Chapter 6

6

BECK

T he moon hung low in the night sky, its silver glow casting long shadows across the forest as Beck sprinted through the trees. The cold shower hadn’t worked. He hoped that a long run would allow him to sleep without picturing how Irene would look naked on her back, her legs spread and the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils.

Well, that kind of thinking wasn’t going to help. His paws dug into the soft earth, his sleek black coat blending seamlessly with the darkness around him. The cool mountain air filled his lungs, carrying with it the scents of the forest—and something else.

Something that stopped him cold.

The scent hit him like a lightning bolt, sharp and intoxicating, a mix of wild musk and something faintly sweet, almost floral. It was unfamiliar, foreign, and deeply, maddeningly provocative. Beck’s wolf bristled, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he lifted his nose to the wind.

A she-wolf. Not just any she-wolf. His. His mate. His fated mate.

He scanned the forest as he shifted his weight, torn between following the scent and continuing his patrol. Earlier that day, word had reached him of hunters spotted in the area. He’d spread the warning throughout Silver Falls, ensuring everyone knew to stay alert and close to home. Hunters were a threat they couldn’t afford to take lightly—not with the town’s secret hanging in the balance.

But now, this scent—this unfamiliar presence—tugged at him in a way he couldn’t ignore. His wolf rumbled restlessly in his mind, urging him to follow, to find the source of the tantalizing trail.

Growling softly to himself, Beck took off, his powerful body moving effortlessly through the underbrush. The scent grew stronger as he ran, weaving between trees and leaping over fallen logs with practiced ease. It was faintly disjointed, as if the wolf had taken a circuitous route through the forest, but it was unmistakable. She was close.

As he crested a ridge, the sharp tang of gun oil cut through the enticing scent, snapping him back to reality. Beck slowed, his ears swiveling as he scanned the area. The faint glow of a fire flickered in the distance, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.

Hunters.

His lips pulled back in a silent snarl as he moved closer, keeping low to the ground. From his vantage point, he could see them—three men gathered around a fire, their rifles leaning against a nearby log. They were relaxed, laughing quietly, but their words carried the unmistakable edge of predatory intent.

“... tracks down by the creek. Fresh ones.”

“Big, too. Bigger than a normal wolf.”

Beck’s wolf growled low in his chest, his hackles rising. They were tracking something—or someone—and he had a sickening suspicion of who their real target was.

Forcing himself to stay calm, he backed away, careful to keep silent as he retreated. He’d deal with the hunters soon enough, but first, he needed to find Irene. If she was unfamiliar with the area—or worse, unaware of the danger—she could be walking straight into a trap.

The scent led him to a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley, the moonlight casting silver streaks across the uneven terrain. Beck stood, his breath coming in steady pants as he scanned the area. His sharp gaze caught a flash of movement—a streak of red fur disappearing behind a cluster of boulders.

His heart thundered in his chest as he stepped closer. Gotcha.

Her scent wafted back to him, a maddening mix of wild and elusive. She was fast—faster than he’d expected—and her movements were deliberate, calculated. His wolf growled with approval as he surged forward, closing the distance between them.

When he finally reached her, the she-wolf slowed, her powerful strides matching his as they ran side by side. Her red coat gleamed in the moonlight, and the rhythmic cadence of her paws against the ground sent a strange sense of satisfaction through him. For a moment, it felt like they were in sync, moving as one through the dense forest.

But then, as they approached a rocky incline, Beck pulled ahead, his instincts urging her to follow. He reached the crest of the hill and paused, glancing back, but she was gone. He growled softly, scanning the area. Her scent lingered, faint but tantalizing, teasing him as it twisted away into the darkness.

She’d veered off , he realized, his eyes narrowing.

Beck prowled the area, his nose to the ground as he followed the faint trail she’d left behind. But the further he went, the more erratic the trail became. Her scent grew faint, scattered, until it disappeared entirely.

She’s masking her trail. His wolf growled in frustration, its pride stung by her evasion.

Beck straightened, his sharp gaze sweeping the trees. He’d underestimated her cunning, her ability to evade even him. His protective instincts flared, mingling with the primal pull that drew him to her.

Tilting his head back, he let out a long, mournful howl, the sound carrying through the forest. It was a call, a demand for her to return.

When no response came, he snarled softly, pacing restlessly. The silence was deafening, her absence a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

Frustrated but unwilling to waste more time chasing shadows, Beck started toward the pack’s estate. As he crossed the river, the sharp tang of gun oil reached his nose again, cutting through his irritation like a blade. He stopped, his ears swiveling toward the source of the scent.

Beck growled softly, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. The hunters weren’t close enough to pose an immediate threat, but their continued presence was too close for comfort. He backed away carefully, retreating into the shadows before turning and sprinting toward the estate.

