6. Caleb

SIX

Caleb

I lay on my back, awake but with my eyes closed, as I listened to the sounds of the mountain surrounding me. The sounds of nature used to soothe me; now all I heard were the echoes of emptiness. There was no pack here. There hadn’t been in many years.

Ten years.

Ten years since I returned to a pack that had been slaughtered. Ten years since I had stood in this clearing that I now lay in the middle of. The air was cold, but I was a shifter and the chill in the air didn’t really bother me. Nothing had bothered me for a long time.

Except her .

I blew out a low breath, the only outward sign that she affected me. I’d left her behind, so why couldn’t I leave her behind ? Instead, I thought about her all the fucking time. I had a lingering sense of regret that I’d left it the way I had, but when I thought about it, she was in safe hands. Cannon was the better alpha .

Alpha.

Only the shaman had called me that. I never had a pack to lead. The Shadowridge Peak Pack died the day my father did. I wanted nothing to do with this peak after that morning. There was nothing left anyway. The pack was dead. The ones who had betrayed them were dead. I’d killed any survivors of that morning, not that there were many.

The only one left alive in the Shadowridge Peak Pack was me. Any others, and there were so few, had changed packs.

I had never planned to return to this mountain, to the place I left behind what felt like a lifetime ago. And yet, here I was, every step I had taken those months ago had led me deeper into the landscape I had spent years trying to forget. The thought of returning was never part of the plan. But I hadn’t left with a plan. A lone wolf doesn’t need a plan—just instincts and the raw, unshakeable drive to survive.

I swore I would never return here, but that morning on Blackridge Peak, with the shaman and everything else, it stirred too many memories. Bringing things to the surface that I had wanted to keep buried. I didn’t want to deal with those memories. Not then. Not ever.

“So why are you back here, Caleb?” I asked myself as I opened my eyes and stared at the blue-gray of the morning sky. I knew that answer. I had wanted to put distance between me and anybody that was pack. No one came here. This mountain was a monument to the dead.

My dead.

As the surviving alpha, no other pack could move onto this mountain until I gave up my claim of it to the Pack Council. I hated what happened here. I hated being here, but the thought of another pack here…bringing life and laughter to this land that my father died for…I hated that more.

The log cabin that Willow had focused on in her drawings lurked in the morning shadows, once a place of peace and love, now a memorial to everything I lost here.

I lost myself on this mountain.

I wasn’t sure coming back here would allow me to find it.

Did I even want to find it? Who was I? An alpha without a pack? No, I was a shifter who had no pack. Who didn’t want a pack.

I thought of her. Alone. Confused. No doubt she’d be feeling overwhelmed. I wondered if she was still on Blackridge. In my years off this peak, I’d kept my distance from pack, but no matter how hard I tried, I always came across someone. I’d heard of the alpha of the Blackridge Peak. Young when he found his power. Strong. His father was one my own father had hated. He despised his ways and how he ran his pack. I’d not been surprised to hear that the battle for alpha of the Blackridge Peak Pack had been bloody.

There was little in our world that wasn’t.

Luna had gifted us with the spirit of the wolf, and with that came the nature of the wolf. Cunning, resourceful, and complex. A creature that was devoted to family structure. What else was a pack than an extended family? Wolves were fierce, excellent hunters, and above all intelligent.

Wild and free, they lived uninhibited lives.

I hadn’t felt free in a very long time. No matter how far I distanced myself from the mountain, its weight had never truly left me. It clung to me like a shadow, a constant, unmistakable presence. At first, every mile that I had traveled to put distance between it and me had felt heavy, as if the Peak itself was embedded within my bones.

In my soul.

My eyes closed as I fought off the shroud of remembrance. With a sigh, I got to my feet. My jeans, which were the only thing I was wearing, were well-worn. I only ever cared about my appearance when I was around humans. If you looked too much like a vagrant, they kept their distance; too polished, and either they assumed you had money already or they didn’t trust you because you looked too good. It was a delicate balance, fitting in without drawing attention—a skill I learned with caution. A skill that had served me well over the years.

