Silver Tip Pack, #2
by Megan Erickson
Almost dying during a pack uprising has a way of shaking things up. I’m no longer Mr. Laid Back now that there’s an itch under my skin I can’t scratch.
On a volunteer mission that goes beyond the walls of our compound, we enter the territory of a pack long thought dead, and find ourselves on the business end of their spears.
What I’m not prepared for is what I find within their walls—The one shifter I never thought I’d see alive, the one I’d mourned twice, the one I’d always loved. He is alive, and if I have anything to do with it, he’ll stay that way. But he’s got secrets, and exposing them could lead us to an enemy worse than the bloodthirsty undead shifters wanting to kill us all…
Megan Erickson ©
I’d never really been good at following the rules. That was Dare’s job. If something was supposed to be off-limits, then I wanted it that much more. Of course, that got me into all kinds of sh!t that Dare bailed me out of, but you only live once, right?
I had one window in my room, which was boarded and locked. I picked the lock with a sharp claw and eased open the boards in time to see Pace walking across the grounds four stories below, a bundle in his arms. A quick sniff told me it was food. I watched him, eager to see where he was going, but he disappeared around the corner of the building. “F*ck,” I muttered, glancing around my room, then out the window again.
A small stone ledge, maybe a foot wide, was visible below, and it seemed to go around the building. I hated heights—f*cking hated them—but face your fears and all of that. With a deep breath, I sat on the window frame, my legs dangling outside. The ledge was far enough that I’d have to drop to reach it. This could go well or very, very badly—I’d either land on it or plummet to the hard dirt.
I inhaled and exhaled slowly, kicking my legs a bit, feeling the breeze on my face. I could do this. I wanted to know what Pace was hiding. With a lick across my dry lips, I counted off. “One, two, three.” I turned my body so I was facing the wall, and, with my hands on the ledge, slid down slowly until the edges of my boots touched the ledge. Next step—letting go of the windowsill. I released one hand, placing the ball of one foot on the ledge. I braced myself and dropped my other hand.
The world tilted as I nearly lost my balance and scrabbled at the stone, looking for a handhold that wasn’t there. With a yelp, I plastered myself to the wall, taking deep breaths until I was sure I wasn’t going to fall. Dare would have been able to leap down no problem, the alpha bastard. But I wasn’t quite that strong or agile.
I took a minute to get my breath, because I’d wasted enough time already, then I began to shuffle along the ledge. The sun had dropped, and I was grateful my room was on the building’s darkened east side. The last thing I needed was some nosy werewolf raising the alarm that I’d escaped.
When I eased around the corner, I spotted Pace right away. He was exiting a small hut that lay secluded along the back wall near the farms. Every other home-like structure in the compound had open windows, but this one was all boarded up. Something was in there. Something alive that he was feeding. What if they were hiding a Nowere? Some packs kept Noweres to study. And if one was in there, I wasn’t staying here another minute. F*ck this pack, I wasn’t about to be Nowere bait.
I had to see what was in that hut. I didn’t care if I got caught, either. What were these werewolves going to do to me? Kick me out? Fine, then.
Pace didn’t notice me, passing below at a fast clip. Once he was out of sight, I gauged the best way to get down. My gaze landed on a drain spout, brackets holding it to the building’s side. I eased over to it, and then, quick as I could, I shimmied down the spout, cringing when my weight threatened to rip it from the building. When I was about fifteen feet from the ground, I jumped down the rest of the way, landing as softly as I could.
In a crouch, I ran to the front door of the hut. It was locked, something barring entry from inside, so I found a window along the side with a loose board. Prying off the nails, I managed to create a space large enough for me to peek through. I wasn’t barging in there to get bitten by some pet Nowere.
Nothing was moving inside—all I saw was a dirt floor—and I pulled the wood back more to get a better view. Toward the back of the space, an oil lamp illuminated the foot of a bed with two feet hanging over the edge.
They weren’t moving.
About the Author
Megan Erickson is a USA Today bestselling author of romance that sizzles. Her books have a touch of nerd, a dash of humor, and always have a happily ever after. A former journalist, she switched to fiction when she decided she likes writing her own endings better.
She lives in Pennsylvania with her very own nerdy husband and two kids. Although rather fun-sized, she's been told she has a full-sized personality. When Megan isn't writing, she's either lounging with her two cats named after John Hughes characters or... thinking about writing.
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