The estate was quiet when Beck arrived, the soft glow of the moon casting long shadows across the open yard. He shifted back into his human form, striding toward the main house where his beta, Desmond, lived. Beck rapped sharply on the door, his knuckles echoing in the stillness.

It opened moments later, revealing Desmond’s groggy face. “What’s going on?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The hunters are still here,” Beck said, his voice clipped. “A group of them are camping on the far side of the river. Not close enough to be an immediate threat, but close enough to watch.”

Desmond’s expression hardened, his exhaustion replaced by alertness. “What else?”

“A she-wolf. Not one of ours. She’s out there,” Beck growled, letting his frustration and concern show. “I caught up with her, but she slipped away. Masked her trail.”

Desmond’s brows shot up. “Masked her trail? Clever.”

“Too clever,” Beck growled. “But she’s alone, and the hunters are a problem. Make sure the pack knows to stay on high alert. I’ll deal with whoever she is.”

Desmond nodded, already pulling on a jacket. “I’ll send out patrols. You think she’s connected to the hunters?”

Beck shook his head. “No way. But she’s drawing attention, and I have no idea if she knows what she’s dealing with. That makes her a problem.”

As Desmond moved off to rouse the pack, Beck turned back toward the forest, his gaze hard. The she-wolf was more than a mystery. She was a complication, a temptation, and a danger all wrapped into one. And no matter how infuriatingly elusive she was, he wasn’t about to let her slip away again.

Beck pushed open the door to his room, the soft creak of the hinges sounding very much like the groan he made. There were times he felt older than Methuselah—tonight was one of them. The run had done little to ease the tightness coiled in his chest. His muscles ached pleasantly, the remnants of his shift lingering as a dull thrum beneath his skin, but his mind refused to settle. Thoughts of Irene, with her fiery red hair and piercing green eyes, danced through his head, tantalizing and relentless.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, slow exhale. The faint scent of the wilderness clung to his skin, mingling with the musk of exertion. His wolf stirred, restless and unsatisfied, but Beck ignored it, peeling off his clothes and leaving them in a heap by the door.

The shower beckoned, and he stepped into the large ensuite bathroom and into the shower, twisting the knob until steam billowed around him. The hot water cascaded over his body, washing away the grit and exertion from his run. Beck tilted his head back, letting the heat loosen his muscles as his hands braced against the cool tile.

But even here, alone in the stillness of his room, he couldn’t escape her. Irene’s scent—wild, alluring, and maddeningly elusive—lingered in his thoughts. The way she moved, her sharp tongue and guarded expression, the pull she seemed to have over him despite his better judgment. It was infuriating. And intoxicating.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his wet hair.

After a long moment, he shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. The cool air hit his damp skin, but he barely noticed as he padded back into the bedroom. The sheets of his bed looked inviting, and exhaustion tugged at him, urging him to surrender to sleep.

He slid beneath the covers, the crisp fabric cool against his bare skin. His body sank into the mattress, his eyes closing as the madness of the day finally began to fade. But sleep wasn’t the escape he’d hoped for.

The forest surrounded him, its shadows deep and endless, but there was no danger here, only anticipation. The air was filled with her scent—wildflowers and something darker, more primal. He turned, and there she was, standing in a clearing bathed in moonlight.

Irene.

She was breathtaking. Her fiery red hair tumbled over her shoulders, her green eyes smoldering as they locked onto his. She wore nothing but the faint glow of the moonlight, her bare skin gleaming like polished ivory. Beck’s breath caught as his gaze roamed over her, the sharp tug of desire anchoring him to the spot.

“You’ve been following me,” she said, her voice low and teasing, a smile playing at her lips.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, his voice rough with arousal.

She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, her hips swaying with each step. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his chest, her touch searing his skin. Beck’s pulse thundered as her fingers trailed downward, her nails grazing lightly against the hard planes of his abdomen.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as her body pressed against his. The heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way her breath became erratic as he held her—it was almost too much. Beck’s control slipped, his wolf growling low and possessive as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was explosive, a collision of need and hunger. Her hands tangled in his hair, her body arching against his as his lips moved over hers, claiming, devouring. When her nails raked down his back, a shudder tore through him, the pain sharp and delicious.

“You’re mine,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough and raw.

Irene laughed softly, a sound that sent a jolt of electricity through him. “We’ll see about that.”

And then, she was gone—evaporating into nothingness, as if she’d never been there.

Beck woke with a start, his body slick with sweat, his breathing ragged. The dream clung to him, vivid and visceral, the phantom sensations of her touch still tingling against his skin. He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the lingering haze of desire.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

The bed felt too empty, too cold without her. He sat up, raking a hand through his hair as his wolf stirred restlessly in the back of his mind. The dream had been too real, too raw, and it left him aching in ways he wasn’t prepared to confront.

Irene was under his skin, a temptation he couldn’t ignore. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure he wanted to.