Chapter 2 — A Pack’s Arrival

Gregory

The tires of the black SUV crunched over the gravel road as it wound deeper into the forest. Gregory Makarov gripped the wheel with one hand, his other lightly resting on the gear shift. His sharp ice-blue eyes scanned the narrow path ahead, taking in every twist and turn. The town of Willow Falls was still a few miles away, but the unease that had flickered at the edges of his consciousness since they crossed the county line had solidified into something heavier, like a low drumbeat resonating in his chest.

It wasn’t danger—not exactly—but something older, quieter. A pull that gnawed at the edges of his instincts, urging him forward while warning him at the same time. It was like stepping into a place where the past hadn’t fully loosened its grip, where the very air carried the weight of forgotten things.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Riley slouched in the backseat, his hoodie pulled up over his head, one hand flicking through his phone, the other toying with a piece of licorice. Beside him, Marisol sat straight-backed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her dark eyes never stopped scanning the dense forest outside the window, and her jaw was set in that familiar line of quiet tension. Marisol always carried herself as though she expected a fight to break out—but even for her, this wariness seemed sharper, more deliberate. Gregory didn’t dismiss it. If the forest was unnerving her, he knew better than to ignore that feeling.

“Are we there yet?” Riley broke the silence, drawing out the words with mock pain. He stretched his legs out, his boots brushing the back of Gregory’s seat.

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Gregory muttered, his voice clipped as he fought to keep his focus on the winding road. “And no, we’re not.”

Riley groaned dramatically, leaning forward to rest his chin on the back of Marisol’s seat. “Come on, boss. It feels like we’ve been driving for hours. I’m starting to think Marisol’s plotting my assassination just so she doesn’t have to hear me talk anymore.”

“I am,” Marisol replied flatly, her gaze never leaving the window. “But you keep making it so tempting, it feels too easy.”

Riley grinned, undeterred. “See? That’s the problem with you, Mari. No sense of humor. You’re all doom and—”

“Enough,” Gregory snapped, his tone brooking no argument. Riley sank back into his seat with a mock pout but said nothing more, his hazel eyes darting to the window as though searching for something to occupy his attention. Gregory exhaled slowly, loosening his grip on the wheel. Normally, Riley’s antics helped ground him, kept the tension of leadership from weighing too heavily. But today, even their usual banter felt like a distraction he couldn’t afford.

The forest pressed closer as the SUV climbed a gentle incline, the gnarled branches of ancient trees forming a shadowed canopy overhead. Tendrils of mist coiled through the trees, clinging to the ground like spectral fingers. Dappled light and shadow flitted across the road like restless ghosts. Gregory’s sharp senses picked up the faint hum of the forest—a distant birdcall, the rustle of unseen movement in the underbrush, the sigh of the wind threading gently through the evergreens. Yet beneath it all was something else. A vibration. A pulse. The forest felt alive in a way that wasn’t entirely natural.

“This place feels wrong,” Marisol said suddenly, her voice low but edged with a reluctant tension. Her fingers drummed a sharp rhythm against her armrest, but the motion seemed less conscious than instinctual. Her jaw tightened as she finally turned her gaze toward Gregory. “Like the air’s too still. Too expectant.”

Gregory’s grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw clenching in agreement. “You’re not imagining it,” he said finally. “I feel it too.”

Riley leaned forward again, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze flicked between the two of them. “You guys are way too serious. It’s just a forest. Creepy, sure, but it’s not like it’s going to eat us.” He gestured toward the trees with licorice in hand. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing a gingerbread house or a witch or something. This place could use a little excitement.”

Marisol’s glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “Joke all you want, Riley, but pay attention. You of all people should know appearances don’t mean anything.”

Riley opened his mouth for a retort but caught Gregory’s icy gaze in the rearview mirror and thought better of it. Sinking back into his seat, he muttered under his breath, “Better at jokes than fighting anyway.” His tone was light, but his hazel eyes betrayed a flicker of self-consciousness as he turned his attention to the passing trees.

Gregory let the moment pass, his mind already shifting back to the forest. The unease crawling up his spine wasn’t new. He’d felt it before, years ago, when his instincts had screamed at him to act—too late, as it turned out. The memory of that failure lingered like a scar, pushing him now to trust his senses despite the frustration it brought.

A faint movement at the edge of his vision drew his gaze. His brows furrowed as he caught sight of something carved into the bark of a tree just off the road. It was a symbol—jagged and unfamiliar, almost like runes. It was gone in an instant as they rounded a curve, but his fingers brushed unconsciously against the Alpha Ring on his hand, the worn silver faintly warm against his skin.

Minutes later, they crested the hill, and the town of Willow Falls came into view. It lay nestled in a shallow valley, its cobblestone streets winding between weathered buildings with slanted roofs and flower boxes. From this distance, it looked almost picturesque, the way storybook towns do when you only glance at the surface. But beneath the quaint charm, Gregory could feel the tension tightening his chest, like invisible strings pulling him toward the heart of the town.

“It’s too perfect,” Marisol muttered, her dark gaze flicking between the rooftops and the mist clinging stubbornly to the treetops. “Like it’s hiding something.”

Gregory didn’t respond. He pulled the SUV into the lot of a small inn on the outskirts of town, its sign swinging gently in the breeze. The building was nothing remarkable—plain, weathered wood with curtains drawn over the windows—but it felt as good a place as any to establish their base. He killed the engine and turned to face his pack.

“We’re splitting up,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Riley, you’re scouting the perimeter. Stick to the outskirts and look for anything unusual. No contact unless absolutely necessary.”

Riley gave a mock salute, his grin reappearing. “Got it, boss. Spooky woods, no engaging. I’ll try not to get eaten by the trees.”

Gregory ignored him, turning to Marisol. “You’re with me. We’ll cover the town itself. Keep your eyes open—anything or anyone that doesn’t feel right, I want to know about it.”

Marisol nodded sharply. “Understood.”

As Riley bounded off toward the edge of town, whistling under his breath, Gregory and Marisol stepped out of the SUV. The chill of the air hit him immediately, sharp and laced with the faint tang of woodsmoke. The town seemed quiet, almost unnaturally so, and every instinct in Gregory’s body was on high alert.

They walked in silence for a time, their boots crunching softly against the gravel as they moved toward the main street. The small signs of life—the distant murmur of voices, the creak of a shop door opening—did little to ease the tension curling in his chest.

“Do you feel it?” Gregory asked finally, his voice low.

Marisol glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Feel what?”

“The pull,” he said, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Like something’s calling to you.”

She hesitated, her steps slowing for just a moment. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “I feel it. But I don’t trust it.”

“Neither do I,” Gregory murmured. His hand brushed against the Alpha Ring, the worn metal seeming heavier now. The pull in his chest was stronger, like an invisible tether drawing him deeper into the town. Somewhere in Willow Falls, answers waited. But whether they would grant clarity or chaos, he couldn’t yet say.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the cobblestones, Gregory’s thoughts drifted to the dreams that had haunted him for weeks—golden eyes, fire, and a voice that whispered his name. The same voice he could almost—but not quite—recognize. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain.

The moment their paths crossed, nothing would ever be the same.