Chapter 4
CADE
The forest is quiet—too quiet. That’s always the first warning, the one thing I trust more than any report or gut instinct. The soft rustle of leaves is gone. The birds have stopped singing. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
I move along the familiar trails, boots sinking slightly into damp earth, eyes scanning for anything out of place. I’ve been patrolling this sector for years, and nothing in Silver Ridge—or the surrounding mountains—has ever felt like this.
The missing livestock reports came in just after first light. Not a single farmer saw anything, just the aftermath: shredded pens, blood on the ground, terrified animals gone. Nothing like this has happened in decades, not since the older wolves were alive to keep the mountain in check.
And now the scent hits me.
It’s faint at first, barely distinguishable from the damp forest smells, but it’s there.
Cold, metallic, tinged with fear—and utterly unfamiliar.
Not a bear, not a mountain lion, not even a wolf.
My wolf growls low in my chest, a rumble I feel as much as hear.
It wants to hunt, to track, to destroy whatever has crossed into our territory.
I follow the trail carefully, moving silently, keeping my senses sharp. There’s a pattern here, something deliberate. The predator—or predators—aren’t just passing through. They’re hunting.
My comm buzzes in my pocket. Nolan’s voice: “You taking the patrol today, Cade?”
“Yeah. Outer trails,” I reply shortly, keeping my voice calm. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
There’s a pause, then: “Try not to get distracted by the new human in town, okay?”
I stiffen, my jaw tightening. “Nolan,” I say, low and even, “focus on your patrol. I’ll handle mine.”
He chuckles, but I hear the smirk in his tone. That damn man always has to push.
I track the scent further into the forest, stepping over fallen logs, brushing aside thick undergrowth. My wolf is alert, every nerve taut, every muscle coiled. Something about the air tells me we’re not alone.
And then I see it: the remains of a deer, torn apart. Clawed, shredded, unnatural. My wolf growls, teeth gnashing. This isn’t ordinary predation. This isn’t survival—it’s hunting, methodical, precise.
I kneel briefly to examine the prints in the mud. Large, clawed, elongated, unlike any wolf or bear native to this region. My brow furrows. Whoever—or whatever—this is, it’s smart. Organized. Dangerous. And it’s moving toward the public trails.
I curse under my breath. That means humans. I make the call to Garrett. Alpha’s voice comes over the comm, steady as always.
“Cade?”
“Garrett, the prints I found—they’re not natural. Whatever did this is moving toward the hiking trails.”
There’s a pause, heavy with the weight of unspoken concern.
“Humans?”
“Possibly. Definitely dangerous. I’m increasing the search-and-rescue patrols. I’ll need all eyes on the outer trails tonight.”
“Understood,” he says. “Be careful.”
I pocket the comm and continue, moving faster now. My senses heighten. My wolf rumbles beneath my chest, restless, insistent. It reacts to something familiar—something human—but I push it aside. I can’t afford distraction. Not now.
As the afternoon wanes, I return briefly to town to check on reports and supplies. That’s when I see her.
Eliza Bishop.
She’s standing on main street, scanning the mountains, camera in hand, oblivious to my presence at first. Then she senses me. Her gaze flicks toward mine, and my chest tightens. Something familiar surges—a scent, a pull I can’t ignore, though I fight it.
She’s human. She shouldn’t affect me like this. Yet every instinct in my wolf snarls at the proximity, at her scent filling my senses. It’s unnerving. Conflicting. Something deep inside me wakes.
I step forward, maintaining control, alert for any reaction from her. She seems unaware, lost in her own thoughts. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, chestnut brown catching the sun. Her eyes… hazel, warm, inquisitive, but guarded.
I pull back, pretending to adjust something on my patrol gear, and when she glances my way again, I offer a small nod. That’s all. Professional. Neutral. I have to remind myself she is human. She is not mine. Not yet.
Nolan notices, of course. He sidles up beside me, smirking, leaning casually against a post.
“Cade, you’re staring. Admit it. The new girl’s got your attention.”
I glare at him.
“She’s a civilian. Don’t be an idiot.”
Nolan chuckles.
“Sure, sure. Just saying, maybe your wolf disagrees.”
I shake my head, trying to dispel the sensation—the tug, the heat that’s creeping into my chest. My wolf growls low again, and I bite the inside of my cheek.
Not now. Not yet.
Night falls over the forest, shadows stretching long and thick. I head back out, leading a small patrol through the outer trails, each member alert, each footstep deliberate. The air is heavy with moisture, the smell of pine and earth strong, masking the faint scent trail I am following.
We reach the site of the latest attack, and my stomach tightens. Shredded carcasses litter the ground, claw marks deep and irregular. My wolf snarls, teeth flashing. This is no ordinary predator. This is smart, lethal, and organized.
