Page 103 of Wanted

CHAPTER 29

Emery

Wait, I don’t want to leave yet,I say through our bond simply because I adore the expression that overcomes Chance’s face whenever I speak to him this way. It’s as if he’s listening to the sweetest sound there is.

My voice.

It’s my voice that has the power to bring on that look.

However, a stern look quickly replaces his angelic expression.

You’re hungry.He declares.You need to eat and rest. You’ve just had your first shift.

I know that, typically, the first shift of a wolf’s life tires them out. Ms. Elsie and a few of the other pack members have told me they slept for days after their very first shift.

While there is a weariness in my bones that I know will eventually send me into a deep slumber, I want to put it off for as long as possible.

Food can wait. I tell him.Tell me about the drawings on the cave, please. Who made these? That’s why your wolf brought us here, right? He wanted me to see them.

Chance moves his gaze from me to the cave’s walls. He looks at the drawings, studying them with a neutral expression.

We don’t know who made them. They were found even before we permanently settled here. It’s part of the reason Chael decided to settle us here. It’s as if Mother Moon were telling us this is where we’re meant to be. And yes, my wolf knew from the stripe that runs down the fur of your back that you’re a storyteller.

He wanted you to see these.

I smile and lift my hand to the permanent gray streak in my hair. Though I’m certain my hair must be disheveled from the time I’ve spent with Chance inside of this cave, I couldn’t care less.

My wolf carries the same gray streak throughout her fur. It’s a complete contrast to the rest of her beautiful brown color.

Every storyteller has this trait in their fur. It signals to others your position and role within the pack.

My role.

I have a place within the Nightwolf pack.

Chance points to a drawing on the lower part of the cave’s wall. It’s of an injured wolf lying on its side. Blood spills out of the belly.

On instinct, I go to the image and crouch down, placing my hand over the picture. A gasp rushes out of me as immense pain pushes through my body. I snap my hand away from the wall and the pain dissipates.

I peer up at Chance who moves next to me. A frown mars his handsome face.

He looks at the painting then at me.While seers like Reese can see the future, storytellers recount the past. This is the fate of our pack’s storyteller,he says as he crouches next to me. He runs a hand over my tousled hair.Storytellers don’t just recountthe events of our past. They tell them as if they lived through them, themselves.

Whatever the subject of your story felt, you will feel.

Tentatively, I reach my hand out again, but Chance’s larger hand grips mine, stopping me.

He gives me a slight shake of his head.

It’s okay, I assure him.It’s okay.I have to say a second time when he hesitates in releasing my hand. I run my hand over the side of his cheek.

I know you don’t want me to feel any pain. And I love you for it. But if this is my role, if I am to do this, whatever it is, I need to know it all.

A muscle tics in his jaw and I know he’s grinding his teeth, warring with himself. I can feel both he and his wolf fighting with their own desire to protect me from discomfort and their knowledge that this is part of my destiny.

Chance cautiously releases my wrist.

Again, I press the tips of my fingers on the injured wolf on the wall. Though it’s a light touch, a searing pain, once more, lances through me.