The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 147

**Paige’s POV **

Parker exhales slowly, some of the worry leaving his face. “I’ll talk to Jake. Maybe he can run some scans, check your energy levels. Make sure this isn’t doing you any harm.”

I nod, though the thought of being poked and prodded by a healer makes me uneasy. “How are we going to keep this hidden from the rest of the pack if I keep lighting up like a Christmas tree when one of you stubs your toe? We can’t risk it getting back to the hunters, and I don’t want them looking at me like some

kind of ticking time bomb.”

Ryder meets my gaze. “No one’s going to treat you like that. You’re their Luna, and they will be as amazed by you as we are.”

“And we will try extra hard not to stub our toes in public,” Callen grins.

“I’ll have Ronnie come over after his patrol too; he might have some more answers for us,” Ryder adds.

Remy stands and moves towards the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s get you some food before Parker starts drawing charts and theories.”

Parker rolls his eyes. “I don’t need charts. Yet.”

Callen chuckles, following them into the kitchen, but Ryder stays a moment longer beside me. His hand

covers mine, his fingers warm.

“You scared me,” he admits quietly.

“I’m fine,” I say softly. “Just… glowed inconveniently.”

He huffs a small laugh, then leans closer until our foreheads touch. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Paige. I

have already lived without you for long enough. I’m not doing it again.”

My chest tightens. “You won’t have to.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Good. Because whatever this is, whatever you’re becoming, it

doesn’t change how I see you. It just makes me prouder.”

Emotion clogs my throat, too thick to respond. So I just squeeze his hand back and let the silence between us speak.

From the kitchen, Remy calls out something about burnt toast and Callen’s “scientific incompetence,” and the sound draws a real laugh from both of us.

The smell of burnt toast hits a second later, and Ryder groans, pushing up from the couch, muttering something about “feral wolves and basic appliances.” I follow, still smiling as he heads for the kitchen, where chaos has already broken loose.

Parker’s waving a tea towel at the toaster. Callen is trying, and failing, not to laugh as Remy opens a

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Chapter 147

window, swearing under his breath about “idiots who can’t be trusted to toast bread.”

“Maybe we should let Jaxon cook next time,” I tease, leaning against the doorway.

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Callen glances over his shoulder, his eyes full of mischief. “He’d probably do a better job, to be fair.”

The laughter that follows is easy and familiar. It melts some of the tension from earlier, taking our minds off what just happened outside, and I can’t be sure he didn’t do it on purpose for this reason. Either way, it seems to be exactly what we needed. For a few minutes, everything feels right, just my mates and me, bickering over breakfast like any family would.

Ryder grabs a loaf of bread from the counter and tosses it to Callen. “Try not to set this one on fire, genius.

Cal catches it easily, rolling his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Remy says, smirking.

I watch them, a warmth spreading through my chest. This… these moments of laughter and chaos, are the

heartbeat of our strange little world. For so long, my life had been quiet, boring, built around keeping Jaxon

safe and pleasing Greg. Now it’s loud and unpredictable and full, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

When Parker finally manages to produce edible toast, he slides a plate toward me with exaggerated care.

For the Luna,” he grins.

I roll my eyes, but my smile betrays me. “You make it sound like a royal offering.”

“It is,” he says. “Especially considering the burnt casualties we’ve suffered this morning.”

Callen chuckles. “Rest in peace, first batch of toast. You died a hero.”

Ryder snorts. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” I say softly, taking a bite. “But it’s the good kind of ridiculous.”

That earns me a grin from all four of them, and for a moment, everything feels right again. But under it, I

can still sense that faint hum of the light beneath my skin, thrumming quietly like a second heartbeat.

I look down at my hands. They don’t glow anymore, but I still feel it just the same. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t even feel bad. It just feels… alive, waiting. When I look up again, Ryder has that distant look that tells me

he’s talking to someone via the mind–link. The other three are watching him expectantly, waiting for him to tell us whatever it is that’s being communicated to him.

“This morning’s tests on the creek are clear, but we can’t just assume it’s over. The hunters are changing tactics, getting smarter,” he says, leaning against the counter. “We need to start getting ahead of this.”

“They used to come at us head–on,” Remy says, crossing his arms. “Now they’re poisoning water, taking warning shots and leaving symbols on trees like it’s some kind of game.”