I release the patrol to sweep the immediate area and move alone, following the scent deeper into the woods. The forest closes around me, branches clawing at my jacket, roots tripping my steps, but I am faster, more aware. Every sound, every movement matters.
And then it comes: a smell. Human, but different. Fear. Urgency. Something primal, unguarded. My wolf growls, muscles tensing. She’s here. Eliza.
The pull is overwhelming, instinctive. I fight it, but my wolf’s growl becomes a low roar in my chest, impossible to ignore. Every nerve screams at me to find her, to protect her.
Branches snap. Movement. Shadows. Predators. My jaw tightens. They’re coordinating, hunting, working together. And they’ve found her first.
I break into a run, heart hammering, every muscle coiled and ready. The scent grows stronger, mingling with fear and… something else. Desire? Connection? I push the thought aside. Focus. Survival. Protection.
Ahead, a clearing opens. And then I see her: chest heaving, eyes wide, sprinting through the trees. Behind her, the creatures—twisted, massive, unnatural—pursue, coordinated, relentless.
I shift gears, my wolf surging to the front, instincts taking over. My body moves faster than any human should, dodging trees, leaping over roots, closing the distance.
The first hybrid lunges, and I meet it with a strike, crushing bone, hearing the sickening snap. Another leaps at me—smarter than the last—but I anticipate it, pivot, counter, drive it to the ground. They’re fast, cunning, but I am faster.
Her scream pierces the night. My wolf howls inside me, urgent, unrelenting. My pace quickens. I am there in moments—or what feels like moments. I reach her, arms out, securing her, the smell of her—warm, human, unmistakable—filling my senses.
The pull is immediate, undeniable. My wolf surges forward, protective, possessive, every instinct screaming that she is mine. I fight it. I can’t—not yet. Not in front of her.
But the creatures are relentless, circling, snapping, clawing. I push forward, moving them back, striking with precision, lethal efficiency. My wolf rages, a silent fire inside me, and I barely notice the forest around us. Only her. Only protecting her.
Finally, we break through the line of attackers. She’s in my arms, trembling, exhausted, terrified, and I set her down only when we reach the clearing near town.
Her eyes meet mine, wide, questioning. Afraid. Vulnerable. And something else. I see it. A flicker, a pulse, like the forest itself holds its breath.
“Are you… hurt?” she whispers, voice trembling.
“No,” I reply, scanning the tree line. “Not seriously. But you need to stay close.”
“I—I didn’t think they’d actually…” Her words falter, fear flickering in her eyes.
“They’re fast. Smarter than anything you’ve seen,” I say, keeping my tone low, controlled. “And they’re still out there. I won’t let them touch you again.”
Her gaze drops to the ground, then back up.
“You… you weren’t human just now, were you?”
I stiffen. “What I am isn’t your concern.”
Her lips press together, and for a moment, the forest silence swallows us.
“It is my concern,” she says softly. “If I’m going to be here… if I’m going to stay safe, I need to understand. Please.”
I glance at her, weighing the truth, but the words don’t come easily.
I turn back to the forest, scanning, listening. The shadows move, shifting, withdrawing, for now. My jaw tightens. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I feel her presence close, heartbeat thudding against my chest. My wolf growls low, warning me, demanding proximity, craving the scent of her. My jaw clenches. I will not act. Not now.
“You… you smell different,” she says suddenly, frowning, confusion mixed with curiosity.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to dismiss it.
“Different how?”
Her gaze narrows.
“I don’t know… it’s like… like you’re part of the forest, part of something I can’t see.”
“That’s enough speculation for one night,” I throw out, voice clipped.
She steps closer anyway, ignoring my warning tone.
“I need to know you’re really protecting me. That you won’t leave me here. That… that you’re not just strong, but…”
I cut her off.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll stay with me until you’re safe.”
Her shoulders relax fractionally, but her eyes search mine.
“Safe. That’s… all I want right now.”
I glance toward the shadows again, noting the lurking threat.
“Then stay close. Listen. Don’t wander. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says. “I understand.”
But later… later, when she is safe, when the pack understands, when this threat is dealt with—I will not ignore the pull that has already begun.
“You move like… like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she says quietly, almost in awe.
“I’ve had practice,” I reply, dry.
“Practice… or instinct?” she challenges, tilting her head.
I can’t answer honestly. Instead, I shake my head.
“Doesn’t matter. Just… trust me when I say they won’t get you.”
“I do trust you,” she murmurs. “Even if I’m terrified… I trust you.”
My wolf growls again inside me, fierce, possessive. I clamp down on it, controlling the surge.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Her lips twitch into the tiniest smile.
“I will… if you promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Stop doing that strong, silent broody thing with me.”
I grit my teeth, resisting a smirk.
“I’ll see what I can do.”