Now I only had one pair of jeans, frayed and worn. If I wanted to leave this mountain, I would need to get creative. I thought about leaving every day, and even though I wasn’t happy here, the thought of leaving it once again felt strange. Foreign. Could I do it again? Looking down, I almost smiled. Could I do it with only one pair of jeans and nothing else to my name?

As I considered the idea of coming off the mountain, I felt them stir, a ripple in the air around me. The spirits that had waited for my return, ever-watchful since I had been here, they rustled like a breeze through the trees. I could feel them, patiently waiting, observing, eager for me to join them.

They’d welcomed me back the night I returned. When I thought about leaving, their presence grew restless, as if they disapproved, or maybe they feared what lay at the foot of the mountain and beyond as much as I did.

“Or maybe you’ve finally gone mad and think the spirits of the dead are around you,” I spoke out loud to the empty air .

Yet saying it out loud didn’t make a difference. It didn’t sound stupid or crazy to say it. The feeling that this mountain wasn’t finished with me yet remained. Was there any wonder I wanted to escape?

Pushing the feeling away, I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. The spirits, or my memories, might try to pull me back, but I wasn’t bound to this place—not anymore.

I knew that leaving wouldn’t be like it was before. Before, I had a thirst for vengeance, and rage and grief rode me hard. I’d had a purpose when I left.

Now, what purpose did I have?

Her face floated across my memory. Willow? She wasn’t my purpose. She had nothing to do with me. That thought felt like a lie.

They said that we were linked. Were we?

There weren’t many people who would draw someone that they’d never met. Or sketch scenes from someone’s past with such detail for someone who could never know those things.

I lay back down on the ground and stared at the sky. “Why her, Luna? Why a human?” I lay quietly as I watched a cloud lazily pass by. “Is that my punishment?” I asked the Goddess calmly. “I’m no longer worthy of a vision to a shaman; you send your message through a girl? A human ?”

Stillness surrounded me as I waited for the answers. I’d have a long wait. I’d asked these questions every single day since I got here, and silence had been my only answer.

I lay in the same place, unmoving, staring at the sky. The gray-blue turned to blue, and blue bled to the grayish purple of dusk before the darkness swallowed the light.

When only the moon was visible in the sky, I stood. The jeans were pushed down and discarded when I stepped out of them. I changed my form to my wolf and gave the moon a cursory glance before I turned away.

The spirits surrounded me when I was in this form, so close I could feel them brush against my coat.

My howl ripped through the silence of the night. I would ask my questions of Luna again tomorrow.

It was time to hunt.

The cool wind whistled over the peaks, sharp and biting as it burrowed its way beneath my fur. I started the descent, my paws maneuvering with confidence over the loose gravel and stones. The sound as the looser debris rolled down the slope was my only companion. Autumn hung heavy in the air. Snow would only be a few weeks away, maybe sooner. The air had a bite to it with more than a hint of promise. Cold winters, I was used to; it was the quiet I was struggling with. The depth of silence on the Peak was only making my thoughts seem louder.

I’d been a lone wolf for so long, but I hadn’t been truly alone. The world of humans had been within easy reach whenever the silence became too loud. Lone wolves weren’t supposed to thrive, and I hadn’t, but I had survived. I wouldn’t say I lived. I stopped living when my pack died.

As I descended the steep peak of the mountain face, I felt myself open more to the familiarity of my surroundings. Every rock, tree, and stream was as familiar to me as old friends. A reminder that no matter how much time had passed, I’d never truly escaped.

As I picked my way down the unstable terrain, I sought out new paths rather than relying on old ones. Like I had when I left. And what had I found? Nothing. The life of a loner was everything I wanted—and nothing like I’d expected. However, I liked having only myself to rely on.

Which was what the shaman was worried about. What Cannon feared but had not yet voiced.

A lone wolf was dangerous.

A lone wolf was independent. There was no pack to return to and nothing to tie you.

There was just…nothing.

Except for the loneliness. The wildness. The temptation to live too much as the wolf. To shed your humanity. Was I so close to forgetting who I was that they thought I was a danger to them?

To myself?

