Lucinda

Leaning against a large boulder nestled between two tall oak trees, I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans and watch the sunrise through the trees—it could be my last.

A rogue wolf entering pack territory is asking for a death sentence. Packs don't like us, and we're not supposed to like them. We separate ourselves from packs because we need to be free and independent.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

A chill races up my back as I stand in the tree line of the State Forest. A cool breeze blows, and dead leaves rustle at my feet. I take a deep breath to slow my rapid heartbeat, and fresh pine swirls around me.

The members of this pack will pick up the scent of an intruder soon. Until then, I calm my racing mind and wait.

I want to live, but the man tracking me has other plans. Hopefully, the Alpha of this territory will give me a chance to explain my situation.

All I need to do is find Mia; I hope she's still here. She'll help me figure out what to do. I only have a couple of days to find her, because that's all I can afford. Anything longer than that, and it wouldn't be fair to this pack.

My presence could cost them their lives, and I've seen enough bloodshed for one lifetime.

The musk of someone approaching tickles my nose, and I flinch. With any luck, the patrol member is in human form and not wolf form. The other half of my soul—my wolf—is already on edge. Keeping her in check is exhausting. A human is usually less threatening.

Usually being the operative word there. Because there was one man...the man I once loved: Felix. He was terrifying in any form, man or wolf. I fell for him before he revealed his true nature, but now I would rather die than be bound to him for eternity. Because there isn't anything in this world worth living for if my fate lies with that monster.

The patrol wolf approaches from below my position. He snarls in my direction and paces back and forth, twitching his rusty-brown tail with enough force to kick up a breeze.

Shit. Today's not my day.

I force my inner wolf to submit to the patrol's assumed dominance and kneel on the pine needles that litter the hard ground. "Please, this is a matter of life and death. May I cross through your territory?"

After a moment, a man steps out from the shadows of a walnut tree and strokes the wolf's back. He stares at me. "What's your name?"

My shoulders fall. What name do I give him? I have so many.

"Raven," I whisper. It's not a total lie. Raven is my family name. Lucinda is my given name, but I only share that with people I trust, and trust is earned.

The hairs on my forearms stand tall as the high-pitched croak of a raven echoes through the woods. I glance over my shoulder. The narrow two-lane road below me is clear, but my heart skips a beat when the black wings of a bat soar in and out of the tree line high in the sky.

"Expecting someone?" the man asks.

"No."

"Then why do you keep looking over your shoulder?"

I bite my lip. "Please, sir, I need to cross through your territory."

"Why don't you go around?"

"That would take too much time."

"We don't take in strays, especially not ones bringing trouble."

"I can't go back that way."

Not unless I want to find myself in chains and facing a future of nothing but doom.

He crosses his arms across his broad chest.

"May I speak with your Alpha?" I ask.

His jaw muscles clench, and his nostrils flare. The wolf circles around me and growls.

Finally, the man says, "Follow me, Miss Raven."

Glancing over my shoulder one last time, that damn bat still circles overhead. It's the same bat that's been following me around for years, I recognize him by the small white V marking on his chest.

After a moment of hesitation, I step forward to follow the man, hopefully not to my death.

I wish my predicament hadn't come to this. I hate asking for help. My late father would be ashamed to know I've disgraced our family name by coming to this pack. And I wish I were here under different circumstances: as a diplomat, a friend, or anything other than a shameful rogue.

When I step from the protection of the forest, I draw in a long breath to relax my racing nerves.

We walk, single file, along the white line of the two-lane road. My wolf within me stays alert, searching for signs of danger and an escape route in case I need it. The rusty-brown wolf keeps pace alongside us but is careful to stay in the protection of the forest.

Silence lingers between us for several miles until we reach the outskirts of a small, quaint town. This must be Floyd. My father always complained the Blood Moone pack claimed to live rurally, but compared to us, they don't.

Though, I'd say the Dark Raven pack was more primitive than rural.

I blink back tears at the thought of my old pack. I can't show weakness here.

My escort leads me through the crowded streets, and people step out of their shops to stare. A group of men loiter in front of the country store and growl as I near. The man leading me nods to the men as we pass. The light breeze carries whispers from another group standing idle on the street corner.

"Filthy rogue—"

"Disgusting piece of scum."

"Why is she still alive?"

I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palm, but I restrain my wolf and keep walking. As we weave through the humans and dodge the wolves, my nose twitches when I catch a scent that is all too familiar.

Mia. My heart bursts with renewed hope, and I smile.

But then another scent tickles my senses. The familiar scent stirs memories of my childhood best friend, Dylan Sparrow. The memories, both sweet and painful, still haunt me to this day.

Damn him. Why is he here? He makes everything complicated.

Thinking of our unique relationship and troubled past, a smile plays at the edges of my lips, and I blink back tears. My wolf and human side are in disagreement.

My wolf is drawn to him, but my human heart can't forgive his shortcomings.

Relief washes over my soul knowing he's still alive, and anger steams from the depths of my soul that I may have to see him again. I grab my head to combat a dizzy spell that threatens to knock me off balance.

I grit my teeth and hope I don't cross paths with him today. That won't end well for anyone.

I glance to the sky.

Lunchtime. As if on cue, my stomach churns. I wish I ate breakfast—my wolf gets uneasy on an empty stomach.

I startle at movement in the tree line near us. Peering into the thick woods, several more wolves have joined the rusty-brown wolf from earlier.

Great, an entourage. Or worse: a killing party.

As we near what I assume to be the Pack House, an intoxicating aroma swirls in my nostrils, one composed of scents familiar and foreign. Both are woodsy and masculine, but Dylan's scent is sweeter. Notes of cumin and freshly cut grass drift through the air, stirring up the most painful memories.

But the new scent fills my nose with its spicy undertones and something else. I suspect bergamot. Inhaling again, the woodsy, citrusy notes make my stomach twist.

I climb the steps of the porch and clench my fists.

Please don't let Dylan be inside.