A grey wolf tore through the tree line at Alpha speed.
Agnes heard him before she saw him, the specific cadence of paws hitting frozen ground at a velocity that turned the forest floor into a percussion instrument. The sound was wrong for a patrol wolf. Too fast. Too heavy. The particular acoustic signature of an Alpha at full sprint, covering ground at a speed that regular wolves could maintain for seconds and Alpha wolves could maintain for as long as fury required.
Garrett.
She had seen him shift before. Twice. Both times at a distance, both times during training exercises where his wolf was operational rather than personal, and the impression she had carried was large, grey, efficient.
Up close was different.