To Willow?

Cannon had put himself between us. Did they really think I had forgotten the ways of our Goddess?

The rage I carried with me since that fateful day ten years ago had nothing to do with Willow. The grief I held was mine to hold. It didn’t make me weak. I’d been weak before, and the sting of betrayal was still as sharp now as it had been then.

Willow was not in danger from me. She never had been. Did it piss me off I’d been drawn to her while she had drawn me. Of course it did. I didn’t understand it, and I’d never been someone to accept something I didn’t understand. A fact that used to make my father clench his jaw tight and pray for patience from Luna. The memory made me smile. I could still see him so clearly.

Amos had been a proud man. A towering presence, both in life and the memory he had left behind. He’d been an easy alpha to follow. He commanded attention with ease and without question. I’d never heard him shout or raise his voice; he didn’t need to. Pack knew his authority. It was how he carried himself, broad-shouldered and tall. I’d inherited his dark eyes, but I didn’t think I would ever master the same piercing stare my father had controlled, the way he could see through the bullshit, and one look from him told you not to try any bullshit either.

I had my mother’s light hair coloring. My father’s was dirt brown, streaked with silver as he aged. It was a mark of his wisdom, my mother used to say. He used to say it was from raising me. His family was his life, and his pack was his pride. Amos was respected and known as a strong leader and an even stronger ally.

Balance is what made a good alpha. Amos was well-balanced. He was firm but fair. I remembered his ability to be fierce but kind. Calm but calculated.

And if you really, truly pissed him off…he was relentless. That , I’d inherited from him. The unrelenting need for justice. He would never have approved of how I achieved it, and for that, I was thankful he had never lived to see it.

There was a lot I’d done in the years since they passed that he wouldn’t have approved of. He wouldn’t have liked the situation with Willow. He would hate how I had been alone for so long. Amos believed that a pack centered you, and maybe once, I did too. But now…now they were just a burden I’d never asked for.

Willow Harper, I’d never asked for her. I hadn’t asked for any of this. This was the hand that Luna gave me. She didn’t get to complain when I didn’t play the way she wanted.

It didn’t make me dangerous. It didn’t mean I was a risk. It only meant I was content with my own company. Nothing more. I knew it didn’t help that I’d left the way I did that morning in Cannon’s house.

It would have confirmed their fear I was lost.

Maybe I had been. Maybe this mountain was the only place where I knew who I was, and maybe that would have to be good enough. I had changed over the last ten years. In some ways, I was unrecognizable. In others, I was so predictably the same that it made my teeth grind when I clenched my jaw.

I stood on a bluff overlooking the mountain, and I looked down and around, taking it all in. Possessiveness surged within me as I surveyed the mountain. My mountain.

Is this what they wanted, Cannon and the shaman, to have me back here?

Or…maybe they thought they could trick me?

Was that their plan? Push me far enough to renounce my claim here? To use a human to make me think there was a link between us. Why would a human have a link to Luna? Or me? It was preposterous.

Unthinkable.

Yet, I had believed it.

The thought made me step back. Had they thought to use my grief and my pain against me and, in doing so, it would make me blind to what was in front of me ?

Did they think I was stupid? As I thought about all the ways they had plotted against me, I saw how they had pushed me into situations without me recognizing it for what it was at the time.

Manipulation .

As memories of their cunning deceit flooded back, my anger sharpened when I thought of Willow’s too obvious acceptance of shifters in her human world.

The air around me grew heavier as I felt the spirits form closer around me.

Their presence was similar to the night of my return, swirling in the air like smoke. They fed into my rage, making me stronger. As my anger strengthened, so did my connection to them, forming a bond that I didn’t understand, but I welcomed it.

This mountain was mine.

The Pack Council couldn’t take it from me. Not unless I gave it up. Either in life or death.

I’d never give it to them. I’d die before I let them have it.

Seething, I considered my options.

Did I play along? Or did I stay away? The smart play was to stay away. They couldn’t manipulate me anymore if they couldn’t get to me.

But as my father had told me for much of my adolescence, no one ever said I was smart.

I just needed a plan.