In his wolfan form, Tristan Durrance padded across the isolated forest cove. It had taken a long time, but the pack was finally healing. The violent loss of Mason Walker, the eldest Alpha son, had struck all the Wahyas in Walker’s Run hard, but particularly Tristan. Mason had saved his life, become his mentor and his closest friend. His senseless death was a deep wound that hadn’t quite closed.

Tristan wished he had been with Mason and his younger brother, Brice, on that fateful day. His presence wouldn’t have prevented the rogues’ attack, but he could’ve evened the odds. Maybe Mason wouldn’t have died and Brice wouldn’t have nearly lost his leg, if Tristan had only listened to his instincts.

Something had felt off that morning. The sensation had wormed its way beneath his skin and inched into his muscles, making him restless and irritable.

Much like today.

He blamed the feeling on working too hard, too little sleep and the anniversary of his best friend’s brutal murder.

Tristan never found peace when he came to the cove, but usually the dark, dank, somber woods nursed his misery. Today, however, all signs of the violent past were obliterated by fresh green moss, tiny blades of grass and delicate flowers with colorful petals stretching toward the barrage of morning sunbeams breaking through the tall, skinny pines. Even the gentle breeze carried the fresh, fragrant scent of summer.

He scratched at the ground, his paw slicing through the gossamery green disguising the greedy soil that had soaked up Mason’s blood. Life had sprung from death, yet Tristan found no solace that it had. Everything and everyone had moved on.

Why couldn’t he?

Stuck in a rut, he didn’t quite know how to get out of it or if he wanted to. Most wolfans his age were mated and had a wolfing or two in tow. He wished them the best, all the while resigning himself to a life of bachelorhood. Coming from a long line of wolfans mated unhappily-ever-after, he preferred to be alone than to spend his life stuck in a doomed relationship he could never be free of.

Life is what you make of it, so make the choice to be a better man.

Mason’s voice whispered through Tristan’s mind. A memory rather than comfort from beyond the grave. In life, Mason had spoken those words to Tristan on more than one occasion and he found the sentiment both inspiring and irritating, depending on mood and circumstance.

Right now, Mason’s words of wisdom deepened Tristan’s restlessness. After all, he had made the choice to be a better man. He gave one hundred and ten percent to pack, family and community.

His efforts were never enough. Never good enough. People always wanted more.

Tristan stretched out over the freshly unearthed dirt and rested his chin on his paws.

“Brice has a daughter now. Brenna—she’s a real cutie.” Just as if Mason were next to him, Tristan used the telepathic communication Wahyas employed when in their wolf form. “She has the Walker coloring, with a touch of red that she got from her mama. And her eyes... I swear, sometimes I see you looking at me through her eyes.”

Silence answered, as always.

Still, Tristan shared everything that had happened with the pack since his last visit, a year ago. When there was nothing left to tell, he pushed up on all four paws.

“Gotta go,” his thoughts whispered, because there was no sense in expressing how much he missed his friend. If Mason’s spirit could hear or sense Tristan, he would already know.

Head down and with a slow pace, Tristan left the cove. With the day off from the sheriff’s department, the longer he stayed away from his cell phone, the better. Everyone in the pack and at least half of the human residents in Maico had his number on speed dial. No one ever called to say hello or ask how he was doing. Not even his family. If his phone rang, someone, somewhere, had a problem they wanted him to fix.

The nearly two-mile trek back to his truck was uneventful, except for the occasional curious deer who watched him pass. The forest animals within the Walker’s Run territory had grown to trust Wahyas, who never hunted to kill.

Cautiously, he approached the clearing where a dirt road dead-ended. A forest green truck was parked so that the front end pointed away from the woods. Tristan gave a quick look around. Merely a habit. No one—more particularly, no humans—ever came out here.

He trotted to the truck and sat on his haunches. A tingling sensation sparked at the base of his neck, spiraled down his spine and spread along his nerves as he shifted. An instant later, he stood as a man and yanked open the driver’s-side door. The ringtone he’d set for the Alpha’s calls greeted him. Leaning across the crumpled clothes on the seat, he reached into the glove box and grabbed his phone.

“Where have you been?” Gavin Walker’s irritable growl added to Tristan’s foul mood.

He shoved aside his true feelings and responded respectfully. “Same place I always am on this particular day. Things are beginning to grow again.” Tristan kept the strain out his voice. “By next summer it might be a nice place for a picnic.”

Concern threaded through Gavin’s long sigh. “When you leave, come by my office. And I expect to see you sooner rather than later.” He ended the call, saving Tristan from the chipper lie that he was on his way.

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