Chapter 8: The Line

The territory line ran along the river under the old cedars.

There was a row of waist-high stones, each one carved with a wolf's paw, and two border wolves stood guard.

They were big men in green jackets, and they had known me since I was in braids.

Neither of them looked at me.

Emmett caught up with me on the gravel with my duffel bag in one fist.

"You forgot your socks," he said, and his voice was rough.

I took the bag.

"Thank you."

"Willa, if you cross that line without his release, you're rogue."

"I know."

"You can't come back."

"I know that too."

"You can't hear the pack. You can't run the ridge. If you're caught on our land, they're allowed to treat you as a stranger."

"I know what the law is, Emmett."

My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I held the duffel in front of me.

"I've been a stranger in that pack since I was six," I said.

"At least this way, I'm choosing it."

His eyes were wet.

He didn't argue anymore.

He put his arms around me, bag and all, and held on.

"I'll find you," he said into my hair.

"Don't you dare."

"Too late. I already decided."

I laughed, and the laugh broke in the middle.

I stepped back and faced the stones.

The two border wolves finally looked at me.

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