Submission is Not My Style novel Chapter 23

What now? 

I can’t go back to my old pack. I can’t go back to my mother. And I sure as hell can’t go back to Jack. 

So where the hell do I go from here? 

A sudden noise shatters the silence. 

1 freeze. 

At first, I think it’s a rat scurrying through the debris, knocking something over. The hut is old and abandoned–it makes sense. I almost ignore it. 

Almost. 

Then I hear it again. 

A rustling. A whisper of movement. 

I whip around, muscles tensed, eyes scanning the room. My breath slowing as my ears strain to pick up any sound. 

And then I see it. 

A shadow. 

It moves fast, slipping out the back door like a ghost. 

Someone was here, watching me. But there’s no scent, no trace of life other than my own. 

Who the hell is that? 

My wolf growls in my head, ears perked. That person could lead us to our family. They might be our only clue. Chase them–NOW! 

My breath catches. 

A clue? To my family? 

Before I can think twice, I’m already moving. 

I burst through the back door, my bare feet pounding against the dirt as I chase after the retreating figure. They’re fast, but I push harder, following the fresh footprints pressed into the damp earth. My muscles scream in protest, but I grit my teeth and double my speed, closing the distance. 

Then, I see them. 

A figure cloaked in black, gliding through the trees like a shadow. But not fast enough. 

Without hesitation, I lunge. 

I launch myself through the air, arms outstretched–my body colliding with the figure. 

We crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs, dirt flying up around us. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but I recover first. The figure beneath me thrashes, struggling to break free, but I straddle them, pinning their arms with my legs. My hands wrapped around their throat. 

“Identify yourself before I snap your neck!” I snarl, my grip tightening. 

The figure stills. Slowly, trembling fingers reach up, pulling away the hood and mask. 

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