*Kieran*
The first real blood of the season fell three days later.
Not ours.
Not yet.
We scented it on the wind.
Sharp. Metallic. Tangled with cow and fear.
I was on patrol with Rafe when it hit us—a thin thread of scent, carried from the south.
He lifted his head, nostrils flaring.
“You smell that?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Damn,” he muttered. “They’re getting bold.”
We shifted without words.
Fur ripped through skin.
Bones cracked.
Pain flared.
Then the world sharpened—snow crystals glittering, each scent a distinct note in the cold air.
We ran.
Down the ridge.
Through the pines.
Over the frozen creek.
The scent grew stronger with each bound.
Blood.
Cow.
Wolf.
And under it, faint but present—
Northridge.
We burst out of the trees at the edge of one of the lower pastures.
The scene hit me like a fist.
A cow lay in the snow, throat torn, belly open. Steam rose from the wound. Ravens hopped and flapped, croaking as they tore at exposed organs.
Tracks crisscrossed the ground—hooves, boots, paws.
Too many.
Rafe skidded to a stop beside me, panting.
“Shit,” he said.
Humans moved near the body—three men in heavy coats and hats, rifles slung over their shoulders. Kurt Darnell was one of them, his face red with cold and fury. The other two were younger, one with a scarf pulled up over his nose, the other chewing a toothpick.
“…told you,” Kurt was saying, gesturing at the carcass. “Those demon bastards ain’t scared of your posters, Holloway. They’re getting closer.”
My stomach dropped.
I followed his line of sight.
On the other side of the fence, a truck idled.
Sage stood near it, arms crossed, expression tight.
Kim was beside her, hat pulled low, eyes narrowed.
They’d come to investigate.
Of course they had.
“Fuck,” Rafe whispered. “They called her in.”
“Stay low,” I growled. “They can’t see us from here.”
We crouched behind a thicket of scrub, ears pricked.
“…classic wolf kill,” Sage was saying, voice clipped. “Bite to the throat, evisceration. Scavengers moved in after. You can see the drag marks from the ravens.”
“Look at the tracks,” Kurt snapped. “Those ain’t normal. Too big. Too many.”
Sage glanced at the ground.
Her gaze tracked the prints.
My prints.
Rafe’s.
And Northridge’s.
I saw the moment she recognized the difference.
Her jaw clenched.
“There’s a lot of overlap,” she said carefully. “Hard to say which wolf did what.”
“’Cause there’s more than one,” Kurt insisted. “Pack of the bastards. Spooked the herd half the night. I heard ’em howling. Didn’t sound right.”
“Wolves howl,” Kim said. “That’s what they do.”
“Not like that,” he insisted. “It was…wrong. Like listening to people scream.”
Sage went pale.
“He’s not entirely wrong,” Rafe murmured.
I cuffed him lightly. “Shut up.”
“Even if it *was* wolves,” Kim said, “this is one cow. One. Out of how many head?”
“That’s my cow,” Kurt snapped. “My loss. Every time one of these attacks happens, it’s money out of my pocket. I’m sick of you people hand-waving it away.”
“‘You people,’” Sage muttered under her breath.
Kim shot her a look.
“We can file for compensation,” Kim said. “If we confirm this as a wolf depredation, you’ll get a check. You know the program.”
“I don’t want your goddamn hush money,” he snarled. “I want you to take care of the problem. Before it takes care of us.”
Sage flinched.
“‘Take care of’ how,” she asked, voice tight. “Cull? Lethal control?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Kurt said. “You brought this on us, Holloway. You and your ‘reintroduction.’ You fix it.”
Silence.
Snow fell softly, dusting the dead cow, the boots, the barrels of the guns.
Finally, Sage spoke.
“Non-lethal options first,” she said. “Fencing. Fladry. Guard animals. We can increase hazing near the herd. Use scare rounds. Make them uncomfortable near your stock.”
“Scare rounds,” he scoffed. “You think fireworks are gonna keep the devil out?”
“Better than bullets,” she snapped.
He rounded on her.
“You see this?” he shouted. “You see her guts in the snow? That’s on you. That’s your doing.”
Her face went white.
“I didn’t—” she began.
“Yes, you did,” he cut in. “You and your posters and your government trucks and your big-city ideas. You brought wolves back. Now they’re taking what’s ours. You going to wait until they take a kid next?”
“That’s not—” she started.
“Enough,” Kim said sharply. “You start talking about kids, this becomes a very different conversation.”
Kurt’s jaw flexed.
“Maybe it should,” he said. “Maybe that’s what it’ll take for people to wake up.”
My vision went red at the image.
A child.
Blood.
Snow.
“No,” Sage said, voice shaking. “We are *not* waiting for that story. That’s the whole point of—of *this.*” She waved at the carcass. “We learn. We adjust. We teach. We don’t…fan flames with horror stories.”
“You started the stories,” he spat.
“I started…education,” she said. “You’re the one turning it into campfire fodder.”
The younger man with the toothpick shifted, uncomfortable. “Maybe we should cool it, Kurt,” he muttered. “Get the body moved. Do the…paperwork.”
“Paperwork,” Kurt sneered.
