The Redwood Grove wasn't what I expected.
I'd imagined another Luna sacred site—stone circles, mystical springs, maybe some ancient carved symbols. Instead, Marcus had set up a refugee camp in the middle of a California state forest.
Tents scattered between massive trees. Cooking fires that people could hide if aircraft flew overhead. Families with children who looked like they'd been traveling for days. And everywhere, the careful alertness of people who knew they were being hunted.
"Jesus," I whispered, looking at the scope of it.
Alexander was silent beside me as we walked through the camp. Four hundred people had sounded like a lot in theory. In reality, it was overwhelming. Werewolves from every pack structure I'd heard of and several I hadn't. Extended families. Lone wolves. Teenagers who'd left home when their abilities manifested.
All of them looking at us like we had answers.
