Chapter 5: Shadows in the woods

Freya's POV

Morning came too soon.

Light passed through my curtains, dabbing an irregular pattern of light and dark across the wood floorboard below. I lay in bed, fixated upon the ceiling, sleeping has been worthless anyway. My thoughts drifting back to Dane, every time I attempted to close my eyes. I'd been thinking about his gaze from the previous night, as if he'd like to have me by his side, but at the same time, also want me to be away. I wasn’t supposed to feel nervous when I see him, but I did anyway, as if I had no control over it, as if it’s having a mind of its own. Technically, it did.

I recognized the sound of voices drifting from below, Catherine's humming, Evie's laughter, and Dane's muffled tone threading itself in between. Comforting, familiar, but somehow, it squeezed my chest even more tightly together. I sat up, sighing. A cup of coffee might clear my head.

I finally entered the kitchen to find that, by this time, the house was full of activity. Evie sat at the counter, looking ready for work, going her teaching material. Catherine busied herself in her usual manner, apron draped over her shoulder. The aroma of toasting bread and herbs wafted in, and it is a memory I always recall as what home smells like. Dane stood by the kitchen doorway, rolling up his sleeves, fastening his cuffs, as if he were always destined to be an Alpha, which he now is.

“Morning sleepy head,” Evie said cheerfully, looking up at him. “You’re up early.”

"Sleep appears to hate me,” I said, reaching for a mug. My hands felt awkward, as if they didn’t know what to do with a mug.

Dane’s head turned slightly. “Morning.”

"Morning," I repeated.

Our eyes locked for only a second, an unbearable second and this invisible pull between us stretched further. His face was calm, but there was something hiding behind it. Something like restraint. Like he was holding himself back. Henry appeared before the tension could build to an uncomfortable level. “Council meeting in ten,” he said, dropping a folder onto the counter top. “There’s been a rogue spotted in the area of the southern ridge.”

Dane’s jaw clenched as he turned the file open. “I’ll be there.” He said to Evie. “You’re teaching the juniors today?”

She groaned, "unfortunately, send caffeine and patience to stay sane."

His eyes turned to me, and I sensed his gaze as if he touched me, "What about you?"

"I'm going for a walk," I said quickly. "i need some air."

There is a flicker in his eyes, not quite worrying, but nearly so. “Stay close to the eastern woods. The far side is not yet completely patrolled.”

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, perhaps a little too quickly.

He hesitated, his jaw clenched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it. "Still, be careful."

He left in Henry’s company, and it seemed as if the house took a breath as the front door closed behind him. Evie began to pack her bag, humming to herself. "Don’t get lost out there," she teased.

“I won’t

As soon as the door closed behind her, a heavy, comforting silence fell. I emptied my coffee cup, grabbed my jacket, and headed outdoors.

The air was cool, moist, filled with the fragrance of pine and earth. A heavy layer of mist hugged the forest, curling between trees. The packhouse fell behind me as I walked deeper into the woods, following the trail. Every step muffled the noise in my mind, at first a little, then more. It should have been a peaceful scene. It wasn’t.

I continued to think of Dane, of the look in his eyes as if he remembered something I didn’t. Of the pain in my chest whenever I did think of him. I told myself it was only nostalgia. Being home after so long away. I knew, however, that wasn’t all of it.

I turned my attention to the rhythm of my boots, the crunch of leaves, the distant whistle of air in the branches. I didn’t know how far I’d walked until I noticed the trail widen and the trees close in around me.

I stopped, taking in a breath of chill air. There was something different about this area of the woods.

Then I heard it.

Behind me, a twig snapped. That small noise sliced through the quiet of the woods like a razor.

I froze. My heart pounded fiercely in my chest, then calmed into a faster rhythm than usual. I scanned the trees, but only mist and darkness showed. Still, I wasn’t imagining things. Someone was out there.

I began to walk, slowly, to hear beyond the pounding in my chest. The forest is silent, no rustling in leaves, no singing of birds, only water dripping in the distance, accompanied by the crunch of my own footfalls.

Next, another noise, which sounded closer this time.

"Hello?" My tone was calm, but I could feel my throat constricting. "If you’re from the patrol, perhaps you should say something before I..."

I stopped, but no response came to my cries but silence. The hairs at the back of my neck rose, but I turned slowly in a circle, looking at the trees. "I'm serious," I yelled, trying to get steel into my tone. "Show yourself."

There was no movement, no response. I shifted my stance, my muscles coiled for action. I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my neck. And then, from out of the fog, a figure emerged between two pines.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a hood up, his clothes blackened, battered, as if they’d been to heck, mud caked at the hem of his jacket, his fists loose at his sides, but tense, as if he’s coiled to spring.

He froze when he saw me. Neither of us budged as we sized each other up. I took a small step backward, raising my hands slightly. “This is pack territory,” I said calmly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He did not budge, did not utter a single word. Only the atmosphere between us thickened in response to what I felt. Then the wind turned, bringing his smell.

I didn’t know this either. There’s a different smell to it, untamed, a combination of blood, soil, and something even more primal than any wolf I’d encountered in the past. A rogue wolf, I decided, as my gut sank in disgust. He finally broke his silence, his tone low and gravelly. "I don’t want trouble."

“Then you should leave.”

His head is slightly tilted, but I catch a peek of his gray eyes peeking out from his hood, which appears pale and alert, as if it is scanning scanning his surroundings instead of looking at me. He is definitely not afraid of me. He is afraid of something else.

"You’re not with them," he mumbled, his tone barely audible.

“With who?” I asked cautiously.

His eyes snapped back to me, alert and hesitating. "You shouldn’t be out here," he said finally. "It’s not safe."

A humorless laugh escaped. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you."

The wind turned once more, whispering past us. He froze, a fleeting, primal response. As if my odor had startled him.

"Who are you?" I asked, but he didn’t respond to that either. His muscles clenched, and then he unexpectedly stepped backward into the fog.

“Wait

Branches snapped, his footfalls faded, until finally, silence.

He was gone. I turned slowly, taking in the trees, my senses heightened. My heart hadn’t calmed, my every instinct telling me he was here, watching, waiting. I crouched slightly, finding my balance as I’d been taught by Dane so many years before, rooting myself in my feet, loose in my shoulders, breathing easy in my chest. The woods held silent.

Then came a faint crack of movement behind me. I turned to it, my heart nearly in my throat, automatically assuming a fighting stance. And in this brief moment, all I could think to myself is, this is not fear.

"Freya."