd so close together you can barely squeeze between them?
I try upstream first and follow the bank for a quarter mile before admitting there’s nothing to find. Then I double back and try downstream with the same result. The water has done its job.
I widen my search and circle through the surrounding forest in ever-larger loops.
My nose stays glued to the ground as I check every fallen branch and moss-covered rock for some hint of her passage.
Nothing. No footprints in the mud, no broken twigs, no lingering trace of honeysuckle.
She grew up running through these woods and knows every game trail, every hollow log, every trick for vanishing when she doesn’t want to be found.
I spent ten years tracking down wolves who didn’t want to be found. Cheslem operatives who’d gone to ground in remote locations, hidden themselves in cities, and used every technique in the book to disappear. I found them all eventually.
But Skylar isn’t a target. She isn’t an enemy combatant or a threat to be neutralized. She’s the woman I loved, the woman I left, and she has every right to run from me if that’s what she needs.
An hour passes before I finally admit defeat. My lungs burn, and my legs tremble from the relentless pace I’ve been keeping. Even my wolf, stubborn as he is, recognizes a lost cause when he sees one.
I finally stop at the top of a ridge overlooking the valley with my sides heaving and my tongue lolling.
Silvercreek spreads out below me, tiny pinpricks of yellow and white dotting the darkness where houses and streetlamps hold back the night.
Somewhere down there, Skylar is probably locked in her house and wishing I had never crossed the border this morning.
The run back to the Hollow takes less time than the search.
Most of the crowd has cleared out by now, leaving behind trampled grass and the smoky residue of torches that have burned down to nothing.
A few stragglers linger near the Mother Tree in small clusters, and their conversations die when they see me emerge from the trees.
I find my clothes in a heap where I left them and pull them on without caring about the dirt and scratches covering my skin.
My shirt snags on a cut across my ribs that I don’t remember getting, probably from a branch I didn’t dodge in time.
The sting of fabric against the wound gives me something to focus on besides the disaster this night has become.
Nic is waiting for me near the Mother Tree with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Lost her trail at the stream.” I rake my fingers through my hair and dislodge a few leaves along with a twig I didn’t notice before. “She could be anywhere by now.”
“She’s home. Ruby texted.” He pulls out his phone and glances at it. “Skylar won’t open the door, but Ruby can hear her moving around inside.”
Some of the tightness in my chest eases. At least she’s safe. At least she didn’t do something stupid like run all the way to the border and keep going.
“I never expected to be included in the lottery,” I tell him after a moment. “Told you this afternoon I might not be sticking around. Why would the magic waste a match on someone who’s already got one foot out the door?”
Nic shrugs and slides the phone back into his pocket. “The magic doesn’t care about your travel itinerary. It sees what it sees and chooses who it chooses.”
“Then it made a mistake this time.”
“It doesn’t make mistakes.” He kicks at a clump of grass with his boot in a surprisingly casual gesture for an Alpha.
“That’s the whole point of the tradition.
The magic identifies compatible pairs, wolves who complement each other in ways that strengthen the pack.
Luna and I didn’t make sense on paper either.
Half the pack thought the magic had finally gone senile when her name was drawn.
Now I can’t imagine existing without her. ”
A faint smile crosses his face before he pulls it back. “The lottery sees things we’re too blind or too stubborn to recognize on our own. Connections that run deeper than logic or history.”
“Skylar ran from me, Nic.” I don’t know how many different ways I can say this before he understands. “She heard my name and looked like she might be sick. When they called hers, she didn’t hesitate for even a second. Just bolted into the woods without looking back.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No. That’s the whole damn problem.” I scrub a hand over my face as exhaustion drags at my bones. “I can’t blame her for any of it. But I also can’t force her into a bond she obviously doesn’t want. I won’t do that to her. Not after everything else I’ve already put her through.”
Nic narrows his eyes. “You know what refusing a match means? It’s not just politely declining and going about your business. You’d be rejecting the pack itself. Declaring yourself rogue, giving up any claim to protection or territory or the right to ever come back.”
“I know what it means. I’m not trapping someone in a mating bond against her will.” My voice rises, and I force it back down. Arguing with the Alpha in the middle of the Hollow won’t help anything.
