A black convoy of wolves in tactical gear materialized from the treeline. Before I could process what was happening, several shifted wolves and armed enforcers surrounded me, their silver-tipped weapons gleaming in the pale afternoon light.
Their cold eyes and matching scarred brands told me they belonged to the Ironvale Pack, one of Caspian's fiercest rivals.
"You thought you could run from us?" one of them snarled, his voice raw with dominance. When I said nothing, he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. The sudden blow sent me staggering into the rough bark of a tree.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I mumbled, forcing air into my lungs. My hand drifted instinctively to cradle my stomach.
But they didn't care.
One of them seized my wrist and wrenched it at a cruel angle. Another shoved me to the ground, the forest floor cold and damp beneath my palms.
Within seconds, the supplies I had been carrying scattered across the dirt. As I tried to push myself upright, the barrel of a silver-tipped weapon pressed against my temple. The metal burned faintly against my skin, and my wolf whimpered, retreating deep inside me.