Chapter 22
(Cameron POV)
So I'm out walking again.
There's not much else to do—my company's running smoothly without me, which is both comforting and frustrating. My team doesn't need micromanaging, and I've spent the past decade building that independence. But being idle? It's starting to mess with my head.
The woods are quiet, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the leaves or the soft rustle of some small animal darting into the brush. It's beautiful out here—too beautiful, almost surreal. I can't believe I've never heard of this place.
Lenora said there's an enchantment over the land, a kind of magical cloaking most packs use to hide their territory from the human world. It makes me wonder how much of the Earth is hidden—how many pieces of reality have been edited out just for people like me.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling.
And then I hear it.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
The voice comes from behind me, slick and smug, like the bastard's been waiting all day for this moment.
I turn slowly, frown already forming—and come face to face with a man who feels eerily familiar, though I know I've never seen him before in my life.
He's tall, lean muscle wrapped in a tight black t-shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets like he owns the forest. His eyes gleam gold, too gold, and they narrow as he studies me.
"And you are?" I ask, cautious.
He laughs. Not the friendly kind. The mocking kind that makes your skin crawl.
"I can't believe it," he says, stepping closer. "I heard the rumors, but I didn't think they were true. You really don't remember?"
He circles me slowly, like a predator playing with his food.
"I'm leaving," I say, already turning to go. Every instinct I have is screaming. The air around him feels wrong—taut, aggressive.
Then, faster than I can react, he's in front of me.
"You know how long it took to heal the scar you gave me?" he snaps, his voice low and bitter.
He grabs my jaw in one swift movement, his claws digging into my skin. My whole body tenses.
"You came into my pack," he snarls, eyes burning. "Took my mate. Wounded me. And you're not even a real wolf."
I shove him off me with everything I've got. He doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch.
And that makes him laugh.
"She is wasted on trash like you," he sneers, giving me a hard shove that sends me stumbling backward.
It clicks. All at once.
This is Frederick.
Lenora's cousin.
The one she warned me about—the one who thinks she belongs to him. The one I apparently fought in wolf form during… whatever the hell happened that night.
I shouldn't say anything. But pride has always been my worst trait.
"Big talk," I mutter, brushing dirt from my shirt, "for someone whose ass I already whooped."
His expression hardens. That was a mistake.
I see the punch coming a second too late. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs and hurls me back like a ragdoll. My body slams into a tree with enough force to rattle the forest. Pain flares white-hot across my ribs. I slump to the ground, struggling to breathe.
I think he broke something.
He starts toward me, slow and deliberate, the way someone walks when they know the fight is already over.
So this is it.
This is how I die. In a forest, mauled by a snake-eyed psycho werewolf because of a woman I—
No. That's not the end.
Because before he reaches me—
She comes.
A blur of silver and fury slams into Frederick, and he's airborne before he knows what hit him.
Lenora.
I've never seen her like this. She doesn't even hesitate.
She's rage made flesh.
Her fist cracks across his jaw—snap—and he spins.
But she's already there. A knee to his ribs—thud. He chokes, but she doesn't let up.
She grabs him by the shirt, slamming him into a tree hard enough to splinter bark.
"Try. That. Again," she growls, low and dangerous.
Frederick tries to fight back. Bad idea.
She ducks his swing, claws him across the face, and kicks his leg out from under him. He collapses in a heap.
Her hand closes around his throat, lifting him slightly off the ground.
"I swear to the goddess," she snarls, "if you ever lay a single fucking finger on my mate again, I will rip your goddamn throat out and bury it."
And then—just to make sure he believes her—she hurls him like he weighs nothing.
His body crashes through underbrush, slamming into another tree with a sickening crunch before falling still.
And then she's running to me.
"Cameron—" Her voice breaks on my name. "Are you okay?"
She drops to her knees beside me, hands frantic but gentle as she brushes leaves from my hair and checks my ribs with trembling fingers.
I don't know what hurts more—my body or the fact that I can see the fear in her eyes. For me.
"I'm fine," I manage, even though I'm not. "I think."
But all I can really do is stare at her.
She's so fucking hot.