Legacy Wolves

Chapter 4: Into the Wolves' Den

Cassian stayed crouched behind the rock, his breath shallow, his eyes fixed on the spot where the woman had disappeared. She moved like a shadow through the trees—silent, quick, and deliberate. Whoever she was, she wasn't just wandering. She knew this forest like the back of her hand.

For a brief moment, he considered turning the other way and leaving her behind. He had no reason to trust her. But the truth was, he was lost, with no idea where to go, and the longer he stayed here, the more likely he was to run into someone—or something—dangerous.

Cassian hesitated, watching the treeline where she had vanished. If she knew the forest, maybe she could lead him out?

He glanced in the direction he had run from, the feeling of being haunted still gnawing at his spine. He couldn't stay here.

Taking a deep breath, Cassian stood, careful to move silently as he slipped through the trees. He trailed the woman from a distance, keeping low and out of sight, always a few steps behind but never too far. His heart raced in his chest, every nerve on high alert.

The forest grew denser as he followed her, the trees looming overhead, their branches knitting together to form a thick canopy that blocked out the sky. The further they went, the quieter the woods became, as though the animals themselves knew to stay clear of this place.

The woman moved with precision, never pausing, her bow at the ready. She wasn't lost. She was on a mission.

Cassian quickened his pace slightly, trying to stay close without being spotted.

After what felt like an hour, the trees began to thin, and the sound of distant voices drifted toward him. Cassian froze, crouching behind a thick oak, his heart pounding. The woman had stopped just ahead, crouching low behind some underbrush. She was watching something. Cassian crept closer, positioning himself so he could see without giving himself away.

Ahead of them was a clearing, surrounded by tall, imposing trees.

In the center of the clearing was a large, makeshift campsite. A fire pit smoldered, sending thin trails of smoke into the air. Several men and women, all dressed in dark, worn clothes, were gathered around the fire. Their weapons gleamed in the firelight—bows, knives, rifles.

These weren't hikers.

Cassian's stomach twisted. These people looked organized, methodical, and dangerous.

At the edge of the clearing, two of the hunters were dragging something—no, someone—toward the fire. Cassian squinted, trying to make out the figure. His heart nearly stopped when he saw who it was.

Connor.

His arms were bound behind his back, his face bruised and bloody. He wasn't fighting them. His eyes were sharp, alert, but his body sagged with exhaustion. They threw him roughly onto the ground near the fire, and one of the hunters—a tall man with graying hair and a scar running down the side of his face—stepped forward, glaring down at him.

Cassian's blood ran cold. He crouched lower, watching intently. He didn't know what was happening, but whatever it was, Connor was in deep trouble.

The woman he had been following shifted slightly in the underbrush, her bow still at the ready. She hadn't moved to intervene. She was waiting for something to happen.

"So, Conner," the scarred man said, his voice cold and sharp. He crouched down next to Connor, gripping him by the hair and pulling his head up to force him to look at him. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face around here without the boy."

Connor's lips curled into a weak smile, blood staining his teeth. "Good to see you too, Miller."

Miller sneered and shoved Connor's head back to the ground. "You think this is a joke? You think you can keep playing both sides and walk away? Where's the boy, Connor?"

"I don't know," Connor sneered. "I lost him a mile back. Kid ran off scared."

Miller drew a knife to Connor's throat. "Where is the blood heir?"

Connor side-eyed the knife. "You wouldn't dare." He spat on the ground. "You still need me."

Miller's expression darkened. "That depends on what you've got for me. You've been feeding us scraps for months, Connor. Half-truths. Leads that go nowhere. We're not stupid. We know the boy changed last night."

Connor's smile faltered, but his eyes stayed locked on Miller's. "I give you what I can. It's not my fault you lot couldn't hunt him."

One of the other hunters—a woman with short, cropped hair and a jagged scar across her cheek—stepped forward, her knife glinting in the firelight. "We should kill him now."

Miller raised a hand, stopping her. "Not yet. Why are you protecting the boy?"

Cassian's heart raced. These hunters weren't just after random werewolves—they were after him. And Connor... Connor was on their side.

Cassian's stomach churned with a mix of fear and anger. He had trusted Connor for a split second, but now he realized the man was more dangerous than he had ever imagined. An informant, more than likely playing both sides. Who else had he given up to the hunters?

"What do you want, Miller?" Connor asked, his voice hoarse.

Miller knelt down again, this time close enough that Cassian could hear every word. "We want the name of the boy. And his location. Otherwise, your pack dies with you."

Connor didn't flinch. His smile was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating. "If I give you that, I'm dead either way."

Miller shrugged. "Then you'd better make yourself useful."

The tension in the air was palpable, and Cassian's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't stay here. If these hunters found him, they'd kill him just as quickly as they would Connor.

Before he could decide what to do, the woman he had been following shifted position again, standing up slowly from her hiding spot. She took a deep breath, then stepped into the clearing, her bow still drawn.

Miller and the others looked up, momentarily startled by her appearance, but they didn't seem surprised to see her.

In fact, Miller smiled.

"Scarlett," he said, his voice softer. "I didn't expect you to join us so soon."

Scarlett—so that was her name. She glanced down at Connor, then back at Miller. "I heard you caught him," she said. "Figured I'd see for myself."

Miller chuckled, nodding toward Connor. "As you can see, he's still being stubborn."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Connor. "He's always been good at that."

For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with tension, and Cassian could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. He needed to get out of here, but his legs wouldn't move. He was frozen, torn between fear and the need to know more.

Suddenly, Connor spoke, his voice low but clear. "I'll give you what you want."

Miller raised an eyebrow. "Names?"

Connor nodded, his eyes hard. "But on one condition."

Miller frowned. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands."

Connor's gaze flicked toward Scarlett for a split second before returning to Miller. "You want the information or not?"

Miller debates internally for a second before beckoning him on with a wave of his hand.

Connor continued. "I want protection. From the packs. From them. You keep me alive, and I'll give you everything."

Cassian's stomach twisted again. Connor was willing to betray everyone to save himself. He had no loyalty, no honor. He had been playing both sides, and now, he was selling out others just like him.

Cassian didn't wait to hear Miller's response. He had heard enough. His blood pounded in his ears as he slowly backed away from the clearing, careful not to make a sound. He needed to get out of here before they realized he was watching.