Bearclaw Valley hauntings only repeat what occurred once upon a time

With Kavik and Soltero reigning as leaders of Swiftcurrent alongside him, the Mayfair felt the release of suffocation from his very chest. His short howl had informed his wolves he would return—he was going to scout the nearby territories.

The tension of his coiled muscles remained, the hefty wolf moving like a dark panther as he took in the surrounding land, realizing now how very little he had taken the time to familiarize himself with it. At the very back of his mind was Durnehviir—she had grown up in these lands, and he wondered quietly what it would have been like to explore the valley together—if they had been able to make their mates hip work. He could have requested Aria—but she also seemed to be avoiding him.

The season was upon them once more, and Constantine could feel it like a dark itch. None had come into their heat yet within the creek, and the wolf was uncertain what would happen under the circumstances—particularly if his ex-mate or his best friend would.

The idea of anyone else being with either of them caused his blood to boil and his jaw to tighten.

Thankfully, distraction came in the form of two youthful looking wolves. His nose quivered at the thick scent of bear, and the shadowstalker prowled forward, his instincts alert to the potential danger. As he closed the distance between himself and the youths, he refrained from curling his lip, his tail arcing through the air. “Hey. You guys okay?”