Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(36)

The back-and-forth tap of the whiffle ball sped up, then cracked when Forrest hit it too hard. Young Jack dove to avoid it, and when the whiffle ball smacked the ground it careened past him, hitting the non-regulation walls the werewolves had built directly behind each player space so they wouldn’t have to run all the way out to the forest to find their wayward balls.

Unfortunately for Forrest, he’d hit the ball so hard that when it hit the wall, it bounced off and shot across the court, smacking him in the forehead with enough force to propel him several feet backward.

I clapped for him. “Shake it off, Forrest, and try not to die, Jack.”

Teresa, Amelia, and Remy stood with me as we watched Forrest and Young Jack scramble back and forth across the court, their shoes squeaking. Young Jack missed the ball about half as much as he hit it, and Forrest nearly beaned himself in the face with his own paddle.

“They are both terrible at this,” Amelia said.

“Yeah, that’s why I chose it.” I slipped my backpack off my back—it was making my t-shirt moist with sweat in the afternoon sunshine. “They’ll exhaust themselves with all the extra running and diving they’ll have to do because they’re bad at it, and then they’ll apologize to each other just to get out of playing longer. Both sides had legitimate complaints, but they also both hit each other in their emotional hot spots. There’s no winning in a situation like that.”

“Mom says you’re a mad genius,” Teresa announced. “I think she’s right.”

“You’d have to be cunning to survive living among wolves as a sole hunter.” Remy froze when she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean that, Pip—I said that wrong!”

I chuckled at her panicked expression. “It’s fine—and you’re not wrong.”

“Is our wise hunter solving another wrong?”

Wyatt and Aeric—both wearing athletic clothes that were damp with sweat—jogged out of the forest, probably having finished the run they frequently took together during their lunch breaks.

It was Aeric who had called out to me, and he and Wyatt slowed to a walk as they ambled across the meadow.

“Just a little spat,” I said. “They’re both hot tempered.”

“Ahh yes, the fire of youth.” Wyatt adjusted his glasses with the mannerisms of a ninety-year-old grandpa as he fondly watched Jack and Forrest.

Amelia frowned at him. “Aren’t you in your twenties? That’s still pretty young.”

“Nope.” Aeric shook his head as he stretched his legs out. “Once you start creaking when you wake up, it’s all over. You’re old.”

“Don’t be confused by our youthful appearances, which are brought on by the magic of werewolves that flows through our veins,” Wyatt declared. “It helps us retain our girlish figures.” He grinned as he folded his arms across his chest, and his biceps—usually hidden by his baggy dress shirts—bulged with muscles.

Amelia rolled her eyes, but despite their casual smiles and overly dramatic comments, Remy made sure she ducked her head at the pair, and Forrest risked getting smacked in the head with a whiffle ball to wave to them.

They might wear the fa?ade of nerdy bros, but they are strong.

I’d wondered before if they even had some Alpha capabilities—like Chase.

The thought made my mouth dry.

I’d noticed a pattern. It was the strongest members of the Pack—like Chase—who were sent out in the name of “promoting relationships with other races.”

If it was decided that Wyatt and Aeric were truly strong, they’d leave too.

A part of me knew I was being ridiculous. Aeric was also another rare case of being born as a werewolf. He wouldn’t suddenly develop Alpha powers…right?

This is why it’s so dangerous to befriend wolves. Somehow, despite being Pack-focused, they leave all the time.

Aeric rubbed his chin as he watched the game. “I hope they finish soon,” he said. “Five more minutes of this and I think Young Jack will pass out from lack of oxygen.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Around then Forrest would probably fall over from repeated head trauma.”

“From a whiffle ball?” Remy asked.

“From a whiffle ball hit with werewolf strength,” Wyatt corrected her. He winced in sympathy when Forrest hit the ball too hard again, and Young Jack dodged it, so it bounced off the wall again and shot across the court, smacking Forrest in the chin.

“Do you two have to go back to work soon?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m on my lunch break right now,” Wyatt said. “But I don’t have any meetings for another half an hour, so I have a little time.”

Wyatt served as the official writer/journalist for the Pack. Everything that appeared on the Pack’s website, phone app, the business websites, and all the press releases were written by him. He interacted with humans a lot in his position—which worked well for the Pack since he was so likeable.

“I’ve got plenty of time.” Aeric grinned and wriggled his eyebrows. “No one has any IT problems in the Pack right now except for Rio. He says the internet at his house is out or something. But he can wait!”

Aeric served as the Pack’s official IT guy for all businesses and homes, so he worked all hours of the day—including the middle of the night on occasion.