Chapter 305: The Ghost in the Forest

Thane

The SUV reeked of piss, sweat, and iron. Chains clattered in rhythm with the road, each jolt yanking Nikolai’s wrists and ankles raw. He sat slumped in the backseat, gagged and hooded, every shallow breath proof he hadn’t yet managed to die. I wouldn’t let him. Not yet.

Cyrus rode beside him, knees bouncing, knife tapping against the window. He hummed tunelessly, every so often leaning over to jab the blade into Nikolai’s thigh. Not deep enough to kill. Just to hear the muffled grunt.

“We should’ve brought food,” Cyrus said cheerfully. “Traveling freak show like this deserves snacks.”

“Keep him breathing,” I warned.

Cyrus flashed me a grin in the rearview mirror. “Relax. I’m just tenderizing him.”

My wolf prowled beneath my skin, restless, approving. Pain was deserved. But justice required patience.

The first pack sat in a narrow valley, their territory ringed with pine. Their Alpha waited at the gates, shoulders squared, but his wolf smelled of nerves. Whispers had traveled faster than our convoy.

I dragged Nikolai out by his chains, shoving him onto the dirt. The gathered wolves recoiled at the sight of him: once an Alpha, now filthy, bleeding, gagged.

“This is what becomes of traitors,” I told them, voice low but carrying. “He stole your daughters, your sisters, your sons. Sold them like cattle. Thought himself untouchable. Look at him now.”

I ripped off the hood. Nikolai blinked against the daylight, blood caked down one side of his face. He spat curses through the gag.

“Every pack will see him like this,” I continued. “And every pack will have a choice. Take your pound of flesh, or we move on to the next. Any who dares finish where he left off with the ring or experiments will end up worse than this.”

Cyrus yanked the gag down. Nikolai’s voice tore into the air, hoarse and hateful: “You think this makes you strong? You’re nothing but a butcher’s dog.”

The Alpha of the valley pack didn’t hesitate. He strode forward and drove his fist into Nikolai’s jaw. The crack echoed. The crowd roared.

By the time we hauled him back to the SUV, his lip was split open and his nose bent sideways.

Cyrus whistled. “One down, twelve more to go. He’s gonna be real pretty by the end.”

The second pack was larger, their wolves bitter with old grief. Mothers with hollow eyes stood at the edge of the circle. I didn’t speak long, just shoved Nikolai forward and let his face hit the ground.

“This was the Alpha who sold your young,” I said simply.

The women didn’t need prompting. They descended like furies, clawing, spitting, and tearing at his hair until Cyrus dragged them off with a laugh.

“Careful, ladies,” he chided. “Don’t kill him yet. He’s got a whole tour to finish.”

Their Alpha met my eyes across the dirt, and there was no defiance left in him. Only fear. Exactly what I wanted.

By the fourth pack, Nikolai’s body sagged, and he was covered in blood and cuts. The smell of piss was thick. My wolf growled approval, but another part of me snarled that this wasn’t nearly enough.

“Like a carnival,” Cyrus said, dragging him by his wrist chains across the gravel back to the SUV. “Except instead of rides, everyone gets a free punch.”

I gave him a look.

He grinned wider. “What? I’m good with slogans.”

We didn’t linger. Each stop was swift, brutal. My speeches grew shorter. Wolves didn’t need words. They needed to see. They needed to feel the consequences in their bones. And each time, I saw it: Alphas stiffening, warriors swallowing hard, packs reminded that if they strayed, if they betrayed, the Alpha of Alphas would not hesitate to drag them into the dirt the same way.

By the time we turned back toward the pack house, Nikolai was a broken shadow of himself. His eyes still burned, but much weaker, sunk deep in a mask of swelling bruises. His curses had dwindled into hoarse whispers.

But he still wasn’t broken.

My phone buzzed as we rolled into the lot. Clarke’s name lit the screen.

I stepped away from the SUV before answering. “Clarke.”

“Thane.” His voice was gravel, threaded with static. “I hear you’ve been making a spectacle of Nikolai.”

“Every pack needs a reminder,” I said flatly.

