The Feral pack

Three Years Ago

Evening hunts are the best.

I live for them. I live for the way the Montana sky spreads overhead, larger than even seems possible in a watercolor of purples and oranges. I live for the cold wind coming off the mountains to ruffle my fur and for the scent of our prey floating on that same breeze.

I live for the pursuit.

For the takedown.

For the thrill of it all.

So what the fuck is wrong with me tonight?

Amora, take the left, Ridge orders from somewhere close by. His voice is just as low and gruff in our telepathic mind-speak as it is in his human form.

I don’t have a visual of him since we’ve spread out around the herd of deer in the growing twilight. Carter’s crouched in the weeds about ten feet away—a massive chocolate brown wolf with blue eyes and an almost preternaturally keen sense of smell. Beyond him, I catch a glimpse of Luna’s golden fur as she inches forward, low to the ground. She’s not the greatest hunter among us, but she’s light and quick, which is always a plus on a team hunt.

Right now, I don’t even feel like the greatest hunter among us. I shake off the antsy, unsettled feeling that’s been hovering over me for the last hour and follow my alpha’s orders, moving fast and low to the left.

Two young deer are grazing alone on the outskirts of the herd. As I close in, their heads pop up and their ears swivel toward me. I drop to my belly and slow my breathing, waiting out their unease.

Yeah. I feel you, deer dudes.

My own ears swivel toward the sounds of the forest around me. The unease I’ve been feeling since before we shifted to head out on the hunt grows. It’s like I’m feeling the strange charged sensation that fills the canyons when a storm is brewing over North Pack lands. The sky is clear, however, and there’s not a hint of rain on the wind. It’s either all in my head or… it’s only something I can feel.

I don’t know which of those possibilities is better, really.

Ridge barks out another order in mind-speak, this time to Carter, and our pack moves ever closer to the unsuspecting deer.

Dammit. I can’t fucking focus. I keep closing in slowly, manning my corner of the herd as best I can even while my body tingles, itching to race off into the trees somewhere else. There’s no reason for me to feel like this. It’s not like me to feel this antsy. I’m laid back to a fault. Go with the flow. Easy as fucking pie.

Usually.

Tonight, I’m wound as tight as a nun’s legs.

Of course it would be now, when my focus is shot to shit, that the largest buck in the herd takes off in my direction.

His sudden dash causes chaos to erupt throughout the herd. The deer scatter and my pack lunges into motion after them, baying into the silent evening. The buck leaps past me, nothing but power and grace and thick thighs that make my mouth water.

Unfortunately, I’m such a hot disaster that my own leap is a split second too late. I sail right past his stupid fluffy white tail—narrowly avoiding a hoof to the snout—and hit the ground face-first, skidding much less elegantly across the underbrush with all four paws splayed.

Motherfucker. Wile E. Coyote can’t hold a candle to you, Amora, I think bitterly. You ass.

There’s grass in my snout. I huff, discharging blades and dirt like I’m a damn lawnmower.

Just in time for Ridge to slide to a halt in front of me.

Lovely look on you, he says with an undercurrent of amusement. Ridge’s fur is pale brown with a hint of auburn most noticeable in the light. He’s not the biggest wolf in the pack, despite being the alpha, but he’s scrappy and strong. His honey-colored eyes twinkle with mirth.

Oh fuck off, I reply, huffing again. I’ll knock that smirk right off your face.

Ridge laughs and takes off through the trees, hightailing it after the herd. Get off your ass, Mo. Do some work!

I snarl after him in what I hope is the promise of retribution, then haul myself to my feet, shake it off, and follow. Nothing’s hurt but my pride.

Luckily, my inability to time my attack correctly doesn’t ruin the hunt for us. Within moments of the initial chaos, other members of the pack take down two deer—a young buck and a doe—and the rest of the herd bounds off into the sunset to live another day.

Once dinner is safely secured on the sled and hooked up to two of the biggest wolves, we head back toward the village.

Ridge usually takes the lead on the way home, but this time, he falls behind to walk beside me, shooting a glance at me as he falls into step on my left. All right. What’s up?

Shit. I should’ve known he’d call me out. Ridge has been my best friend for years, since we were little pups playing in the yard together while our moms drank sangria and bitched about the other neighbors. He knows me too well not to notice when something is weird with me.

If I were in human form, I’d shrug. That’s harder to do in wolf form, so I settle for glancing at him with as much nonchalance as possible. Nothing’s up.

My ass, he shoots back.

I have no interest in your ass, up or otherwise.

Ridge bares his teeth, and the flutter of his eyelids makes it obvious he’s rolling his wolf eyes at me. Yeah, that part I already knew. I was talking more about the hunt tonight, and your… uh, unique landing style.

A sharp breath huffs from my nostrils. I’m never gonna live that down, am I?

Not anytime soon. His jaw drops open as his tongue lolls out in a wolfish grin.

I shake my head in annoyance, but I guess that’s fair. I give him shit about plenty of things.

You form a lot of bonds in a pack as close-knit as ours. Friends, family. Enemies, even. Some of them are stronger bonds than others, and my relationship with Ridge has always been one of the strong ones. A friendship that transcended a run-of-the-mill acquaintanceship and has become a partnership formed of respect and affection.

But not love. Not the sexy kind, at any rate.

The who

le pack expected me and Ridge to form a mate bond from the word go. We knew pretty early on that it wasn't in the cards for us, which was kinda nice actually. It took the tension of being a girl and a boy out of our friendship. We were just Ridge and Amora, and Ridge’s little brother Lawson was always with us too. I was barely out of diapers when my parents died, and Ridge became my only family.

Twenty years later, here we are.

I’m fine, I insist. Just unfocused.

He doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer either, but I get a reprieve as we reach the outskirts of our village. This place is home—always has been, probably always will be. We’re born pack, we die pack, and that’s just the circle of shifter life. I guess it’s a nice place given the circumstances. Situated in the middle of nowhere, but it’s beautiful. Roofs over our heads, a self-sustaining lifestyle, cut off from the dangers of the human world. Rustic, sure. But it’s all I’ve ever needed.

Ridge sends the deer off to be prepped for dinner, then he gives us a rousing great job, team speech that makes me want to coach him on public speaking. He does this thing where he gets inside his own head sometimes, although I think only those closest to him can probably see it. The elders in the pack say it’s because he hasn’t found his mate yet.

I think he’s just awkward. God help the woman who lands this catch.

We all shift to human form, and while the rest of our hunting party breaks off to head back to their homes, Ridge pads back to me in his bare feet.

I mean, fine, I take it back—he’s pretty good-looking, even if I’m not the right girl for him. Nudity is a given around here, since the magic that allows us to shift to wolf form and back doesn’t exactly work on clothes. So I’m no stranger to a naked Ridge. He’s broad and muscular, with ash brown hair and a constant, unmanageable scruff on his face. Some great girl will come along and snatch him up in the bond he deserves.