Page 25 of Talk Howly to Me

How do you punch a wolf? Go for the eyes, the nose. It's just a bigger, toothier opponent, right?

But she never got the chance. Ronan's black wolf didn't growl or posture. He launched himself forward with explosive speed like a silent shadow of destruction. Bob's wolf surged beside him, and the three rogue wolves met them in a collision of snarls, snapping jaws, and brutal force that was both horrifying and mesmerizing.

This wasn't a nature documentary. This was a close-quarters, vicious combat. The sound of teeth clashing, the deep-throated snarls, the thud of heavy bodies impacting—it was a violence more intimate and frightening than any cage fight. Ronan's wolf moved with a terrifying economy, every motion calculated and precise. He dodged a lunge, and then his own jaws closed around a foreleg with a sickening crunch. Bob wrestled another, rolling in the gravel right in front of her.

They were protecting her. Every strategic move, every defensive pivot, placed their bodies between her and the threat. A warmth flooded Sloane's chest, fierce and shocking amidst the horror. It was the warmth of being shielded, of being fought for so utterly and completely. She stood frozen, paralyzed not by fear, but by the staggering, impossible reality of it.

It ended as swiftly as it began. With a final, decisive motion, Ronan's black wolf subdued the last rogue, the fight leaving its massive body. Then silence descended, broken only by the heavy panting of the two victors.

The black wolf turned its massive head toward her, and those familiar blue eyes held hers across the bloody gravel, unmistakably Ronan's.

The dam holding back her shock, her confusion, the tectonic shift of her entire understanding of the world, finally burst. The adrenaline that had kept her upright drained away, leaving a hollow, spinning void. The scent of pine and blood filled her nose as the image of Ronan being a magnificent, deadly beast superimposed itself over the man who had paid for her clothes just minutes before.

Her vision suddenly tunneled, the edges going dark, and the solid ground seemed to liquefy under her boots. The last thing she saw was the concern dawning in those brilliant blue wolf eyes before the world slipped sideways and vanished into nothing.

TEN

RONAN

The drive back to Hale Lodge stretched like a taut wire between them, heavy with unspoken revelations. Ronan kept his eyes fixed on the winding mountain road, but his peripheral vision caught every stolen glance Sloane cast in his direction. She would look at him for several seconds, her hazel eyes studying his profile with a piercing intensity that made his wolf restless, then quickly turn back to stare out the passenger window at the blur of towering pines.

He could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind, could sense her trying to reconcile the man sitting beside her—the one who'd paid for her clothes and opened doors with old-fashioned courtesy—with the massive black wolf that had torn apart three rogues with lethal precision. Her silence wasn't the comfortable quiet they'd shared on the drive to town. This was the silence of someone whose entire understanding of reality had been shattered and rebuilt in the span of minutes.

The scent of her lingered in the truck's confined space, but underneath her natural warmth was something else that made Ronan's jaw clench. Kozue's scent, faint but unmistakable, woven through hers like an intimate signature. His wolf stirred with an emotion that wasn't quite jealousy—more like the sting of exclusion, of being left out of something that should have involved him.

They'd shared everything for twenty-seven years. Every decision, every challenge, every triumph. The pattern was so ingrained that Ronan had never questioned it until now. But last night, while he'd been wrestling with the implications of their triad mate bond, Kozue had been claiming what fate had intended for both of them.

The thought twisted in Ronan's chest, not with possessiveness but with something deeper—a disruption of the fundamental trust that had anchored his entire life. It wasn't that Kozue had slept with Sloane. It was that he'd made that choice without so much as a conversation about how that might affect the triad bond, disrupting the pattern of shared decision-making that had defined their relationship.

Ronan's hands tightened on the steering wheel as another worry clawed at him. What if witnessing his transformation had been the final straw? What if Sloane decided that staying at a lodge run by what she probably saw as violent, dangerous predators was too much risk? He still didn't know what she was running from, but if those rogue wolves were any indication, her past troubles were probably far worse than even she had realized.

The familiar timber and stone silhouette of Hale Lodge finally appeared through the trees, its welcoming windows glowing in the morning light. But instead of the usual sense of homecoming, Ronan felt his tension ratchet higher. Everything was about to change, and he had no idea how to control the outcome.

The moment he shifted the truck into park, Sloane was out of the passenger seat like she'd been launched from a catapult, and yanked open the rear door, grabbing her shopping bags with both hands and rushing toward the lodge's front entrance without a backward glance. Ronan sat in the driver's seat for a beat longer, watching her retreat and feeling the weight of every unspoken truth pressing down on his shoulders. When he finally climbed out of the truck, he found Kozue standing near the lodge's massive front doors like a man awaiting judgment.

His Beta's usual easy confidence was nowhere to be found. Instead, Kozue's broad shoulders were tense, and his warm green eyes were shadowed with something that looked like guilt mixed with defiance. The two backpacks at his feet suggested he'd been anticipating this confrontation and had probably been pacing the front entrance since Ronan and Sloane left for town.

The sight of him standing there, clearly prepared to hash this out, sent a surge of conflicting emotions through Ronan's chest. Relief that Kozue wasn't going to avoid the conversation. Frustration that they were in this position at all. And underneath it all, the bone-deep ache of having his most fundamental relationship shifted without warning.

"We can have this discussion on the nature hike," Ronan said, his voice carefully controlled as he approached.

He nodded toward the group of guests and Emerson gathered near the trailhead, all of them equipped with water bottles and cameras, clearly waiting for their Tuesday trek to the waterfall.

Kozue's relief was visible, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Perfect."

Kozue bent down and retrieved both backpacks, handing Ronan his with the same ease they'd shared for years. But when their fingers brushed during the exchange, Ronan caught the slight hesitation and the flicker of uncertainty that Kozue tried to hide. They shouldered their packs and walked toward the waiting group, their strides automatically falling into the synchronized rhythm they'd perfected over decades of shared friendship.

Emerson spotted them first, her bright smile cutting through the shadows as she waved them over. "There they are!" she called out, her auburn hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the pines. "We were starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"Just a longer shopping trip than expected," Ronan replied, forcing his usual calm authority into his voice.

He scanned the group of guests—familiar faces, regular visitors who'd been coming to Hale Lodge for years. The Harrisons with their twin teenage daughters. The elderly Sanders couple who returned every summer. The young newlyweds from Portland who'd booked their honeymoon here. All of them wolf shifters. All of them part of the extended pack community that made Hale Lodge more than just a wilderness retreat.

"Everyone ready for the waterfall trail?" Kozue asked, his natural warmth surfacing despite the tension radiating between him and Ronan.

The guests responded with enthusiastic nods and chatter, completely oblivious to the undercurrent of unresolved conflict between the men. As they began moving toward the well-worn trailhead that disappeared into the dense forest, Ronan fell into step beside Kozue at the front of the group. The familiar sounds of the wilderness surrounded them—the rustle of pine needles in the breeze, the distant call of a hawk, and the crunch of boots on the packed earth trail. But for the first time in their long partnership, the comfortable silence between them felt anything but comfortable.

The dozen guests spread out behind them like a colorful ribbon threading through the towering pines, their voices carrying forward in cheerful bursts of conversation and laughter. Emerson's auburn hair caught the sunlight as she moved among the group's rear, her natural warmth keeping everyone engaged and comfortable. The familiar sounds of boots crunching on pine needles and the distant rush of water from their destination created a peaceful backdrop that felt at odds with the tension coiled between Ronan and Kozue.