“Wait,” I said as I stared through the windshield. The men stepped out from behind the trees with their hands raised, guns in the air. But Thorne didn’t lower his guard. Not that I could blame him.
“We are hunters,” the taller one said. “We are sorry for scaring you. We thought you were poachers,”
“You followed us,” Thorne accused.
“We were checking snares and heard noises,” the shorter one explained. “We just thought we should check it out,”
“Guns down,” Thorne demanded. They set their rifles on the ground and stepped back. I watched the lines of their faces, the way their eyes kept flicking to the truck. Human. No scent of pack. No iron tang of wolfsbane. Just sweat and forest, and a little fear.
“It is fine,” I said quietly. “They are human,”
“I know,” Thorne said, but he did not
