We continue walking, the path crunching softly under our boots. My breathing evens out into something resembling normal, though I keep my eyes peeled for any other wildlife that might decide to make surprise appearances.
I try very hard to breathe like a person who is not currently questioning every decision that led to this moment, agreeing to the picnic, trusting a man who transforms into a Wolf, leaving my perfectly comfortable house for the great outdoors.
“You know I can hear that, right?” Maceo says casually.
I glance at him, noting the way he moves through the forest like he belongs here, like the trees recognize him as one of their own. “Hear what?”
“You trying not to breathe like you are dying.”
“Excuse the hell out of you, I am not dying.” I protest with a huff.
“You sound like you are negotiating with your lungs.”
I roll my eyes and keep walking, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to think about how much farther we have to go.
After a few minutes, curiosity wins over my determination to maintain my silence.
“So,” I say, shifting the blanket to my other hand, “your pack.”
Maceo slows his pace slightly so we fall into step beside each other, the trail wide enough here to walk side by side between the trees.
“What about them?”
“You mentioned them before. Are they all here in town?” I try to picture Ruby Springs populated with a hidden network of shapeshifters, all of them watching and protecting and keeping secrets.
“Most of them,” he says. “Some live farther out in the woods, closer to the pack lands. We own about a thousand acres on the north side of town.”
“And you are what exactly?” I ask, dodging a low-hanging branch. “The Wolf equivalent of middle management?”
He laughs, the sound echoing slightly off the trees.
“I am the Alpha.”
My foot catches on a root and I stumble, the blanket slipping free.
Maceo reaches out without thinking, catching it and me in the same motion, his hand firm and warm on my arm as he steadies me.
“Careful,” he says.
“Of course you are,” I mutter, warmth creeping up my neck.
Of course, one of the first men to show genuine interest in me in years would turn out to be the leader of a pack of supernatural predators.
The trail curves around a cluster of ancient oaks, their dark bark almost black against the blaze of orange and gold leaves above us. Somewhere overhead a bird calls, a sharp cry that echoes through the branches.
“So, the Johnson Pack answers to you.” It’s not a question.
“That is correct.”
“Johnson Pack,” I repeat, testing the words.
“My family’s name,” he explains, stepping over a fallen branch and waiting for me to do the same. “He was alpha before me.”
“And before him?”
“My grandfather. The Alpha status has been in my family for four generations.”
“So, this is a family business. That and Full Moon Auto.”
