Gideon's expression went carefully blank. “Possession takes power. The kind of power that leaves traces.”
“But there's nothing.”
“Exactly.” He stood, brushed dirt from his knees. “Which means whoever did this is strong enough to hide their tracks completely. Or smart enough to build in failsafes.”
The implications of that settled cold in my chest.
We searched for another hour. Gideon walked the perimeter of the attack site, muttered words under his breath that made the air taste like ozone, pressed his palm to trees and closed his eyes like he was listening for whispers. I followed the blood trail back to where the young wolf had first crossed onto our land, looking for anything that might explain where he'd come from, who had been hunting him.
Nothing.
The forest kept its secrets.
“We should burn them,” Luke said finally. “Before dark. Don't want scavengers getting ideas.”
I nodded. “Gideon?”
He was already gathering his power, that green-gold glow building around his hands again. “Stand back. This part isn't pretty.”
Fire magic wasn't Gideon's specialty. His craft worked through nature, through growth and healing and the slow patient power of living things. But fire was part of nature too,and when he called it, the flames that erupted from his palms burned clean and hot and hungry.
The rogue bodies caught fast. Fur and flesh and bone, consumed by fire that blazed green at the edges, unnatural and complete. The smoke that rose smelled like pine and rot and something older, something that made my wolf want to run.
We watched until there was nothing left but ash.
“Double the patrols,” I said to Luke. “Full coverage on every boundary. Nobody goes out alone.”
“You think there'll be more?”
“I think something sent five coordinated rogues across our territory to hunt one wounded wolf.” I looked at the ash pile, at the clearing that still felt wrong even with the bodies gone. “Whatever wanted him dead, I don't think it's going to stop trying.”
Evan foundme on the back porch at sunset.
I hadn't moved in hours. Just stood there with whiskey I hadn't touched, watching shadows gather between the trees while my thoughts chased themselves in circles that went nowhere useful.
“Luke told me,” he said, settling beside me with the easy presence of a son who'd learned to read his father's silences. “Five rogues. One survivor. You took him in.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't leave wounded wolves to die.” I finally lifted the whiskey, took a drink that burned going down. “And because until I know what he is, I'd rather have him where I can watch him than out there where I can't.”
Evan was quiet for a moment. Then: “You think he's dangerous?”
“I think something wanted him dead badly enough to send five coordinated hunters across our territory.” I stared at the tree line, felt the weight of the forest's attention pressing back. “That makes him valuable. And valuable things are always dangerous, one way or another.”
“But you saved him anyway.”
“Saving someone and trusting them aren't the same thing.” I drained the rest of the whiskey. “He might be exactly what he looks like. A scared young wolf who survived something terrible. Or he might be something else entirely. Either way, we'll find out.”
Whatever the stranger brought with him, we'd face it.
That's what family meant.
Even when the thing you were facing had teeth.
5
