The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 148

** Paige’s POV **

“Morning, campers,” Ronnie’s voice calls as we hear his footsteps on the porch. He steps in and drops a small leather satchel on the counter, giving Jaxon’s hair a quick ruffle. “Morning, champ. Smells like you survived the great toaster m******e in here.”

Callen salutes the black toast in the bin. “The fallen shall be remembered.”

Ronnie’s smile is brief and warm, then he turns to face us properly, his expression turning serious. He meets my eyes for a second longer than necessary. “You said you wanted someone to talk through Paige’s … gift. I want to hear exactly what happened today.”

My pulse quickens, not with fear, just with the rush of potentially getting answers. Ronnie’s presence is the anchor I didn’t realise I needed this morning. “Thanks for coming,” I say. “I’m still trying to figure that out,

but I started glowing, similar to how I did when I healed Rye.”

“Okay,” he says, voice low. “Tell me about the moment you glowed. Every detail. Who was there, what you

smelled, what you heard. The small stuff matters.”

So I tell him. I tell him about the sudden warmth that rolled through me while I watched Callen and Remy sparring, how I felt each blow they received like I was getting a shadow of their pain, and how whatever

power I have inside of me was building up, impatient and urging me to do something, but I don’t know

what.

Ronnie doesn’t interrupt. He only tilts his head and takes it in, like a man trying to piece together the

pieces of a puzzle. When I finish, he nods and is quiet for a long moment, the kind of silence that makes

you feel both small and very seen.

Finally, he says, “That fits somewhat with some of the old stories. Nothing obvious or straightforward that

I can say for definite, but there are patterns. The things you described are like the way some learners react

when their inner wolves are young and raw. Not the same thing; not a wolf, but similar in the way it moves between watching and protecting.”

“Can you teach me to control it?” I ask before I realise I’ve said anything. The words come out hopeful and

scared all in one.

Ronnie’s mouth quirks into a half–smirk. “I can try, but not in here. Not with five sets of eyes on us, no offence, but they’re a distraction for us both. Come outside. Take off your shoes and walk with me in the garden. The earth helps. We’ll do things I use with the teens. It’s meditation, breath work, small focus exercises. It’s not magic; it’s training. You’ll be doing the control work; I’ll just give you the technique.”

There’s a quiet ripple of encouragement from my mates. Ryder squeezes my hand, Callen and Remy both give me gentle nods, and Parker flashes a half grin. It’s exactly the wordless backing I need, and I feel the courage grow in my chest. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

The garden is damp; the sun is not warm enough to dry up the dew yet. The grass smells clean and green after it was freshly cut yesterday. Ronnie leads me to the centre of the garden and stands in front of me.

There aren’t any fancy exercises. Ronnie just gestures for me to stand with my feet shoulder–width apart on the damp grass. “Let’s start with breathing,” he says, voice calm and low from the years of practice talking young wolves through first shifts. “In for four seconds, hold for three, out for four”

He counts softly. I follow, drawing air through my nose, slow and steady. Inhaling the scent of grass and soil, and faint wood smoke from one of the distant cabins. Each exhale eases a little of the tension in me.

“Good,” he hums. “Now, find a point in front of you, something simple. Not alive, not moving. Just there.”

I pick a fallen log on the edge of the grass.

“Focus on the space between you and that,” he continues. “Not the thing itself. The air. The weight of what

connects you.”

At first, I don’t feel anything but the breeze brushing my skin. I frown, not quite understanding what he

means. But as he counts through another round of breaths, the world begins to sharpen the way it does

when I run with my new speed. The sounds of the pack fade until there’s only the steady rhythm of my heart and the quiet hum inside my chest. It’s there, familiar and constant, my unwanted passenger. Except now, it feels less like something trapped under my skin and more like it’s listening.

“Let it rise,” Ronnie says. “Don’t fight it. You’re not trying to silence the power; you’re trying to hear what it’s

saying. When it swells, don’t push it down; visualise it. It’s not a wolf, but if it helps, imagine it as that or something you feel fits. Describe it, name it, embrace it.”

I try closing my eyes and searching for a shape that feels right. The first thing that comes to mind,

ridiculous as it is, is a unicorn. A freaking unicorn. Unreal, untouchable, but powerful and untamed, all

glittering light and danger in disguise. It fits in a strange way… something rare and misunderstood, more a

myth than a monster.

The hum grows, heat building behind my ribs. It feels alive and curious, like it’s leaning forward. “Watching, “I whisper, naming it. The vibration steadies. “Protecting.” It softens, just a little. “Waiting.” My voice

trembles, but the energy doesn’t; it shifts, settling lower and warmer.

“Good,” Ronnie says quietly. “You see what happens? Naming gives it a shape. It stops being a storm and starts being weather you can predict.”

He waits until my breathing evens out before adding the next step. “Now, reach toward your focus point, just a hand, nothing else, Like you’re tracing the path between you and it. Don’t force anything. You’re asking permission, not giving an order.”

I frown again, still unsure but more trusting this time. I lift my hand, palm forward. The air feels thicker somehow, charged but gentle, as if I’ve walked into a patch of sunlight on a cold day. My fingers tingle. A faint warmth runs down my arm and pools in my chest. When he tells me to pull my hand back slowly, I feel the shift, like the hum follows, stretching and then easing back into me, calm and curious.

“That’s it,” Ronnie says, smiling faintly. “You’re not training a wolf, Paige. You’re teaching a new part of you how to settle. Focus, breathe, invitation, acceptance… that’s all control ever is. It’s the same principle, just

a different beast.”

I keep breathing until my shoulders drop and my knees loosen. The energy inside me isn’t straining now. For the first time, I’m not afraid of it. I feel like I know where it lives now, how it moves.

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