Twenty Six year old Blake Hunter is the Alpha of the largest pack in the region. Finding his mate is the last thing on his mind.
But, in the midst of dealing with uninvited relations, aspiring future Lunas and increasing rogue attacks on his easter...
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There was no one at the pyres. Hannah lingered as long as she dared, sheltering against the bitter cold behind one of the three wooden structures, trying to ignore the haunting sound of the wind whistling between gaps in the piles of timber.
Dolls crafted from sticks and ribbons hung from the branches of the surrounding pines, half-hidden by an unusual mix of honeysuckle and brambles that embraced each tree. The plants had been trained to entwine, stretching outwards to form a curtain around the pyres, creating a beautiful but haunting backdrop to the funeral clearing.
Where were they?
Riker had told her someone from Blackridge would be waiting for her. Anxious, she chewed on the inside of her cheek running over all the possible reasons for their absence. Had the battle turned? Had the rogues proven too much combined with the Elmwood warriors? Or maybe –she felt a sudden surge of anger – Had Riker lied to her? What if this were a trap? What if he'd run straight to Syrus and...
She snapped her head around. Voices. Dulled by a still-considerable distance, but definitely heading in her direction; the wind carrying the scent of sweat, grime and smoke ahead of them. Shit. She was out of time. She made a break for the trees, completely forgetting in the process that brambles, even the beautiful ones, were primarily made up of thorns, and as a result, ran straight into a prickly trap.
Like a spiders web it ensnared her, made stronger by the arching stems stretching from tree to tree. The fabric of her clothes, caught by a hundred tiny barbs, held her in place as tightly as any ropes and she struggled ineffectively against the tangle of branches.
Behind her, the voices grew louder, and she began to panic, her anger turning to fear and frustration. Close to tears, she tore at the brambles, the sharp needles wet with droplets of her blood as they ripped into her arms, her legs, her fingers. With a final valiant effort, she tore free and fled, heedless of the direction.
Elmwood seemed to lack any defining features; the trees, ramrod straight and identical, blended together, indistiquishable to her untrained eye. The ferns carpeting the landscape, covered rocks and fallen trees alike, hiding any and all landmarks, and even the plants themselves held no clues, mixing and mingling in a complex embrace. Not for the first time, Hannah found herself on the receiving end of a stark reminder of her disadvantages; without her wolf's keen sense of smell and hearing, she once again wandered blindly, relying on sheer dumb luck to keep her heading the right way.
To make matters worse, the intense pressure in her head refused to give her any relief, the ‘almost-pain’ pressing against the sides of her skull, beating out an unnecessary warning of danger. It grew stronger the further she travelled, and her anxiety increased along with it. When she finally looked up, her eyes met the first noticeable feature she'd seen since leaving the pyres, and she hesitated, unsure what to make of it.
The ‘clearing’ was barely deserving of the name; a small cluster of trees that had endured an intense but controlled fire sometime in the distant past, one that had cleared the forest floor of all foliage, leaving it scarred and lifeless. The pressure intensified, and she took a hesitant step forward, struck with a sudden sense of de ja vu, sure she'd passed this patch of burnt out trees before; the gnarled, scorched trucks nothing more than spikes pointing to the sky. Not today, not now, but on a day so similar to this one, where she’d run though these woods in search of freedom.