Clarke grunted. “Good. They’ll think twice before pulling the same filth.” A pause. “But that’s not why I called.”

My wolf perked. “Go on.”

“You asked me about off-grid wolves. Ones who might know old things. I’ve thought on it. There was a story, years back, about a shifter who wouldn’t join a pack. Said he had his own way of keeping order.

I stilled, pulse low and hard.

“They called him the Hermit,” Clarke went on.

The words slid sharp into my chest.

“Where?” I demanded.

“North range,” Clarke said. “Near the river forks. That’s all I’ve got. I never went. But the ones who swore he was real… they weren’t the type to spook easily.”

I let silence stretch, wolf pacing hard inside me.

“Be careful if you find him,” Clarke added, voice softer now. “It isn’t like our kind to want solitude.”

I stood there a moment longer, staring at the trees beyond the hotel lot. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of satisfaction. A lead. A possibility.

The SUV door creaked open behind me.

Cyrus hopped down, dragging Nikolai with him. The chains clattered, as Nikolai hits the ground with a thud, Cyrus kicks him in the face as if he was trying to score a winning punt in overtime. “Well?” he asked. “You look like somebody just promised you Christmas.” He bends down, picks up a tooth, and shoves it in his pocket.

I hate that I don’t even question why.

I studied him, then jerked my chin at the SUV. “Get him inside. I’ll tell you in there.”

We hauled Nikolai down to the dungeon. Damon was already there, securing him to the chair.

“You let him breathe another day,” Damon said flatly.

“I need him alive,” I said.

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

Cyrus leaned against the wall, grinning. “Alpha got a phone call. Looked like somebody offered him a treasure map.”

Damon frowned. “What call?”

I told them Clarke had heard of a lone wolf, off-grid, deep forest. Not a name, not a face, just a rumor.

Cyrus barked a laugh. “A hermit? What’s next—bigfoot? Maybe he’s out there weaving baskets and pissing in jars.”

My wolf growled, low and sharp. “Clarke doesn’t deal in fairy tales. If he says he’s heard of someone, there’s a reason.”

Damon crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “And you trust a story passed around like campfire smoke? You’ll take us hunting a ghost while Stevens rallies his wolves?”

“Stevens isn’t going anywhere,” I snapped. “We’ll crush him when the time comes. Right now, I need to make sure I am thinking about my mate.”

Silence stretched, thick as smoke. Damon’s gaze was steady, hard, the weight of reason in his voice when he finally spoke. “Even if this hermit exists, what do you expect him to do? Hand you a miracle? You’re gambling with time we don’t have.”

“Sometimes a gamble is worth it,” I said. My wolf pressed at my skin, restless, hungry for the lead Clarke had given. “Every pack we showed today will whisper about what they saw. Nikolai’s humiliation is spreading. That buys us time. Time to chase this.”

Cyrus grinned, teeth sharp. “I like it. Creepy forest recluse? Perfect field trip. Maybe he’s a witch. Maybe he eats wolves. Either way, fun.”

Damon shot him a look. “You’d think mutilation was a vacation.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Cyrus said easily. “Besides, what’s the worst that happens? We get lost in the woods? At least I’ll have good company.” He winked at me.

I ignored him.

Nikolai coughed, chains rattling as he shifted against the wall. His swollen eye cracked open. “Chasing ghosts,” he rasped, blood on his teeth. “Desperate. Pathetic.”

Cyrus kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to make him wheeze. “Shut up before I cut your tongue out.”

I didn’t stop him. My wolf wanted silence too.

I turned back to Damon. “You don’t have to like it. But Clarke’s never given me reason to doubt him. He says there’s a shifter, there’s a shifter.”

Later, when the others had gone, I stood alone with Nikolai’s chains. He watched me through his ruined face, defiance still burning low.

“You think you’ll outlast me,” I murmured. “You think there’s any end to this where you win. There isn’t.”

My wolf pressed hard against my chest, eager, savage. The forest called. The hermit’s shadow, faceless and nameless, tugged at me.

Now, I need to decide if I take my mate on this stranger in the woods hunt.