“Look,” Sage said, fighting for calm. “This is inside the buffer zone. You knew that when you agreed to graze here. Predation risk is part of the contract. We can adjust stocking densities. Shift the herd. Put more vulnerable animals closer to human activity where wolves are less likely to—”
“You don’t *know* what they’re likely to do anymore,” he snapped. “Not if there’s more of ’em. Not if they’re bolder. Different. Wrong.”
His eyes gleamed.
Fear and a wild, brittle excitement.
He smelled like opportunity.
“Careful,” Kim said quietly. “Lines, Kurt.”
He spat in the snow.
“The line’s already crossed,” he said. “You just don’t want to see it.”
He stomped away toward his truck, muttering.
The other two followed.
One glanced back at Sage.
Sympathy flickered.
Then he went.
When their engine noise had faded, Kim exhaled.
“Shit,” she said.
Sage’s shoulders slumped.
“You okay?” Kim asked.
“No,” Sage said. “But I don’t think that’s the question that matters.”
“What is?” Kim asked.
“How many more of these we get,” she said, nodding at the cow. “And whether next time, there’s a human attached.”
Kim’s mouth tightened.
“I’ll…do what I can,” she said. “In the office. With the suits. Your poster project is helping. People are…engaged. But if the numbers climb, pressure does too.”
“I know,” Sage said.
They were quiet a moment.
Then Kim said, very softly, “You can walk away, you know.”
Sage blinked. “What?”
“You can hand this valley back,” Kim said. “Tell me it’s too hot. Too risky. Too…much. I can reassign you. Move you to…wetlands. Birds. Something less likely to chew your face off.”
Sage laughed weakly. “Birds bite, too.”
“You know what I mean,” Kim said. “You’re not chained to this. You can choose…somewhere else. Someone else’s problem.”
Sage looked at the dead cow.
At the bloody snow.
At the trees beyond.
She swallowed.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Can’t or won’t?” Kim asked.
“Both,” Sage said. “This is…mine. My mess. My wolves. I can’t…leave them.”
“Them?” Kim echoed. “Plural?”
Sage’s jaw worked.
“Yes,” she said finally.
Kim studied her.
“You’re in deeper than you’re telling me,” she said.
“Yes,” Sage admitted.
Kim sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we both go down swinging. But if I see you getting in over your head, I reserve the right to smack you with a transfer anyway.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Sage muttered.
Kim snorted. “You would.”
They walked back to the truck.
Rafe let out a long, slow breath.
“That could’ve been worse,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “And it will be. Next time.”
“You think there’ll be a next time?” he asked.
I watched a raven tug at a strip of flesh, its black feathers slick with blood.
“Yes,” I said.
Because I knew those tracks.
Because I’d smelled Northridge in the mix.
Because this wasn’t just hunger.
It was message.
Cassian was done sniffing at our borders.
He was marking.
***
Back in the village, the mood was tight.
The pups were quiet.
The adults…buzzed.
We met in the longhouse—council, warriors, anyone with a stake in the lines we were drawing.
Sage sat at the table with us, a mug of Mara’s tea cradled in both hands. Her cheeks were windburned, eyes shadowed.
She looked like she’d been hit by a truck.
“You all saw?” she asked. “Or heard?”
Rafe nodded. “We watched from the trees. Northridge stink was all over that pasture.”
“You’re sure?” Kellan asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Ronan’s line. They wanted us to know.”
“Wanted the *humans* to know,” Mara corrected. “This wasn’t just prowling. It was…performance.”
“Making Kurt an ally,” Edda said. “A loud one.”
“He doesn’t need help being loud,” Sage muttered.
“He has puppies now,” Rafe said. “Amplifiers.”
“Focus,” I snapped.
My patience was thin.
Fear for the pack.
Fear for Sage.
And a hot, low rage at Cassian’s audacity, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
“They killed in the open,” I said. “Left the body near the fence. Waited until someone heard the panic. They wanted eyes on that carcass.”
“Why?” Sage asked. “They don’t…care about compensation. They’re not trying to eat cows. They’re trying to…”
“Destabilize,” Mara said. “Trust. Between human and human. Between human and wolf. Between Sage and her people.”
“Between you and Kim,” Rafe added. “Kurt’s already painting you as the villain.”
“They’re using him,” Sage said quietly. “He thinks he’s…the hero. Standing up for his land. He doesn’t see he’s a puppet.”
“Humans rarely see it,” Mara said. “Neither do wolves.”
“So what do we do?” Edda asked. “Sit on our tails and let them set the stage?”
“No,” I said. “We answer. Quietly. Carefully.”
“How?” Kellan rumbled.
“We tighten our own hunting patterns,” I said. “Stay away from herds. Stay away from fields. We don’t give them more…fodder.”
“And Northridge?” Rafe asked. “They don’t give a shit about our…rules.”
“They care about territory,” I said. “About respect. About…face.” I looked at Sage. “Your posters. Your outreach. You said we could…shape the story.”
“I did,” she said. “But I meant…human stories. Not wolf pissing contests.”
“The two are tied now,” I said. “We can’t separate them.”
