Between the frequent breaks and the necessity to move slow so Amora can maintain constant contact with Frost, it takes us longer than I’d like to make real progress toward Felicity’s pack. Luckily, though, nothing comes after us—none of Quinton’s minions and no more shadows. I don’t know whether to be thankful he can’t seem to find us… or to be worried that the seeming calm indicates that something larger is coming.
As we make our way across Wyoming, the landscape changes a bit. We travel through the foothills and then deeper into the mountains, passing through areas that are more sparse and rocky, as well as spots where trees grow thick around us.
Finally, we breach the perimeter of Silver Crest pack lands.
Our old pack is called the Blood Moon pack, although I’ve always just thought of it as “Quinton’s pack.” But when his mate decided to split off since she couldn’t support what Quinton was doing, she gave a new name to her small band of wolves—Silver Crest.
The energy in the air changes as we step past the perimeter, and the pack’s territorial scent markings overwhelm my senses. It’s a slightly uncomfortable feeling, meant to send outsider shifters running in the opposite direction if they accidentally step foot into Felicity’s territory. But we press forward, moving slowly, and I keep my eyes peeled on the flat, rocky landscape.
Her wolves likely already know we’re here.
We barely make it half a mile into Silver Crest territory before several large wolves appear on the horizon. Five of them, then eight, then ten, sprinting so quickly across the rough ground that they drum up waves of dirt and debris. Even from a distance, I can hear their defensive growls.
My hackles rise, and I brace for the confrontation.