Chapter 2

Gavin

My bones broke, and my fur receded as I rose from four legs to two. Picking up my pair of Levi's, I dragged them on.

The black wolf nearby soon melted away, too, and Colt tugged on his jeans.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Colt offered as he buttoned up his waistband.

Shame washed over me. I'd almost cost the Dalesbloom Pack their kill. My wayward movement had startled the cow into the woods, and it had only been Colt and Catrina's quick movements that meant we hadn't returned empty-handed.

I clamped my mouth shut, gritting my teeth, and shook my head stiffly.

I opted to leave my flannel shirt off as I went to examine the elk as if she were the most interesting thing in the world. "Wanna give me a hand with this?"

Colt, thank Vana, didn't push it. After pulling on his black T-shirt, he wordlessly came to help with the carcass.

I'd heard some of the Grandbay Pack talk about the Hexens acting too proud. With Hexen Manor towering over us, I could see how people might get that impression. With its grand Colonial Revival style, it would look better placed in Denver than way out here in Gunnison National Park. Some of my pack said they sensed the Hexens thought of themselves as better than the Grandbay Pack. But anyone who talked like that didn't know the diligent Alpha and Hexen siblings like I did.

"Heads or tails?" Colt asked in a carefree tone that my stressed-out mind hungered for.

"Heads," I opted for, moving round to the cow's front while Colt took the rear. Colt and I hefted the carcass by the legs off the ground, slowly making our way to the back door.

Frustration fizzed through me. I couldn't believe what had happened to me—again. My gut churned with sickness. The elk's blood still coated the back of my mouth and throat, but the taste of the fresh kill had nothing to do with my nausea. I was sick to my stomach with my wolf.

I remembered how I'd been stalking through the grass earlier, feeling my muscles answering my command like clockwork as I'd played my part in the pack's hunt. We'd been closing in on the female elk as one, each of our motions carefully crafted so that the snare was tightening around the cow without her realizing.

But then … my wolf had taken over.

Without warning, he'd overridden the rest of me, and I was suddenly tearing into the forest. I was used to the wildness of my beast, but he'd dominated me completely, compelling me to run as if nothing else mattered. Determination had funneled through him, his muscles feeling like coiled springs and full of a burning need to break free. It wasn't until the scent of the fresh kill had muddied the air that the moron had finally headed back toward the pack.

Catrina pulled me from my reverie as she sashayed toward us. She and I had been dating for three months, and, for a moment, I was distracted by how good her boobs looked in her low-cut vest top. Her silky black hair was loose, and her blue eyes were bright. My gaze slipped down her athletic body and over her shapely hips and muscled thighs. My pulse quickened. Maybe there were other ways I could distract myself from my problems.

But then, she caught my eye and said, "Don't worry, babe, you'll be in on the kill next time."

An indistinguishable grunt passed my lips, and I averted my eyes. Colt and I hefted the dead elk through the back door.

Catrina's attempt to reassure me only reminded me that there was something wrong with me—well, something wrong with my wolf. Her words were rife with unintended meaning, too.

This wasn't the first time my wolf had gotten out of hand. A few weeks ago, I'd been out on a run in the woods in wolf form with my best friend, Aislin. We hadn't been doing anything special, just blowing off steam along one of our favorite trails in Grandbay territory. Yet, suddenly, my wolf had gotten the scent of sweat and musk in the air. Quickly, I'd shot off, tracking it through the undergrowth and freshwater streams as if on the hunt. My wolf had chased after the trail relentlessly for miles until … coming upon a pair of hikers.

My heart drummed against my chest as I hefted the elk across the kitchen as if it weighed a ton. But it was the memory of my wolf's mindless instinct overtaking me and urging me to attack those innocent hikers that had it thundering.

"Stick it on the table," Colt directed.

We hoisted the animal over to the huge table. It was where David butchered the meat. The wood had a huge channel around it for the blood to run into. A trough beneath caught the liquid.

"Guess this means more blood pudding," Colt said, wrinkling his straight nose and high forehead.

"Eww," Catrina complained. "I hate that stuff."

David liked to make his own blood pudding. No meat was wasted, and that was something I admired about the way David ran his pack.

Since coming into my Alphahood four years ago, I'd felt the absence of having anyone to guide me in leading my pack. David Hexen had a reputation for being conceited, but the more I got to know the Alpha, the more I suspected it was because he was industrious. If he was proud, it was because he wanted his pack to do well. I was always eager to learn what I could from him. But even he couldn't teach me what I really needed to learn.

How to control my damned wolf.

The air felt too thick to breathe, and I turned my back on the siblings, going to the sink to wash my hands. I schooled my expression as I ran the tap and focused on the cool water running over my hands instead.

