Scarlett and Radcliff hurried after their uncle, their boots clomping on the boardwalk.
“I should tell Hector what he said,” I decided. “Just in case.”
*
I adjusted the straps of my holster, then wiped the sweat from my face. “Have a good run,” I said.
Ember wagged her tail at me—her golden fur had more of a russet appearance in the late evening sun—then led them off through the woods.
About twenty of them were heading out. The other twenty or so members of the Pack who were around tonight were probably still in their human form.
They probably won’t join them until the sun sets.
As the last of the wolves disappeared into the underbrush of the woods, something squeezed my heart.
It couldn’t be regret—I was smarter than that. As I was forever reminding everyone, I wasn’t Pack. Obviously, as shown by the way I was excluded from Pack bonding—like Pack hunts and runs. I was liked by the wolves, but not loved.
Ugh, maybe it is regret. I thought I was past that.
Rather than revisit old hurts, I triple checked to make sure the safety of my gun was on—it didn’t matter too much, though, as I only had one magazine clip and it was fixed to my belt—as I made my way back through the forest.
It took me a moment or two to orient myself before I figured out what direction I needed to go in, then I hiked off.
Aeric and Wyatt weren’t in the group. Maybe they’re at the lodge? I could stop and eat there—I don’t think anyone would mind.
I felt the burst of energy that was a werewolf following close behind me.
When I glanced back I saw Greyson—in his beautiful white wolf form. “Do you need something?” I stared at Greyson’s tail, warily watching for it to start wagging.
He just stared at me.
“What?” I asked. “Do you want me to send Hector or something?”
Hector had stayed human—in case anyone needed contact with the wolves.
Greyson circled around me as I tried to dissect his body language. He brushed against my legs, shedding white hair all over them.
“What?” I repeated. “You’re not giving me any hints here.”
Greyson pushed his large head under my hand, his wet nose nudging the palm of my hand before he pushed so my fingers glided over the top of his head.
I knelt down so I could better rub the sides of his cheeks—just in front of his ears—where I knew most wolves got itchy. “You are unbelievable.” There was more laughter to my voice than I would have liked, but there was something about Greyson in his wolf body—he was so breathtaking with his golden eyes, snow white fur, and lean build—and here he was, leaning into me, exhaling loudly in satisfaction.
As Greyson pushed his side into mine, there was something about the moment that just made me relax.
I’d missed this: just being with someone.
I hung out with Wyatt and Aeric, and yeah I was forcibly given hugs, but I hadn’t really just sat with someone and breathed for a minute in a long while.
Greyson was warm, and he’d rip the throat out of anything that bothered us. So I let my eyes slide shut as I just enjoyed the moment and loosely threw one of my arms around his shoulders.
In the distance, a wolf howled.
Ahh yes. The Pack. Always the Pack.
Greyson’s body shifted as he moved his head, and I opened my eyes and stood up. “Have fun!” I tried to brush some of the white hair off my pants—which were a muted dark brown for camouflage—checked to make sure I had both of my daggers, then jogged past Greyson, once again aimed in the direction of my cottage.
Greyson was still for a while, but I felt it when he ghosted away, the bright spot of his powers fading from my senses.
I tried wiping off more sweat as I picked my way through the forest—going slowly so I could hide my trail and misdirect it with different scent paths in case anyone got any ideas. （I aspire to one day be lazy. That day will probably come when all wolves I know are old and geriatric. So I’ll probably die first.） It was a pretty muggy day, and my shirt was sticking to me like a second skin when I left a thatch of the forest as it opened up by a lake.
I grabbed my stuff—my cellphone and the keys to my cottage—from one of my hidey-holes by a picnic bench, and was more than a little disappointed I hadn’t left myself a second shirt or something.
I followed the shore—it was privately owned by the Pack, so no one was at the dock—and was just about to plunge back into the forest when I smelled gasoline.
Did a golfcart go through here?