“Game or warning,” Callen mutters. “Either way, they’re trying to make us afraid to step outside our own

borders.”

“0

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< Chapter 147

“They won’t win,” I say quietly.

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Four sets of eyes shift toward me. Ryder’s expression softens, but there’s pride in it too. “No, they won’t.”

Remy nods. “We’ve been reacting too much lately, always a step behind. I think it’s time we started taking control of the narrative. We need to start thinking offensively; we should be the ones setting the rules.”

Callen’s eyes light up like a kid given permission to play with explosives. “Oh, offence. I like the sound of

that.”

Parker snorts a laugh. “You do realise you make that sound terrifying, right? In a good way.”

Callen folds his arms. “Okay, offensive, how? We’re not an army. We’re a pack.” He looks at each of us,

then lands on me. “Paige, what can you feel? Anything new since the glow?”

The power under my skin hums faintly. “It’s… steady,” I say. “Like it’s watching, waiting for something. It’s hard to describe.” I sip my tea, thinking. “It feels ready, but I’m not sure what for.”

Ryder’s hand covers mine on the counter. “Good. Then let’s start listing things out loud. No idea is too

stupid; let’s lay it all out on the table. Maybe you’ll feel something when we are on the right track.”

“Okay,” I nod, “but let’s not rely on it too much. We have no idea if it even works that way.”

“Of course,” he reassures.

Parker leans forward. “False trails. The hunters will have trackers, so let’s leave them some trails that go

nowhere. Make them chase ghosts while we reroute them into a dead zone.”

Remy nods. “And traps, humane ones. We’ll use gentle snares: loops set low to snag a boot or ankle and

tangle a runner, not crush a limb. Quick to check, easy to free if it’s a deer or some stray dog, and they buy us the seconds we need to move in.” He shrugs. “None of us wants to hurt wildlife or catch some poor

walker who wandered off the footpath. If it ever snags an animal or an innocent, we cut it free first and

rethink the placement. We’re defending the pack, not turning the woods into a slaughterground.”

Callen snaps his fingers. “And tech. More cameras and motion sensors, maybe some heat mirrors. We turn

their own toys against them. If their snipers are popping up in the trees, we bait the sight–lines, make them reveal their positions. We can use portable mirrors or reflective panels to catch a scope glare.”

Ryder exhales. “Speaking of snipers, if it turns into a full fight, we need to stop them from taking us out in the field before we can even reach the fight. I know it’s not our style, or something we ever wanted, but I think we need marksmen of our own. Accurate ones with real training.”

There’s a pause. I can feel the worry threaded through the bond. Guns are monstrous, but there’s a grim logic to them. The hunters aren’t just running around with knives and dart guns anymore; they’re organised. If they have long–range cover, we need the ability to cut that advantage down. We might not like it, but it feels necessary at this point.

Parker nods. “We’ve avoided arming ourselves like them for a reason, but we also can’t be naïve. If they’re using rifles to pick off our patrols and hide behind ranges we can’t reach, we need to level the field. We

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need to talk to allies who can source the rifles and, more importantly, teach safe handling and set rules of

engagement.”

Remy, relentless and practical, jumps straight on it. “Marcus has contacts who used to run security with weapons. He might have someone who can get them through legal channels and help with training.”

Jaxon’s small voice drifts from the living room, I almost jump. “Mum?”

The conversation instantly stops, and Ryder’s already moving, but I reach him first. Jaxon’s sitting up, hair sticking up, cheeks still slightly pink, but he sounds so much better now.

“Hey, baby,” I whisper, crouching beside the couch. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” He blinks at me sleepily. “My throat isn’t scratchy anymore.”

“That’s good.” I brush the hair from his forehead and check his temperature with the back of my hand. It’s

cool, normal.

Ryder crouches beside me, resting a big hand on Jaxon’s back. “How about we get you some juice and

toast?”

Jaxon perks up at the mention of toast, his eyes brightening. “With jam?”

Ryder chuckles, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, with jam. You’ve earned it, little man.”

We walk Jaxon to the kitchen and help him sit at the island. Remy slides a glass of apple juice across the

counter to Jaxon whilst Parker pops bread into the toaster while Callen pulls the jam from the fridge.