Page 11 of Gunnar

“No one gets close without us knowing,” he adds.

I raise an eyebrow. “Because you’ll track them with your heightened beast senses, right?”

“Exactly.”

I blink. He’s not kidding; he really means it.

“The lodge, the clearing, the stretch to the creek,” he continues. “That’s where you can move freely.”

“And beyond that?”

“You don’t go alone.”

“And if I do?”

He holds my gaze for a moment before answering. “You don’t know this terrain. There’s no signal. No marked trails. The ravine drops fast. Snow still holds in shadow. You twist an ankle out there, you won’t be calling anyone.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You said I don’t have a choice,” I press. “What happens if I walk down that road right now?”

His jaw tightens.

“You’re a target,” he says.

That hits harder than anything else he’s said.

One of the other man-beasts moves closer to the porch steps, arms folding loosely across his chest. The third has stopped pacing entirely.

They’re listening.

“You don’t own me,” I say quietly.

“No,” he agrees. “But if something comes through those trees, I’m the one who deals with it. That means I decide how this works.”

“And how does it work?” I ask.

“You use the lodge. All of it. Clearing and creek during daylight. After dark, you stay inside. If you hear a vehicle on the lower road, you come in immediately. If one of us tells you to move, you move.”

“That sounds like a prison.”

“That sounds like staying alive.”

Silence stretches between us.

The wind cuts across the clearing.

The cops are gone. So are the vehicles.

The only direction left is the lodge.

“I need a minute,” I say.

He studies me for a long moment, as if deciding something. “Stay in the clearing.” He turns away from me, attention already sliding back to the forest.

Like the matter’s settled.