Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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I ran as fast as my feet would allow — no direction in mind. My feet propelled me forward, my strides big and elongated. My arms pumped repetitively at my side. The sound of my labored breathing filled the air, but I paid this distraction no mind, ears popping.
I made the grave mistake of underestimating Ezra.
He deduced what pack I was from. If he was not sure before, he would be certain now as my startled reaction left little to the imagination. It would only be a matter of time before he unraveled my identity if I was to proceed as normal. I would have to change up my tactics, my methods; I could not afford to be so predictable again. Next time, it would surely be my life hanging in the balance if it was not already dangling by a loose thread.
Stumbling over an uprooted tree, I slowed down, looking around in every direction. It seemed as if the wolf obeyed Ezra's command; there were no signs the decoy rogue had followed my trail, but I could not afford to be anything but overly cautious. Slowing down to a fast walk, I veered in the direction of the pack house, allowing time for my heart rate to normalize.
Only, I did not have enough time to calm down before Beta Ichabod's voice blasted in my head:
ALERT: LAST-MINUTE PACK MEETING. RIGHT NOW. MEET IN THE PACK HALL.
While an impromptu pack meeting was not as worrisome as an emergency meeting, I could not help but be put further on edge. What could the meeting be about? Certainly, Byron was going to inform the pack of the Feral I encountered not long before. As a few days had passed, Byron had ample time to inspect the Feral's body. Maybe he had some insights that could lead us closer to the mystery of the sudden reappearance of Ferals. I was certain the answers would point toward Ezra.
I couldn't wait for that day to come. The day when all the evidence pointed towards Ezra being the mastermind behind the resurgence of Ferals. The day I could finally — with good conscious — end his life.
Dropping my cloak and remaining kitchen knives off at my trust hiding spot, I ran a hard hand over my face and sprinted towards the Pack Hall. Tired from running earlier, I knew I was cutting it close; I would be late for the meeting. Not wanting to spark any more questions about my whereabouts, I forced myself to run as fast as my exhausted body would allow.
In doing so, I kept my head angled toward the ground as I built up my determination. I could tell I was approaching the Pack Hall by the change in footpaths. My feet collided with the curve of the sidewalk, almost causing me to topple over. Instead, a couple feet later, I bumped into Link — or, more accurately, he came colliding into me.
Link had been firmly stationed on the sidewalk, looking at his watch every couple of seconds, hands over his chest. He impatiently tapped his foot as he looked around. As soon as he saw me, he made no effort to move, thus resulting in our collision.
