Page 25 of Beckett's Fate

When he reached the ridge, he paused, crouching to examine a patch of disturbed earth. Footprints—hers—led away from the main trail, cutting a deliberate path toward the base of a rocky outcrop.

What are you looking for, Irene?

The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang. Beck stilled, his wolf bristling at the scent. Gun oil. Scanning the terrain, his body tensed as he rose to his full height.

Then he heard it—a faint murmur of voices, carried on the wind.

The hunters.

His muscles coiled as he moved closer, his steps silent against the forest floor. The voices grew clearer, their words low and clipped, filled with intent that made his blood boil.

“...been tracking her. She was here earlier, I’m sure of it.”

“She’s got to be close. Spread out.”

Beck’s wolf growled low in his chest, the sound barely audible but filled with menace. His sharp gaze swept the area, searching for any sign of Irene.

A flicker of movement caught his attention—a flash of fiery red hair disappearing behind a boulder. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly drowned out by a wave of anger.

You’re in way over your head, Irene.

The hunters began to spread out, their weapons gleaming faintly in the fading light. Beck’s wolf pushed against his control, eager to unleash its fury on the men who dared to threaten what was his.

But he held back, pulling off his clothing, and waiting for the right moment.

As the lead hunter stepped closer to Irene’s hiding spot, Beck let out a low, guttural growl that stopped the man in his tracks.

The hunter turned, his eyes widening as Beck emerged from the shadows, his black wolf form towering and bristling with fury.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

10

IRENE

Irene stayed low behind the jagged boulder, her breath shallow and her muscles coiled. The hunters’ voices echoed faintly through the trees, growing louder. They were getting closer.

Dizziness swept over her again, a wave of nausea rising from deep in her gut. She clenched her fists against the ground, willing herself to focus, to push through it. But the sensation was all too familiar, the same disoriented unease she’d felt at the boulders and back in the diner.

What the hell is wrong with me?she thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the spinning world.

The hunters’ voices drew nearer, their movements punctuated by the occasional snap of a branch or the crunch of leaves underfoot. Irene’s pulse quickened. She pressed her back against the cool stone, her mind racing. Why did they keep finding her? She’d been careful, masking her scent, choosing obscure trails, avoiding patterns. And yet, here they were again, closing in.

Are they hunting me? Or is it something else?

The thought churned uneasily in her mind. What if they weren’t just tracking her scent? What if they were after the samething she was? If the markings she’d found earlier were correct, she was getting closer to the treasure—or at least another clue to its location. Was it possible the hunters had caught wind of it, too?

The men’s voices sharpened, and the nauseating dizziness surged again, making her vision blur. She shook her head, her hands gripping the edge of the boulder to steady herself. She didn’t have time for this.

She listened as they separated. It sounded as if one of them was returning to their camp, with another moving off in a different direction, and the remaining one heading straight for her. Steeling herself, she reached for the hem of her jacket, preparing to remove her clothes. If she had to fight, it would be as her wolf. Her human form was no match for even a single rifle, and she was faster and could outmaneuver them as her wolf.

She was halfway through unzipping her jacket when a familiar, electric charge rippled through the air, brushing against her senses.

Beck.

The sensation was unmistakable—an almost tangible presence that sent a shiver racing down her spine. Irene’s head snapped up, her gaze darting toward the tree line. And there he was, stepping silently through the shadows.

Her breath caught as she watched him, her wolf stirring restlessly within her. He moved with the grace and stealth of a predator, scanning the area with lethal focus. The set of his mouth, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the sheer power in his broad shoulders—it was impossible not to notice how finely made he was.