Page 87 of Wolf's Fate

“No. Maybe… Don’t talk to me.”

At that, Caleb laughed out loud, the sound echoing around us. “Come on, grumpy, it’s just over this ridge.”

“What is?” I asked stupidly, my gaze still facing east.

“The heart of the packlands.” The longing and sorrow in his voice made me turn away from the view and look at the man in front of me.

I crossed gingerly to him, because his offhanded comment the other day about the mountain playing a game of “is it stable or not?” wasn’t a joke. Rubble and debris just went from under your feet at any given time. My hands may never recover from the scrapes.

“I’m ready,” I told him, looping my arm into his. “Lead on.”

Caleb disentangled us, his hand slipping down my arm to lace our fingers together. It was the best we could do with no rope. When he packed for this climb, he must’ve forgotten how fragile I was. Or maybe he doubted I would ever be this close to his home.

As we walked, I marveled at the scenery, but it wasn’t long before I noticed that the beauty of the view wasn’t holding Caleb’s attention. His dark eyes scanned the horizon, tense and alert, like he was waiting for something to spring from the morning shadows.

A rocky formation that looked completely uninviting loomed ahead of us. “This is it,” Caleb declared, and I could hear his reluctance, but he still held his hand out to help me.

Of course this was it. Jagged teeth of a gaping jaw ready to munch me if I fell. “Welcoming,” I mumbled as he helped me climb over it. I could feel the tension in him, in the way his muscles coiled as if he was ready to snap at any moment. Evenas he helped me, his attention was everywhere else, checking every shadow, tree and rock.

It looked like he didn’t trust his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” I asked when he lifted me over the last of the rocks. His unease was infectious, and I could feel it too—the tension in the air, as if the very mountain itself was holding its breath.

“No.” He gave me a tight smile. “It’s okay, they won’t hurt you.”

“They?”

“You’ll feel them soon enough,” he explained, his voice low, gravelly, and for the first time since I met him, uncertain. “This place isn’t what it used to be, just remember that.”

He stepped aside, and I saw the place he had called home for the first time, for real. Not in a drawing. I’d seen it so many times in my visions that it felt like I was the one coming home. Trees surrounded it, as I knew they did. Tall, towering pines circled the clearing. The ground dipped down, a basin of sorts, shallow, but I could see the bowl of the ground when we approached. In the corner stood the imposing log cabin. I’d seen so much of it when I drew, but I had never appreciated how big it was.

“The hall,” Caleb murmured beside me.

“It looks bigger than I thought,” I told him, reaching for his hand to steady myself. A light covering of snow lay on the ground, and I told myself I was holding onto him in case I fell.

“The hall was the heart of the pack,” he spoke softly, almost robotically. “One of my ancestors thought it would be a good idea to shield it but still have it out in the open.” Caleb pointedto the tallest trees. “They shield it from most aircraft, but the authorities know we’re here.”

“They do?” I asked in surprise. “They know about shifters?”

Caleb was shaking his head. “No, we stay away from humans as much as possible. They think we’re some eccentric cult.”

Who was to say they were wrong?

“I don’t see any houses?” I told him, looking around. “I’ve never seen any residences,” I clarified, “when I drew. It was always this lodge and this circle of ground.”

“Some of the homes were lost,” he told me, leading me into the trees away from the hall. As we walked, I saw the simple log cabins scattered amongst the trees. They were hidden, blending into their surroundings.

As we walked, I noticed how many were in a state of disrepair, and the more he showed me, the more I realized something.

“You haven’t been inside these since the day it happened, have you?”

“Once.” His jaw was tight, his eyes haunted with a darkness I could never imagine. “The day I picked up pieces of my pack and burned them.”

“I’m so sorry.” It didn’t feel like it was enough, and I knew it could neverbeenough. “I’m sorry that you had to do that alone.”

“I’m just pleased there was someone left to do it.”

“They all died?” It was the first time that I’d asked for clarification of what he’d told me before.