Page 22 of Unveiled

Sound next. The waterfall thundered, but beneath it Connor heard heartbeats, the tiny click of claws as they hit rock, the soft huff of breath as wolves shook themselves free of human shape.

His vision shifted, colours deepening, edges sharpening. The world became a place of movement and intention.

Connor was wolf. Big, silver-grey, Highland-bred, thick-furred, built for cold and distance. He shook once, feeling water’s mist scatter from his coat, and lifted his head.

A chorus answered.

Fraser’s wolf, grey, scarred even in fur, moved to Connor’s flank without being told. Moira’s was a steady brown, with wise eyes. Louella’s was smaller, quick, with a bright intelligence. Laird was a young and rangy off-white, his ears too big for his head.

Angie’s wolf always made Connor’s hackles lift. Not because she was a threat, never that, but because there was something odd in her scent. Something that didn’t belong entirely to flesh and fur.

A kitchen witch, she’d called herself. Connor’s wolf didn’t know what that meant, but it knew difference.

John was a large wolf, deep brown with red in his fur, and Graeme was a lithe, willowy grey wolf, with eyes that didn’t cease watching his pack. Briar was grey-black, his form fluid and made to run.

Connor gave a low chuff, a command and comfort.

They moved. Not a march. Not a line. A flow.

Connor broke into a run, paws thudding over wet earth, and the clan surged after him, a pack spilling across the clearing like a living shadow.

The Highlands opened, wind tearing through fur, the ground rising and falling beneath them.

Connor ran because he had to. Because the last few days—storms and strangers and that damned village that’d arrived like a wound in the world—had tightened something inside him until he could barely breathe.

Here, in wolf form, he could breathe. He could be what he was without apology.

They circled the clearing once, twice, wolves darting and weaving, bodies bumping in play that was half challenge, half joy.

Laird chased Louella’s smaller wolf and got bowled over for his trouble, rolling in the grass with a startled yelp that turned into a delighted growl.

Fraser’s wolf ran shoulder-to-shoulder with Connor. Steady, matching his pace. A reminder: you’re not alone.

Connor angled toward the pool. The waterfall’s mist cooled his muzzle. The roar filled his ears until it was the only sound, like the world had narrowed to water and stone and pack.

He didn’t hesitate. He leapt, and cold swallowed him whole.

The shock was immediate. Ice biting through fur, water closing over his head, the pressure of it forcing air from his lungs.

For a heartbeat he was nothing but instinct, kicking hard, claws slicing through water.

Then he surfaced, shaking, snorting, the cold turning into exhilaration.

One by one the others followed, splashes and dark shapes cutting through the pool. Fraser surfaced near him, eyes bright, and shook violently, sending a spray of water into Connor’s face. Connor snapped at him, playfully, and Fraser’s wolf bared his teeth in a grin.

John, Graeme, and Briar formed an unruly trio, all trying to best each other in the water-dunking play.

Moira swam with calm strength, unhurried. Louella paddled near the edge, then darted under the falls itself, letting the water pound her back like a massage.

Laird tried to follow and got shoved sideways by the force, yelping, then trying again with stubborn determination.

Angie didn’t swim so much as glide. Her wolf moved through the water like it belonged there, her eyes half-lidded, as if listening to something under the roar.

The world was changing. The village, and whatever the hell the Veils were. Words like Valour and binding and Council of Veils, things that had no place in Connor’s practical life, had forced their way in.

Even here, in the cold water, he couldn’t fully escape it.

Fraser bumped his shoulder, giving a solid nudge. Connor looked at him. Fraser’s wolf held his gaze, steady. Then, as if to say enough, he turned and swam toward the far bank, hauling himself out with a grunt and shaking until his fur stood up like a storm cloud.