Chapter 9
Leon’s POV
The night air cut through my lungs like frozen blades as I ran through the forest. Ethan kept pace beside me. Tracking should have been simple in the fresh snow. But Skye’s trail was strangely faint, like we were chasing a ghost.
Anything? Ethan’s voice broke through the sound of our crunching boots.
I shook my head with frustration. “It’s like she’s not even here.” I had never seen a trail this hard to follow. Even humans left some trace. They left sweat of fear. But Skye’s trail was like snow itself. It was cold, flecting, and almost invisible.
“Maybe she hasn’t shifted yet, Ethan said with tension in his voice. “That could mess with her scent.”
I kept thinking about my father’s warning. He had told us about rogues near our border. These rogues were wolves without packs or laws. They lived in chaos with no honor or restraint. And now Skye was out there alone. She might cross path.
A wolf’s howl cut through the trees. It was sharp and foreign, not from Frostshadow. Ethan and I locked eyes. We turned toward the sound and ran faster. If rogues had seen her or worse…
श
The howl came again. It was closer now and joined by another. My heart pounded as we reached the top of a ridge. Below us in a clearing, we saw the glow of a fire. We slowed down and crouched low with our senses alert. The scent of smoke mixed with something musky and wild.
Voices–low, rough–carried on the wind, along with a sound that turned my blood to ice: a woman’s moans, punctuated by soft sobs, drifting from a weathered tent near the fire.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “What the hell…”
We moved quickly and silently to close the distance. Two figures sat by the fire. They were rogues in human form. The fir
light cast shadows on their
faces.
The tent’s canvas glowed faintly, casting sharp silhouettes: two bodies, entwined, moving rhythmically. The woman’s gasps grew louder, her voice raw,
desperate. My mind spiraled, a sick dread coiling in my gut.
Skye?!
No, it couldn’t be. But the thought rooted me, my heart a block of ice.
“Cover me,” I whispered to Ethan, my voice barely audible. He nodded, his hand on his blade.
We surged forward. The rogues by the fire jolted, scrambling to their feet, but I ignored them, my focus on the tent. I ripped the flap open, dagger ready, and froze.
A red–haired woman–plump, flushed, her skin slick with sweat–lay sprawled beneath a rogue. Her breasts heaved, thighs spread wide, his cock buried deep as he thrust with a grunt. She screamed at the sight of us, shrill and piercing, her eyes wide with shock.
The rogue cursed, pulling out, his erection glistening in the dim light as he fumbled for
a
weapon.
Relief crashed through me, sharp and dizzying. Not Skye. Thank the Moon Goddess, not Skye.
“Who the fuck are you?” the rogue in the tent snarled, yanking a blanket over himself. The woman clutched at the fabric, covering her heavy curves, her face a mix of fear and indignation.
The two by the fire closed in, their voices rough, “What’s your problem, bursting in like that?” the taller one barked, his lean frame tense, a scar slashing from eye to jaw. “You Frostshadow pricks think
ink/you own the whole damn forest?”
Ethan stepped forward, his blade glinting. “You’re on our land. Explain yourselves. Now.”
The taller one, lean with a scar slashing from eye to jaw, raised his hands. “Hold on, Frostshadow wolves. I’m Beck. Just having some fun, alright? A bit of whiskey, a fire, a whore to warm the night. Didn’t know we needed your permission to fuck.”
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Chapter 9
The woman bristled, her voice sharp. “I ain’t no whore! I’m here cause I want to be.” She glared, adjusting the blanket, her red hair tangled around her shoulders.
The rogue from the tent, still half–covered, smirked. “She’s got a tight cunt and a louder mouth. Worth every penny,” He gestured crudely, his hand mimicking a thrust. “What, you jealous? Want a turn?”
My fist clenched, the urge to smash his face nearly overwhelming. “Shut your mouth,” I growled. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me what you’re doing here and if you’ve seen a silver–haired girl. Young, traveling alone.”
The younger rogue by the fire shifted nervously, his eyes darting. “We ain’t seen no girl. Been here all night, just… relaxing.” He glanced at the tent, then away, as if embarrassed.
Beck raised his hands, placating. “Look, we’re just passing through. Heading to Fairbanks, that tavern up there. They don’t care about lone wolves. We didn’t mean to step on your toes. No girls, no trouble. Swear it.”
I studied them, my senses screaming. Rogues lied as easily as they breathed. Seven years ago, rogues sold out our pack to vampires, costing us twelve lives, including my mother. I couldn’t trust a word from these filth.
“You’re coming with us,” I said, my voice cold as the snow underfoot. “Until we find our pack member, you’re under Frostshadow watch.”
“That’s bullshit!” the rogue from the tent snapped, standing now, his blanket slipping to reveal a muscled chest. “We ain’t done nothing!”
Ethan’s eyes flashed wolf–gold. “Not your call. Move, or we drag you.”
The rogues exchanged glances, their defiance wilting under our gaze. They knew they were outmatched–two Frostshadow wolves against three rogues was a fight they’d lose, and they’d feel the full weight of our pack if they tried to run.
“Fine,” Beck muttered, kicking snow over the fire. “But you’re wasting your time. We don’t know shit about your girl.”