I squirted soap from the dispenser into my palm.

Catrina came up beside me. "Gimme some."

I obliged without looking at her, annoyance needling through me as she intruded on my personal space. Since I'd been spending time with the Dalesbloom Pack, picking up what tips on leadership I could from David, mine and Catrina's paths had increasingly crossed.

The way she'd batted her long dark lashes and kept finding excuses to hang out had quickly told me she liked me. But it had been her headstrong, take-what-you-want kind of attitude that had me succumbing to her advances. I knew as she "accidentally" brushed me with her hip and the curve of her bust that she wanted me to confide what was bothering me to her.

But a strong Alpha knew when he needed to share and when his problems were best kept to himself. Fragments of my charge through the woods toward the hikers clouded my mind and made me scowl. I remembered how Aislin's wolf had barreled into me and then how we'd writhed and clashed through the undergrowth together. The memory cut through me like her fangs and claws had. She'd had to use all of her strength and fury to stop me from attacking the humans, who, thankfully, had fled from our ferocious fight.

I remembered how scared shitless I'd been when I'd eventually shifted into my human form. But more than anything, it was my best friend's expression that had stuck in my mind. Aislin's brown eyes were always so bold. But that day, I remembered them dark with fear.

Even before this shitshow with my wolf, I thanked Vana every day for my best friend. But now, I shuddered to think of what might have happened if it hadn't been for Aislin being with me that day. I'd have innocent blood on my hands. How would I have lived with myself? My Betas, Oslo and Gretel, Aislin's parents, knew about the incident, too. They'd instilled in me how important it was that they know about both external and internal threats to the pack.

I felt my scowl deepening as I washed away the soap suds. I hated that it was my instability—the fact that my own wolf was prone to these bouts of hostility—that meant I was such a potential danger to the safety of the Grandbay Pack and its legacy.

A chill wound down my spine. I'd heard the rumor of a group of humans and shifters called the Mythguard, too. Word was that they were tasked with covering up any incidents caused by our shifter community. I fought back a shudder as I imagined what might happen to me and my wolf if he got out of hand again.

What if, as Catrina had said, he was part of the kill next time, but it was the mindless killing of innocents that he succumbed to?

As I turned around, wiping my wet hands on my jeans, my gaze snagged on Billie, David's adoptive daughter, lingering in the doorway to the main kitchen. Her pale green eyes seemed to look deep into me. I bristled at the intrusion, my already stoked temper boiling over. "Haven't you got anything better to do than stand around and daydream?" I asked.

Catrina laughed. Her voice was snarky as she said, "Oh, Billie, this is too good. Are you ogling my boyfriend?"

The poor mousy-haired girl, standing in a ridiculously oversized sweatshirt, blushed to her roots. But with my already sour mood, I was in no temper to soothe her embarrassment and get in between a sisterly fight.

Instead, I strode out the door and picked up my shirt. I stuffed one arm in and then the other. Fury toward my wolf continued to rampage through me.

"You don't need to go because of Billie," Catrina whined behind me.

"I'll see you soon," I said, trying to hide how impatient I was to get away.

She pouted at me and caught hold of my shirt. I brushed my lips with hers before hurrying down the dirt path away from Hexen Manor.

The truth was that even if I had confided in Catrina, there was no comfort she could offer. Because the fact was, I wouldn't get my wolf under control until I'd found my fated mate. Catrina and I were having fun, but that was all it was. Somewhere out there was my true fated mate.

We werewolves believed that the goddess, Vana, created us. She was the goddess of the forest, the hunt, the wild, and the moon. Our people said that in the beginning, she'd chosen her own humans to walk with her, instilling in them a love for wild places so great that they'd been blessed with beast forms so as to run with the goddess.

But with their human souls alone, they hadn't been able to tame their beast. So, the goddess had given them each a fated mate. It was only when they had found and marked their mate that their beast was tamed. Of course, not all wolves suffered from this lack of control before they found their fated mates. I thought it had been the luck of the draw. But some, more academically minded, werewolves had studied the cause. In recent weeks, since losing control so spectacularly, I'd been doing a lot of digging as to why this might be happening to me. There had been enough data published to confirm that it was a certain hormone present in those afflicted that caused this instability in some before finding our mates.

Lucky me, pulling the scientific short straw.

This tradition of finding and marking one's mate still lingered within the werewolf packs. Vana was said to reveal one's mate in a Moondream. And for me, that moment couldn't come soon enough.

Agitation coiled through me once again as I marched across the meadow.

If you do anything so obnoxious again, I'll flay you alive.

I cracked my knuckles as I irrationally tried to negotiate with my wolf.

How much longer was Vana going to make me wait? And what if I lost control before she revealed my mate?