A howl rose above all the others.
The call was low and filled with longing, then hitched high with a pain that brought tears to my eyes as all the other howls faded.
This was a song I recognized too well—the whole Pack recognized its soft, mournful tones.
It was Greyson, calling to his missing mate.
He howled it every few weeks—I don’t think he ever meant to. He was far too aware of his role as leader, and he typically had no patience for his mate bond.
But as a wolf, sometimes even Greyson’s instincts could get the best of him, and he’d sing for her in such mournful tones it made me tear up.
Mates were special, sacred things for wolves. Although Greyson and I got along like a wolf and a housecat, even I could sympathize with the pain he felt in having a part of him missing.
I paused and rested my hand against the smooth trunk of a birch tree and listened.
He sounds so…lonely.
Greyson’s howls grew louder and more plaintive. When his tone shifted from high to low my throat pinched with emotion for the maddening Alpha.
I shook my head and made myself slog on.
I’m willing to feel sympathy for Greyson, but only for a few moments, that jerk.
I made my way back to the lodge and was shivering by the time I climbed its front steps. The sky was painted with blazes of orange and swirls of pink as the sun set—blocked by the trees.
Though it was summer, nights were cool this far north in Wisconsin, and slumping around in wet clothes only made it worse.
“Hey Pip.”
The porch light flicked on as Young Jack, Original Jack, Rory, and Olivia stepped out of the lodge.
It was Young Jack who greeted me. He eyed me as he unscrewed the cap of a dubiously colored sports drink. “Played a round of chase with a part of the Pack, I’m guessing?”
I peeled a shirt sleeve up with a wet slurp. “Yep.”
Rory—who was about five—peered at me as he held Original Jack’s hand. “Did you win?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Nope. I lost. Again.”
“Obviously,” Olivia snorted.
“You’ll win some day,” Rory promised me with the confidence of a five-year-old.
“Awww, thank you. But I’m not so sure about that.” I kicked off my shoes and contemplated stripping off my moist socks as well.
Original Jack chuckled, a sandpapery sound that was also soothing. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Pip. To be chased by so many wolves and be a challenge for them says something about your abilities.”
“It was only eighteen of them tonight,” I said.
Young Jack took a swig of his drink. “More went to join the hunt. Mom and Dad ran outta here like crazy once the howling started.”
“That’s why we’re organizing a game night.” Original Jack rolled up the cuffs of his long-sleeved flannel shirt—he almost always wore flannel. I’d seen him walk around with flop flops, shorts, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt in temperatures so hot they had me jumping in a lake. “Would you like to join us?” He gave a kind but craggy smile—one that took me years back.
Original Jack was an adoptive father to all the humans connected to the Northern Lakes Pack.
Although his wife was a werewolf, he’d opted not to become one, and as a result he typically took charge of all the children and teenagers the wolves left behind when they went hunting—like Rory and Young Jack, who was named after Original Jack—or left for other Pack activities.
He also arranged housing for the humans connected to the Pack—whether they married a werewolf like he had, or they were adult children of the Pack who had opted not to become werewolves, like Young Jack had decided—and was the human contact to go to.
I didn’t quite fall under his wings like the rest of the humans—I was too much of a supernatural for that. But I’d always thought of him as an uncle, and I was grateful he extended invitations to join in with the rest of the humans. His never-ending patience and kindness made him a great favorite of everyone, Pack and human alike.
（Young Jack was not the only werewolf-born child named after him. Old Young Jack, who was off at college, was also named for him, as was Jackie, who had moved to Boston but still flew back to see her parents at holidays.）
“Monopoly has been banned for tonight’s game night,” Rory told me with great seriousness. “But we’re going to play Clue, Mousetrap, and Ticket to Ride. Unless there’s a game you wanna play?”
I smiled down at Rory and fought the impulse to pat his head like the wolves did to me—he was just too cute with his buzzed haircut and his green wolf shirt! “Aw, thank you for the invite, but I have to pass.”