Footsteps approach from the direction of the town, and I turn to see Thomas Ennes walking toward us.
Nic’s second-in-command has been part of the pack leadership for as long as I can remember, serving first under Nic’s father and then proving himself indispensable through every crisis Silvercreek has faced.
If anyone knows what this pack has been through and what it needs to survive, it’s Thomas.
“Luna sent me,” he says as he reaches us. “She wanted to make sure everything’s under control.”
Nic nods. “Ruby confirmed Skylar made it home safe. She’s not talking to anyone, but at least she’s not out running through the woods anymore.”
Thomas turns his attention to me with an assessing look that makes me want to take a step back. “Hell of a first day.”
I snort. “Not exactly the homecoming I imagined.”
“I don’t suppose it is. You know, I remember when you left. The whole pack was still reeling from the attack on your family, and then you just vanished.”
“I had my reasons.”
“I’m sure you did. Doesn’t mean the people you left behind understood them.” He doesn’t say it unkindly, but the words still land hard.
“She deserves better than this,” I mutter.
“Maybe. But the magic doesn’t deal in what people deserve. It deals in what they need.” Thomas uncrosses his arms as his posture relaxes. “Before you make any decisions about this match, you should know some things about who Skylar is now.”
“Thomas—” Nic starts.
“He needs to hear it.” Thomas doesn’t look away from me as he adds, “Better from us than from pack gossip.”
I brace myself for a lecture about what a piece of garbage I am and how much damage I caused when I left. All of it true and all of it earned.
But Thomas surprises me.
“She’s the senior healer at the medical center. Youngest wolf to ever hold that position in Silvercreek’s history.”
“Senior healer?”
“She earned it. Threw herself into the work after you left and never stopped. Studied constantly, took every assignment she could get, and volunteered for cases nobody else wanted to touch. Within five years, she was running the place.” Thomas pauses to let that sink in.
“When the Cheslem situation came to a head, we had wounded wolves flooding the medical center faster than anyone could treat them. Skylar worked for three straight days without sleep. Refused to stop until every patient was stable. Luna had to physically drag her out of the building and order her to rest.”
The image settles in my mind and refuses to leave. Skylar surrounded by injured pack members, refusing to quit because people were counting on her. It clocks, there’s no denying that.
“Half the wolves in Silvercreek owe her their lives,” Thomas continues. “The other half owes her their sanity. She started a trauma support group that meets twice a week, and there’s never an empty seat. People trust her with things they’ve never told anyone else. Not even Fern, the town shrink.”
“She always wanted to help people,” I manage around the tightness in my throat.
“Wanting and doing are different things. Skylar does both. She’s not fragile, Bryan. She’s one of the strongest wolves in this pack, and she’s earned every bit of respect she has. Whatever you decide about this match, you need to understand who she is now. Not who she was ten years ago.”
“I’m not trying to hurt her. I’m trying to do the opposite.”
“By making decisions for her without asking what she wants?” Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Sounds familiar.”
The words land like a fist to the gut. He’s right. That’s exactly what I did ten years ago. I decided what was best for both of us while telling myself I was protecting her, and I never gave her a say in any of it.
“So what do you suggest?” I ask. “Knock on her door and ask if she’d like to be magically bound to the man who abandoned her?”
“Probably better than vanishing again and making the choice for her.” Thomas glances at Nic. “She’s not a child. She can handle a difficult conversation.”
I think about the woman I saw crossing the town square earlier. Confident and self-assured, looking right through me like I was nobody. That woman doesn’t need anyone to make decisions on her behalf.
“Fine,” I relent. “I’ll find her tomorrow and lay out the options. Tell her I’m willing to refuse the match if that’s what she wants. Her choice, not mine.”
Nic and Thomas exchange a look.
“The hunting cabin on the north edge of town is empty,” Nic states. “Key’s under the mat. Get some sleep if you can.”
I nod and turn toward town without another word. The walk takes fifteen minutes, and I spend every second trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say to the woman whose heart I broke when I finally stand in front of her again.
The cabin is small and sparse, just like I remember it, but it has a roof, a couch, and walls to keep the world out. I lock the door behind me, sink onto the cushions, and rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.
I told her not to follow me. She didn’t. And now the magic has thrown us back together, whether we like it or not.