“Great,” she muttered. “Love that for us.”
“What if we…beat them to the next scene?” Edda suggested. “Make our own…spectacle. Something that makes *us* look big. Dangerous. Mysterious. Without…bodies.”
“Like what,” I asked.
She grinned. “Ever heard of a ‘wolf tree’?”
She sketched it out—a huge, lone tree on a ridge, hung with bones and feathers and bits of fabric. A place humans would whisper about. A place we could claim with scent and presence without…attacking.
“A shrine,” Mara said slowly. “A marker. Old packs used to have such places. Offerings. Warnings.”
“Instagram-bait,” Sage murmured. “Creepy aesthetic. People would *love* that. Take pictures. Post them. Talk about how weird and cool it is. Speculate about cults.”
“Cults again,” Rafe said. “You’re obsessed.”
“I’m obsessed with controlling the narrative,” she said. “If they’re busy making TikToks about ‘spooky bone tree’ they’re not obsessing over blurry wolf-shift footage.”
“If someone posts a bone tree,” Kellan rumbled, “how does that help us?”
“Because we make it…ours,” Sage said. “Our symbol. Our…brand. We tie it to the Legends. To posters. To the talks. It becomes…part of the lore. Something people can…visit. Photograph. Obsess over. It gives them a place to aim their curiosity that isn’t…your dens.”
Mara’s eyes gleamed. “Give them a toy,” she said. “So they don’t break the furniture.”
“Exactly,” Sage said.
“This is insane,” Kellan muttered.
“Yes,” I said.
I thought of the treaty stone.
Of old oaths.
Of blood.
Of ravens.
“We do it,” I said.
All eyes swung to me.
“You want us to build a…bone tree?” Rafe asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” I said. “On our terms. On our land. Visible from the road. Tied to Sage’s…project. We give humans a story. An image. We make it big enough that Cassian can’t ignore it. Or outdo it without showing his throat.”
“You really think he’ll…back off because we hung some bones in a tree?” Sage asked.
“No,” I said. “But he’ll have to react. And when he does, we’ll be watching. We’ll know where he is. And humans will be looking at us, not at him.”
“Bait,” Mara said quietly.
“Yes,” I said. “Better they bite that than our throats.”
Sage’s jaw tightened.
“You’re risking yourselves,” she said. “For…optics.”
“We’re risking either way,” I said. “At least this way, we choose the ground.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then we make it…good. Big. Memorable. Safe.”
Edda’s eyes sparkled. “I am *so* in.”
Kellan groaned. “You’re going to make me carry shit up a hill for this, aren’t you.”
“Yes,” Mara and I said together.
He sighed. “Fine.”
Rafe grinned. “On the plus side, you get to say you helped build the first official Shifter Tourist Attraction.”
“Kill me,” Kellan muttered.
“Later,” I said. “First, we gather bones.”
Sage blinked. “We…have bones?”
Mara gave her a look. “We live in the woods. We’re surrounded by death.”
“Oh,” Sage said faintly. “Right.”
“We’ll use elk,” I said. “Deer. Old kills. Nothing…human.”
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“And we choose a tree,” Mara said. “Not just any. One that can hold…meaning.”
“The ridge above your tower,” Rafe suggested. “Visible. Old. Strong.”
My chest tightened.
The place where she’d first seen me.
Where this had all begun.
“Yes,” I said. “There.”
Sage shivered.
“Great,” she said. “Haunted tree above my haunted tower. Very on-brand.”
Edda clapped her hands. “Let’s go grave robbing.”
“Don’t call it that,” Sage hissed.
We had a plan.
Half-mad.
Half-brilliant.
Very us.
As the council broke apart, Sage lingered.
“So,” she said. “We’re building an altar to you.”
“That’s not what this is,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “You realize the first time some bored teen leaves a candle and a note at that tree, you’re going to be legally obligated to answer their prayers.”
“I don’t answer prayers,” I said.
“What do you answer?” she asked softly.
“Wolves,” I said. “And you.”
Her breath hitched.
She stepped closer.
“About earlier,” she murmured. “The…kissing.”
Heat shot through me.
“Yes?” I said.
“Don’t…freak out,” she said quickly. “But I might want to do that again. At some point. Soon.”
I laughed, surprised and rough.
“You think I don’t?” I asked.
“I know you do,” she said. “I can…feel it.”
“Smell it,” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes. “Gross.”
I sobered.
“We have to be careful,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “But…we also have to be…alive. While we still can.”
A quiet settled between us.
Weighty.
Fragile.
“Bone tree first,” I said. “Kissing later.”
“Deal,” she said.
She held out her hand.
I took it.
Shook.
Her grip was warm.
Strong.
“We’re really doing this,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “We are.”
We were building a myth.
Hanging bones in a tree.
Drawing lines in the snow.
Kissing under starlight.
Trying to hold a valley between our hands.
It was insane.
It was impossible.
It was ours.
And as the wind shifted, carrying the faintest thread of Northridge scent from the north, I bared my teeth and welcomed the storm.
Because whatever came next, I knew one thing with a certainty that felt like marrow:
I wasn’t facing it alone.
***
*To be continued…*