The woman, now dressed in a loose sweater and boots, huffed. “I’m not going nowhere with you lot. I got business in Fairbanks.” She crossed her arms, her curves straining the fabric.
“You’re free to go,” I said, my tone flat. “But these three stay with us.”
She hesitated, then grabbed a satchel and stalked off into the dark, muttering curses. The rogues grumbled but fell in line as we marched them back toward Frostshadow territory.
Skye was still out there, her trail as faint as ever, and these bastards’story didn’t sit right.
Damn it, Skye, I thought, clenching my fists. I swear when I find you, I’m going to kick your ass! Just like when we were kids.
Chapter 10
Skye’s POV
My phone’s navigation guided me steadily south.
As the landscape transformed from Alaska’s snowy wilderness to warmer climes, my heartache and depression gradually faded, diluted by the parade of new experiences.
This was, in all honesty, my first solo journey.
Despite werewolves‘ natural strength, our numbers are minuscule compared to humans, and in Frostshadow Pack, wolves who hadn’t shifted were never allowed to travel alone.
The red contpact car Dad had given me for my birthday became my only companion. Each mile that stretched between me and the pack felt both terrifying and liberating. Sometimes I would pull over just to scream or cry, releasing emotions that threatened to consume me from within.
Other times, I’d drive in silence for hours, watching the world change through my windshield.
I encountered birds I’d never seen before, inhaled the scent of unknown flowers, and met countless ordinary humans with their own fascinating stories.
The southern girls especially intrigued me, with their fashion choices I couldn’t begin to comprehend–crop tops in weather I’d consider freezing, footwear that seemed designed for looks rather than function.
“Where did you get your hair done?” a girl at a gas station in Montana asked, her eyes wide with admiration. “It’s like, so anime! The silver is perfect.”
When I explained it was my natural color, her jaw dropped. “No way! That’s insane, My stylist would kill to know how to get that shade.”
I hadn’t anticipated this. What had marked me as different in the pack–my unusual silver hair–was apparently enviable in the human world.
“You should totally model,” another girl told me at a diner in Colorado. “Shampoo Co
would pay thousands for hair like that.”
The attention was flattering but dangerous. I couldn’t risk being remembered or, worse, photographed.
What if Leon or Ethan came across my image while searching?
So in a motel bathroom in Utah, I dyed my distinctive silver locks a golden blonde–not unlike Leon’s shade, though I tried not to dwell on that painful
coincidence.
The journey wasn’t always filled with fascination and discovery. Supporting myself as a human girl proved far more challenging than I’d anticipated.
I’d left the pack with only a thousand dollars, and money vanished quickly.
Before finding steady work, I slept in my car most nights, parked in well–lit areas of Walmart parking lots or rest stops.
I learned to arrange my backpack and jacket into a makeshift pillow, to brush my teeth using bottled water, and to change clothes in the cramped backseat without exposing myself to potential onlookers.
One night in Wyoming, I woke to the sound of glass shattering. A disheveled man with wild eyes and alcohol–soured breath was reaching through my newly broken window.
Without thinking, I grabbed Tink–the dagger my father had given me–from beneath my makeshift pillow and slashed at the intruder’s arm.
He howled in pain, blood streaming from a shallow cut across his forearm. “Crazy bitch!” he screamed, staggering backward. “I just wanted some cash!”
I scrambled into the driver’s seat, hand shaking as I jammed the key into the ignition.
I should go back, I thought in panic. Dad or Leon would have done more than just cut him. They would have protected others from him.
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Chapter 10
But I kept driving, tears streaming down my face. That night, I seriously considered turning around, driving back to Alaska, begging for forgiveness. Surely enduring Maya’s smugness and Leon’s cold indifference would be better than this vulnerability, this constant fear…
Instead, I found a 24–hour diner, ordered coffee I couldn’t afford, and formulated a new plan.
The next day, I used some of my dwindling funds to purchase pepper spray, a baseball bat, and heavy duty tape to temporarily repair my window. I also swapped my sleeping schedule, driving at night when most potential threats were visible and sleeping during daylight hours in busier locations.
Over the next three years, I became an expert at temporary employment.
In Arizona, I worked as a summer camp counselor, supervising human children on ‘wilderness excursions that barely qualified as nature walks by werewolf standards.
When one ten–year–old boy tearfully confessed he was scared of the woods at night, I showed him how to identify constellations and told him stories about how the stars would always guide him home–stories my father had once told me.
“You’re not scared of anything, are you, Miss Skye?” he asked, wide–eyed with admiration.
I thought of the grizzly bear, of Leon’s rejection, of nights spent alone in my car.
“Everyone’s scared of something, I told him gently. “The trick is doing what you need to do anyway.”
But most often, I worked as a waitress.
These jobs paid just enough to survive and rarely required extensive background checks or commitment.
When I felt I’d stayed too long, when coworkers started asking too many personal questions or showing genuine interest in friendship, I’d move on.
Three years passed this way, a blur of different jobs, different towns, different faces–none becoming friends, none becoming home.
I was Skye Anderson on my hastily obtained fake human ID, but I was no one, really.
After this year’s New Moon Festival, I arrived in a small Texas town called Boring.
