Hunters' Shadow (Book one of the Hunter Chronicles)

Chapter Twelve (Edited)

Alex had taken it particularly hard, insisting on leading all following training sessions himself - pushing himself alongside them. He was the leader of the warriors and felt the sting of his Alpha's displeasure strongly.

But it wasn't the whole truth.

Blake was running.

He ran from more than his responsibilities to his pack. He ran from the future Luna's invading his pack house. He ran from the decision he would soon have to make, and he ran from his feelings for the girl now living in his home.

She confused him enormously. His physical attraction to her clashed with the knowledge that she was, albeit unknowingly, a threat to his pack. Every time he was near her he was torn between distrust and an urge to pull her into his arms and press his lips against hers and claim her for his own.

He couldn't, of course. She was a werewolf. That knowledge complicated the situation far more than if she'd been human.

She belonged to another pack; she had a true mate of her own out there somewhere. She wasn't his to claim. It was the oldest law - written before the councils were formed, long before even the Shadow Wars started:

Don't interfere with the mate bond.

A male wolf could claim a female and forge a ‘chosen' bond if they wished, as long as neither of them had met their true mate yet. With the consent of both parties, it was accepted by the council and by the Moon Goddess - a fate he himself would have to face soon.

But without memories to fall back on, without a pack or family to provide insight, there was no way to tell if she had met her true mate yet - they didn't even know her real name, or age. In the eyes of the law, she could consent to nothing and be claimed by no one. To say nothing of the dangers she still presented as long as rogues and assassins were after her.

So, he suffered quietly, ever bound by the duty of an Alpha.

Instead, he ran, and tried to forget. This was far harder than it would have been just a few short weeks ago. His wolf had completely changed his mind about her. Learning that she was a werewolf without a wolf had answered the fundamental question that had bothered Rothan from the start - her unusual scent.

Once satisfied that it wasn't a threat to himself or his pack, he had dismissed Blake's other concerns - they were not the concerns of wolves. Relaxing around her, ironically choosing the moment that Blake had decided to keep his distance to suddenly show an interest.

She stood up to us, Rothan mused.

I know.

They never stand up to us.

I know.

I like her. When can we see her again?

The last three weeks had settled into a pattern for them both.

The day belonged to duty - to hours spent huddled in his office with his lieutenants, researching the rogue crisis. To mornings covered in sweat as he helped train up his warriors that would fight on the front line during an attack and to afternoons spent perched uncomfortably on the edge of sofas, making polite conversation with unmated females, desperate for his attention.

The night belonged to freedom - to the earthy, primal smells of the forest, to the small creatures that skittered away from his wolf's shadow and the moon that blanketed the forest floor and bathed the world in its cold blue light.

He always arrived at the same destination - no matter where he ran.

His wolf would answer his unspoken call and guide him back to the same clearing in the forest - a lonely spot that few knew about, far from the villages or roadways.