I thumb back:Copy. Maintain watch.
The lie tastes bitter, but panic serves no one. Not when Ellie's scent still lingers on the wind, mixed with determination and that particular brand of stubbornness that drives reporters toward danger like moths toward flame.
Three more sets of tracks emerge as I follow the trail. They converge near the old logging road, then scatter—a pattern I recognise from hunts that went sideways years ago. Someone's coordinating movement, using the forest like a chessboard.
“Fantastic,” I mutter to myself. “That’s exactly what we need.”
The woods, naturally, offer no commentary.
I’ve broken up bar fights, chased teenagers out of restricted areas, and once spent three hours mediating a dispute over a goat. None of that prepared me for explaining why a journalist wandered into the worst place possible at exactly the wrong time.
My wolf paces behind my ribs, demanding action. Protection. The mate bond pulls tight as a bowstring, every instinct screaming to find her, claim her, keep her safe.
But intervention means exposure. Means questions I can't answer without revealing truths that could shatter more thanjust pack secrecy. The town council would have my head. The state authorities would follow.
And Ellie…
Ellie would run. Fast and far, taking her brilliant mind and fierce heart somewhere I could never follow.
"Monitoring," I mutter to the gathering darkness. "Just monitoring."
The words feel flimsy as tissue paper.
I pull out my radio, thumb hovering over the channel that would summon backup. Five minutes and I could have a dozen pack members sweeping these woods, eliminating threats before they solidify.
But five minutes might be four too many.
Instead, I clip the radio back to my belt and step into the treeline. If I can't intervene openly, I can at least ensure she's not walking into an ambush alone.
The tracks lead deeperinto Ravenwood Hollow, where moonlight struggles against the canopy and shadows pool. Where Ellie's scent grows stronger with each step.
Where something else waits in the darkness, patient and predatory.
The shift hits me like ice water down my spine.
I'm a hundred yards behind Ellie, tracking her progress through the undergrowth with the practiced silence of someone who's spent decades moving through these woods. The mate bond hums between us, a constant awareness that's both blessing and curse—I know exactly where she is, can feel her determination like a second heartbeat in my chest.
I can also feel the fear she’s trying hard to ignore.
My protective instinct distracts me from noticing something else moving in the darkness ahead of her as quickly as I should.
“Focus,” I snap under my breath.
This isn’t about instincts or bonds or any of the other things I’ve been trying not to name. It’s about a woman in the woods with no idea how bad her timing is.
And I am done pretending I can afford to be careful.
The forest betrays the intruder before my eyes do. Birds fall silent mid-song. The rustle of small creatures fleeing creates a ripple effect that spreads outward like stones dropped in still water. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
My wolf surges forward, every instinct screaming. The scent reaches me then—unfamiliar, predatory, carrying the metallic tang of intent. Not pack. Not human either, though it walks on two legs.
"Shit." The word escapes through gritted teeth as I break into a run, abandoning any pretense of stealth. Branches whip past my face, thorns catch at my jacket, but I push harder. The distance I've maintained—the careful, cautious space I thought would protect both of us—now feels like an ocean between us.
Through the trees ahead, I catch glimpses of Ellie's flashlight beam dancing erratically. She's moving faster now, her breath coming in short puffs that fog in the cold air. Does she sense it too? The wrongness that's settled over Ravenwood Hollow like a shroud?
The other presence closes in on her position. I can feel it converging, can smell its hunger on the wind. My phone buzzes against my ribs—probably Rowan wondering where the hell I am—but I don't slow to check. Every second counts.
"Come on, come on," I mutter, leaping over a fallen log that would have taken precious moments to navigate around. The mate bond pulls tighter, urgency flooding through it like electricity through copper wire. She's scared now—I can feel it bleeding through our connection, sharp and bright.