The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 238

** Bastian’s POV **

By the time Alaric and I step into town, I already know this isn’t going to be simple. Not because of the rumours. There are always rumours, half of them nonsense, the other half warnings people ignore until it’s too late.

I know because Jude and Shay don’t exaggerate, ever. When Jude tells you something feels wrong, you listen. When Shay tells you something feels interesting, you prepare. And when they both say the same girl doesn’t smell human, wolf, or witch?… You go see for yourself.

The coffee shop looks harmless enough. Bright windows and soft chatter. Humans packed together with their caffeine addictions and their blissful ignorance of our existence. This is the kind of place nothing supernatural should ever touch.

I clock her immediately, not because she looks up, but because Alaric stops breathing. It’s so subtle that anyone else would miss it. Just a fraction of a second where his chest doesn’t rise, where his shoulders lock like his body is bracing for impact. I follow his gaze.

She’s behind the counter, wiping it down with exaggerated focus, pretending she hasn’t noticed us even though her entire body has gone tense. Interesting.

Her scent reaches me a heartbeat later, mixing with the smell of coffee and sweet syrup. It smells powerful, charged with an electric heat that makes my wolf still instead of surge. That alone tells me she’s dangerous.

I glance sideways at Alaric. His eyes have darkened, gold flickering behind them like fire. That’s bad, very bad, because Alaric doesn’t react like this. He doesn’t let instinct overpower logic. He doesn’t lock onto strangers in public places like the world just narrowed down to that single person, and yet… here we are.

“She’s pretending not to see us,” I murmur quietly.

“I know,” he replies, his voice tight.

Which means he’s already deeper in this than he should be.

We don’t approach right away; instead, we take a table and observe. We do what Alphas are supposed to do when faced with something unknown so close to our territory.

She works like she’s wound too tight, her movements stiff, her smile forced, and eyes flicking up just often enough to track where we are without looking like she’s staring. There’s humour in her and a streak of defiance. I can see it even from here.

Then the other server, who I hadn’t even noticed until now, says something I don’t catch, and they both look at us. I don’t miss the way her eyes widen a fraction as they meet mine. She knows what I am. My wolf tilts its head. Crazy coffee girl isn’t so crazy after all. She’s definitely something, but it’s not crazy.

My eyes track her as she disappears into the back room, muttering something about break time. Alaric doesn’t hesitate, he stands. I’m on my feet immediately, but he lifts a hand without looking at me, silently telling me to stay.

I almost ignore him, but the look on his face isn’t reckless, it’s full of intent. He’s focused, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, even if I don’t like it. So I sit back down and watch the hallway. The seconds stretch, and my wolf paces, uneasy but not panicked.

Then it happens. It’s not a sound as such, more of a shift. The pressure changes in the air, and then Alaric stumbles back into the main shop. He doesn’t fall or crash into anything, but he comes out of that hallway looking like someone hit him square in the chest with something invisible. My stomach drops.

He doesn’t even look at me as he moves toward the door. “She ran out the back door,” he says.

Not she left… She ran; that distinction matters. I’m moving before I can think better of it. We hit the street just in time to see her disappear around the corner, her hair flying behind her, panic rolling off her in waves that I can feel from here.

Alaric takes one step after her, then stops. Two wolves stand between us and the direction she fled. They’re not Mountain Ridge, and not any I recognise from River Pack. They’re definitely not local and they feel wrong in a way that sets my instincts on edge. Their eyes hold a strange light, not the gold of a wolf or the silver shimmer of a witch; it’s something in between, metallic and moonlit. My wolf doesn’t rise, though. It stills. That’s when I know they’re dangerous.

“Stop,” one of them says calmly.

I step half a pace in front of Alaric without making it obvious. “Who are you?”

“Phoenix Pack,” the other replies.

Of course they are. The pack every Alpha is suddenly talking about. The pack tied to the goddess rumours, and whose territory hunters seem to avoid as if it’s cursed ground.

“We’re here for her,” the first one says. "We have not stepped foot into your territory, and don't plan to, unless she does."

Alaric’s jaw tightens. “She’s under your protection?”

“She is.”

I watch my twin carefully. His hands flex, his shoulders tense, and his wolf presses hard against his control, wanting to run, to chase, to claim. He doesn’t.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify