Chapter 2

Dr. Elizabeth “Isabella” Beaumont had been waiting for this moment, and she’d be damned if she missed this chance. Isabella leaned against the wall of her cell, feigning sleep, the tattered blanket they’d given her draped over her legs.

Tonight, she would set herself free.

The sounds of shouting above the dungeons rang overhead. Whatever had caused the emergency throughout the Missoula Grey Wolf subpack had drawn the attention of every guard.

Her breath swirled as she released a slow sigh. The air in the dungeons bordered on freezing. She’d never been more thankful that she was a werewolf than at this moment. Had she been one of the many humans she’d treated over the years, without the benefit of her wolf heating her from the inside out, she would have died from hypothermia days ago.

The hurried voices of the last two guards trailed off as they pounded out of the dungeons.

Now was her chance.

Isabella pulled the bobby pin from the nape of her neck, digging it free from the mess of snarled curls and frizz. She crept over to the entrance of her cell and wiggled the hairpin into the housing of the lock, pressing up until she felt the slight pop of the springs releasing. With shaking hands, she eased the cell door open. The hinges released a whining creak.

Another round of shouts overhead spurred her forward. She needed to get the hell out of Dodge and fast. Slipping through the darkness, she found her way to the stairs leading out of the dungeons and climbed.

When Isabella emerged into the night, the fresh scent of the surrounding pine forest filled her nose. She hadn’t realized how dank the dungeons had been until she was here now, in the fresh mountain air. She scanned her surroundings. To the left, the open pastures and ranchland of the Missoula subpack. To the right, lit by firelight, was an army encampment temporarily housing the Grey Wolf soldiers. With the start of the war only weeks earlier, the Grey Wolf soldiers from Wolf Pack Run, the main ranch and compound, were here in Missoula to train the cowboys of the Missoula Grey Wolf subpack into soldiers. Considering her ties to the Wild Eight, they’d see Isabella as an enemy—even without knowing the dark truth of her circumstances.

Shouts and yelling sounded from that direction.

It was now or never.

Isabella bolted toward the safety of the forest.

Toward freedom.

As she ran, her foot landed in a bramble bush, the icy thorns slicing at her leg. She bit her lip to keep from crying out but didn’t stop to assess the wounds. She needed to keep moving.

Isabella wasn’t sure how long she ran, but she didn’t stop until her legs refused to carry her any longer and she collapsed on all fours into the snow. The cold tingled into her limbs, but she ignored it, staring up at the gorgeous crescent moon shining through the treetops overhead. She fought the urge to let out a victorious howl as she prepared to shift into her wolf for the first time in days. The feeling would be exquisite. She felt the rapid thrum of her pulse as she struggled to calm herself enough to find her focus.

And then she heard it.

A rustling nearby in the trees.

She rose onto her knees. The blanket of snow covering the ground had soaked through her worn jeans, chilling her to the bone. From the close proximity of the noise, her options were limited.

Find or be found.

Lowering herself onto all fours, she calmed her breathing and steadied herself, finding the place deep inside her where her wolf struggled to break free. In the pale moonlight, her beast came forth with ease. A quick twinge of pain followed by a sweet release, and her fur instantly warmed her. Her clothes fell to the ground beneath her. Shaking the snow from her furred coat, she dragged her clothing beneath a nearby bush to cover her tracks and slipped into the cover of the underbrush.

Slowly, she prowled toward the source of the noise. Keeping downwind, she zeroed in on the rustling coming from the edge of a nearby clearing. As she peered through the undergrowth, her heart stopped.

The first thing she saw was a horse. From the thin shape of its face, she recognized it as a purebred Arabian. They may not have bred yearlings on her mother’s ranch growing up, but they’d owned enough horses for her to know what she was seeing. But it wasn’t the horse that caused her pulse to race into overdrive.

It was the sight of the cowboy beside the steed.

In this neck of the woods, if his Stetson wasn’t enough to give him away as one of the Grey Wolf cowboys, the earthy scent that drifted on the winter breeze was. She recognized him instantly as one of her kind. He smelled of pine, dark spices, and clove, a warm and welcome scent that was far too pleasant for her liking. But if he was a guard, he hadn’t served on her cellblock. She would have remembered, because whoever he was, he smelled divine.

The Arabian sniffed through the undergrowth again, causing the rustling noise she’d heard.

Inhaling a steady breath, Isabella inched backward. She needed to get the hell outta here before he discovered her, but the sound of his deep voice froze her in place.

“Find anything?” he asked.

A small band of wolves stepped into the clearing, all in human form. One of them stepped forward. “No, Commander,” he answered.

Commander. The haunches of Isabella’s fur bristled. These weren’t just any

wolves. They weren’t even guards. These cowboys were Grey Wolf warriors.

If they found her, she’d have no choice but to run for her life. She’d never been much of a fighter, and she-wolf or not, her skills would be no match for a well-trained alpha male. Did they know she’d escaped?