Page 22 of Banished From the Pack

I kneel before her. “Open your eyes, Mama. Open your eyes, and let’s get you out of here.”

Mama’s head tips back, and she sniffs the air. Her eyelids flutter open. “You’ve been with the wolves,” she whispers. “Never trust the wolves.”

And then, as if that took every ounce of strength, her head collapses on the plush fur.

“Wake up!” I plead. “Open your eyes again, Mama. I was taken against my will. They promised to keep you safe and protect you if I did what I was told. Mama, don’t go, don’t leave me!”

Healer Artuna’s firm fingers wrap around my shoulders and urge me to stand.

I whirl to face her. “Do something,” I wail. “Bring her back to me! Please, I’ll do anything!”

Her eyes well with pity. “I’ve done all I can, my child. She’s lost too much blood. I’m afraid she’s gone. You were blessed to say goodbye. You can stay longer if you’d like to send off her soul.” Artuna tries to smooth my hair back from my face, but I can’t bear even an ounce more devastation that what’s already tearing me apart, turning my body inside out.

I wrench away from her, sobbing uncontrollably as I flee from her yurt. Without thought, I sprint through the woods, throwing myself deeper into the familiar shadows of the swamp, searching for a comfort that I will never find again. Not without Mama.

As I draw near to Bogbeast Waters, my bare foot snags on a vine, and I sail through the air and land with a splash in the warm, murky water.

I’m back in the marshes where I was raised, but there’s no comfort for me now. Everything I’ve loved is gone. There’s no reason to rise, to get back up, to keep living. There’s only pain in this world.

Chapter Eight

Callan

Ethan is my wingman as we hunt swamp rabbits today—he’s on one side, I’m on the other. The helpless little bunny has nowhere to go. I lunge and snap, ending his life with one chomp of my canines. When my teeth connect, I shake the soul free from the rabbit. It flies from the prey’s body. Dinner is fucking served.

It’s a perfect day to hunt as my brother and I slink through the edge of the woods in Creebay Preserve. The temperature is warm enough but not too warm, and a breeze kisses the fur on our bodies, stroking it like a lover’s caress.

We stay watchful for Jacksonville pack members—the pack that owns the land and that Axel, the biggest dick on the planet, commands. That bastard would kill us for taking one fucking rabbit. Thinking of Axel makes my hackles stiffen and bristle. I can’t stand the guy, and ever since my brother Warrick challenged him for the Alpha position, the feeling is mutual.

As a result of that little scuffle, we were all banished from the pack.

Nah, who am I kidding? That’s straight up bullshit.

Warrick broke from the pack as is customary when a challenger loses. Ethan and I were too loyal to let our triplet go it alone while we remained under pack rule. No fucking way. Lone wolves are all but doomed. So, we all broke from the Jacksonville assholes and went our own way. But we didn’t go far. We’ve never lived anywhere else, and risking the wrath of some other pack is a lot less appealing than fucking with Axel.

We live outside pack territory, but we hunt in the territory that he claims as his pack’s. We could hunt elsewhere or just go buy a fucking steak at the grocery store. But we like to chase prey here on the regular just to keep the pack on their toes and give a middle finger to their fucking Alpha.

Living on our own isn’t bad. Sure, we miss protection of the group. But we’ve got each other, a revolving carousel of pussy down at the shifter bar, and we’re not exactly the kind of men people dare to fuck with. We protect ourselves just fucking fine.

As I pad through the boggy land, soft and cool to my paws, and out toward the swamp, I catch the scent of another werewolf. I yip to the others and trot toward it, even though it’s off pack land and therefore not as fun as hunting. We bound along from one hillock to the next, avoiding the water when possible. You never know when a gator is down there just waiting to snap you in half.

At last, the smell of a she-wolf grows stronger, and I spot a tamped-down gap in some reeds. I leap into the reeds and stop when I spot the body. A waif of a young woman is lying in the weeds with her bottom half submerged in murky water. She’ll be covered in leeches, but at least a gator hasn’t found her. I snuffle around her body and sense life sluggishly trickling through her veins. Immediately, I shift into human form.

Warrick and Ethan, having caught up, do the same.

“What the fuck?” Warrick says as I shove my hands beneath the woman’s armpits and tug her out of the saltmarsh.

“She’s alive,” I say. “If just barely.”

“Leave her,” Warrick snaps.

“She obviously needs help,” I say. “She’s a wolf. Maybe she’s trying to escape the pack.”

“You always do this, brother,” he says with annoyance. “You bring back every bird with a broken wing, and we all have to live with their plaintive cries until they die.”

“This isn’t a bird. She’s a human.” Having freed her from the marsh, I reach out and push her messy, matted hair away from her face. Her skin is cool to the touch like she’s barely hanging onto life.

Ethan tips his head back and sniffs. “She’s a wolf, dipshit.”