Page 55 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

Seeing a rabbit in the open triggers the beast in my blood. A quick chase is all it takes to take the small animal down. Within moments, we feast upon the carcass, my wolf's teeth snapping the small bones quickly. Hot blood stains the white snowy forest.

When we abandon the bones, snow begins falling from the sky, dusting my fur. Big fluffy snowflakes flutter to the ground, turning the macabre scene at my paws into something beautiful.

And, like a sign from nature, my wolf and I agree. It's time to go home.

There is nothing more for us here, in this sleepy little wood.

Again, following the running trails from a distance, we return to the bar.

When everything goes silent, hushed in a way that saysdanger lurks here, I feel it. A disturbance, almost like a blanket of tension overlapping the forest. Hair at the nape of my neck stands on end, my belly brushing the top layer of snow as I creep along the forest. And then I hear voices.

Three, all male.

I choose to hide almost instinctively, hunkering down in a hollowed-out tree stump, not keen on the idea of being seen.

When the trio of men goes around the bend in the trail, bringing them closer to me and upwind, I nearly bolt, rationality fizzling out.

Ethan and his brothers John and Phil are running the trails.

Instead of bolting, I stay still as a statue in the hollowed-out tree trunk until their scent dissipates into the wind. Only then, whenI'm sure that they arefar, far away, I sprint all the way back to the Stingray, my heart in my throat.

When I get there, my lungs feel like they are lined with razor blades as I suck in the cool air. The shift overtakes me in seconds, and then I throw the car door open to grab my phone from the cup holder.

My hands shake so much that I nearly can't unlock the stupid thing. When it doesn't recognize my thumbprint for a third time, I slam it against my steering wheel, letting out a frustrated screech.

As I aggressively tap in the passcode on the thankfully uncracked screen, I take a shaky breath. I have to know.

With my stomach in knots, I bring up Ethan's social media, and I don't even have to scroll down his feed to find what I'm looking for.

Right there on the glowing screen, next to a picture of him and a pregnant Cassandra in a cream gown and veil, is irrefutable proof that Ethan's family are Hunters.

Gathered in the dark forest around the Coyote form of Mark's corpse, Stephen stands proudly with his sons, all in black tactical gear. Mark's eyes are glassy, his tongue lolling out of his Coyote mouth, blood glistening on his flank from the gunshot wound.

I barely make it back out of the Stingray before I throw up, emptying the contents of my stomach on the gravel. Bits of rabbit come up, making me regret my late-night snack.

All I can think is that I have to tell Jay. My thoughts race as I pull my clothes back on, staunchly avoiding looking at the pile of vomit on the gravel.

By the time I'm back at the Cabin piling out of the Stingray, Jay is already at the garage door. I presume it's because of how I pulled up, blaring my horn.

With hands that tremble so hard that I don't know how I even managed to drive home, I pull up the picture of Mark from Ethan's social media again and shove my phone into Jay's hands.

And then I sprint away and into the house, throwing up again in the sink.

When I look up after rinsing my mouth, the look on Jay's face makes my gut churn once more. I can practicallyseehis wolf rising over his shoulders, his aura filling the space.

"How did you find out?" He asks, eyes flashing.

"I saw them. They'rehere.In Sommerville," I reply, gut still churning, but I do not have anything else in me to retch.

22

Alpha

Saint

Artemis has been quiet today.

It's driving me fuckingcrazy. My wolf watches her from the depths of my consciousness, green eyes focused on the blonde with dark eyes. She's sitting in her window seat, where she's been all day. Chewing the skin around her thumbnail raw.