Page 14 of Beckett's Fate
Beck’s wolf growled low in his chest, his hackles rising. They were tracking something—or someone—and he had a sickening suspicion of who their real target was.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he backed away, careful to keep silent as he retreated. He’d deal with the hunters soon enough, but first, he needed to find Irene. If she was unfamiliar with thearea—or worse, unaware of the danger—she could be walking straight into a trap.
The scent led him to a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley, the moonlight casting silver streaks across the uneven terrain. Beck stood, his breath coming in steady pants as he scanned the area. His sharp gaze caught a flash of movement—a streak of red fur disappearing behind a cluster of boulders.
His heart thundered in his chest as he stepped closer.Gotcha.
Her scent wafted back to him, a maddening mix of wild and elusive. She was fast—faster than he’d expected—and her movements were deliberate, calculated. His wolf growled with approval as he surged forward, closing the distance between them.
When he finally reached her, the she-wolf slowed, her powerful strides matching his as they ran side by side. Her red coat gleamed in the moonlight, and the rhythmic cadence of her paws against the ground sent a strange sense of satisfaction through him. For a moment, it felt like they were in sync, moving as one through the dense forest.
But then, as they approached a rocky incline, Beck pulled ahead, his instincts urging her to follow. He reached the crest of the hill and paused, glancing back, but she was gone. He growled softly, scanning the area. Her scent lingered, faint but tantalizing, teasing him as it twisted away into the darkness.
She’d veered off,he realized, his eyes narrowing.
Beck prowled the area, his nose to the ground as he followed the faint trail she’d left behind. But the further he went, the more erratic the trail became. Her scent grew faint, scattered, until it disappeared entirely.
She’s masking her trail.His wolf growled in frustration, its pride stung by her evasion.
Beck straightened, his sharp gaze sweeping the trees. He’d underestimated her cunning, her ability to evade even him. His protective instincts flared, mingling with the primal pull that drew him to her.
Tilting his head back, he let out a long, mournful howl, the sound carrying through the forest. It was a call, a demand for her to return.
When no response came, he snarled softly, pacing restlessly. The silence was deafening, her absence a challenge he couldn’t ignore.
Frustrated but unwilling to waste more time chasing shadows, Beck started toward the pack’s estate. As he crossed the river, the sharp tang of gun oil reached his nose again, cutting through his irritation like a blade. He stopped, his ears swiveling toward the source of the scent.
Beck growled softly, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. The hunters weren’t close enough to pose an immediate threat, but their continued presence was too close for comfort. He backed away carefully, retreating into the shadows before turning and sprinting toward the estate.
The estate was quiet when Beck arrived, the soft glow of the moon casting long shadows across the open yard. He shifted back into his human form, striding toward the main house where his beta, Desmond, lived. Beck rapped sharply on the door, his knuckles echoing in the stillness.
It opened moments later, revealing Desmond’s groggy face. “What’s going on?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“The hunters are still here,” Beck said, his voice clipped. “A group of them are camping on the far side of the river. Not close enough to be an immediate threat, but close enough to watch.”
Desmond’s expression hardened, his exhaustion replaced by alertness. “What else?”
“A she-wolf. Not one of ours. She’s out there,” Beck growled, letting his frustration and concern show. “I caught up with her, but she slipped away. Masked her trail.”
Desmond’s brows shot up. “Masked her trail? Clever.”
“Too clever,” Beck growled. “But she’s alone, and the hunters are a problem. Make sure the pack knows to stay on high alert. I’ll deal with whoever she is.”
Desmond nodded, already pulling on a jacket. “I’ll send out patrols. You think she’s connected to the hunters?”
Beck shook his head. “No way. But she’s drawing attention, and I have no idea if she knows what she’s dealing with. That makes her a problem.”
As Desmond moved off to rouse the pack, Beck turned back toward the forest, his gaze hard. The she-wolf was more than a mystery. She was a complication, a temptation, and a danger all wrapped into one. And no matter how infuriatingly elusive she was, he wasn’t about to let her slip away again.
Beck pushed open the door to his room, the soft creak of the hinges sounding very much like the groan he made. There were times he felt older than Methuselah—tonight was one of them. The run had done little to ease the tightness coiled in his chest. His muscles ached pleasantly, the remnants of his shift lingering as a dull thrum beneath his skin, but his mind refused to settle. Thoughts of Irene, with her fiery red hair and piercing green eyes, danced through his head, tantalizing and relentless.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, slow exhale. The faint scent of the wilderness clung to his skin, mingling with the musk of exertion.His wolf stirred, restless and unsatisfied, but Beck ignored it, peeling off his clothes and leaving them in a heap by the door.
The shower beckoned, and he stepped into the large ensuite bathroom and into the shower, twisting the knob until steam billowed around him. The hot water cascaded over his body, washing away the grit and exertion from his run. Beck tilted his head back, letting the heat loosen his muscles as his hands braced against the cool tile.
But even here, alone in the stillness of his room, he couldn’t escape her. Irene’s scent—wild, alluring, and maddeningly elusive—lingered in his thoughts. The way she moved, her sharp tongue and guarded expression, the pull she seemed to have over him despite his better judgment. It was infuriating. And intoxicating.
“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his wet hair.