Finding West

Laken





“West,” I say softly, releasing his hand. “That wasn’t just an experiment—we terrified him.”

“I know,” he sighs. “We’re not repeating that with your friends. But I’m afraid Crue won’t be satisfied with just one test.”

A heaviness settles in my chest. “So what do we do?”

West shifts his weight, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his brows drawn tight with worry. With each slow pace, the dirt beneath his worn-out sneakers billows into the air.

I bite back a defeated sigh and watch him, my fingers curling at my sides. His hand settles on his chin as he sinks into deep thought. For a second, my apprehension wavers as my eyes catch the way his bicep tightens, the muscles tensing beneath his sleeve.

Then, suddenly, he stills. His head lifts, eyes sparking with an idea.

“Hand me your bag,” he says, his voice brimming with newfound energy.

Curiosity stirs in my chest as I slide the backpack off my shoulders and pass it to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, gripping the black straps.

I watch as he sets it down on the red dirt, my stomach tightening with nerves energy. “What are you doing?”

“Notice where I placed it?” he asks.

My eyes narrow. “Yeah… but how does that help us?”

“If your friends can see it, they’ll pick it up, right?”

“Morgan definitely would. She’ll recognize it’s mine… but what if they can’t see it?” I ask, scratching the bridge of my nose.

His gaze flicks to the bag. “Then we can assume crossing into my tribe’s territory is impossible for them.”

I chew on his words, still grappling with the idea of two separate worlds. So, if Morgan had my bag and placed it in the same spot, she’d see it—but only in her own plane of existence. Wait… is that right? I shake my head, my thoughts tangling. The semantics of it all make my head ache.

“Maybe we should hide behind those bushes for now,” I suggest, pointing. “That way, the backpack is the only thing in sight.”

“Good idea.” He grins and rests a hand on my back as we slip into the dense foliage.

We crouch together, waiting for Morgan and Alex. The air is thick with anticipation, but my focus keeps shifting—from the bag to the warmth of West beside me.

His scent is everywhere, rich and grounding, like the earth after rain—damp soil, fresh greenery, and a hint of wood. Every so often, his arm brushes mine, sending pleasant tingles across my skin.

“You good?” he asks, his shoulder barely grazing mine.

I nod, smiling. “Perfect.”

Normally, my mind would be racing with questions. Why is there a primitive village in the middle of nowhere? How does an invisible boundary separate two planes of existence? Why couldn’t the hiker see us? But the “hows” and “whys” blur at the edges of my thoughts, fading beneath something more tangible—something I can still feel.

The press of West’s lips, the way his touch had drawn me in so effortlessly, still lingers. I can almost feel the warmth of his hands, the subtle intensity in his gaze just before he kissed me.

But it’s our second kiss against the tree that stays with me the most. I had initiated it, but West took control in seconds, lifting me effortlessly, his hands steadying me. His kisses had started slow, teasing, before deepening with deliberate fervor. The shift had made me feel exposed, vulnerable—but also more alive than ever. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only trust woven into every touch.

I exhale slowly, pushing back the heat rising in my chest. The questions can wait. The world can wait. Because right now, with West so close again, all I can think about is how easily we collided—and how impossible it feels to pull away.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, drawing me out of my amusing thoughts.

Too embarrassed to say, I place a hand on his cheek instead, smiling softly, hoping the message is clear.

“Aw, I think I know,” he murmurs, a slow-building smirk tugging at his lips as he leans in.

The warmth of his lips caresses mine like a slow-burning flame, melting into my skin. His kiss is unhurried, deliberate—a measured movement that stretches time. I shift closer, hoping to adjust my awkward position, but instead, I stumble, knocking him off balance and sending him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, scrambling to get off him.

His laughter eases my embarrassment.

“No damage done,” he assures me, reaching over to brush dirt from my knee.

“Thanks. Hey, what’s that at the back of your neck?” I ask, catching a glimpse of a mark peeking from beneath the collar of his white tee.

He stiffens slightly. “That would be my birthmark,” he says, already moving to stand.

Something about it feels familiar, keeping my thoughts anchored to it.

“Does it bother you?” I press, sensing a hint of discomfort.

West rubs the back of his neck, hesitating. “It’s more complicated than that,” he admits. “This mark symbolizes my fate. A year from now, Crue will step down, and I’ll be the new leader of our pack—whether I choose it or not.”

“Wow. That’s an incredible responsibility to be born with.”

“Agreed.” His brows lift briefly before his expression sobers. “There are days I really struggle with the obligation of it all. Yesterday was one of those days.”

My heart sinks at his honesty. I’m glad he’s opening up, but it’s not easy hearing the weight in his voice.

“So if something happens to the person with the mark, then what?” I ask.

“Then the elders take a vote. Crue was actually chosen that way. Twenty years ago, an epidemic spread through our village, killing dozens—including our previous leader.”

“That’s awful, I—” A sound echoes in the stillness of the wilderness—quick, jittery. “Did you hear that?” I whisper, peering through the bushes at the trail.”

“Just another squirrel full of energy,” he answers, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I let out a breath, smiling sheepishly. “Oh.”

A thought strikes me, and before I can second-guess it, I offer, “Would you like to see my birthmark?”

West’s brows lift, surprise flickering across his face. “If you want to show me,” he says, his voice light but laced with curiosity.

I slide down the waistband of my black shorts just enough to reveal the back of my right hip. “My mom likes to call it a shooting star because it resembles that particular wildflower. See how these look like the five upside-down petals of the flower, all aimed at the sky?” I trace the outline with my fingers.

West mutters something under his breath, his fingers brushing over the mark.

“I always thought it looked more like a tattoo than a birthmark, which is why I hated it as a kid—especially when I had to wear a swimsuit.”

“Impossible— I…” he mutters, struggling to find the words. In one swift motion, he grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head, turning away as he does.

My breath catches.

The mark stretches from the upper part of his back, curling slightly around the base of his neck.

“It’s… it’s the same,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his skin. “Even the size. But how?”

West exhales, turning to face me. A look of concern plants itself on his face. “I don’t know. It’s considered the rarest occurrence in our tribe. A symbol of beauty and rebirth. It only happens once every thirty years in each of the six villages.”

I let that sink in. “A symbol of beauty and rebirth. I like that,” I say, smiling.

But West’s expression doesn’t match mine. His jaw shifts, like he’s biting back a thought.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He hesitates, then admits, “I’m worried about what my tribe will think of this.”

“Why? Is it a bad thing?”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “It’s not that simple. But this needs to stay a secret for now. Can you do that for me?”

A small knot of unease tightens in my stomach. “Yeah, but why?”

“To keep you safe. It’s just a precaution until I can figure this out.”

“OK.” I nod, hoping to ease his concern.

But the worry line on his forehead doesn’t fade, nor does the tension in his shoulders.

I reach for his arm, swinging it lightly. “Hey. Just relax. It’s gonna be fine.”

A small smile breaks through his tension. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Always so positive,” he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I giggle as he squeezes me tight.

Then, in a low whisper, he says, “They’re almost here.”

I nod. “Yeah, I can smell Morgan’s perfume.”

The dirt path that holds our gaze winds around a row of shaded trees, widening as it reaches us. My focus lands on the dusty clearing ahead, its surface shaped by the overlapping footprints of both animals and humans. Two burning questions crackle in my mind: Will Morgan and Alex see my backpack? Will they cross over into another world, just as Hunter and I did—without even realizing it?

The anticipation tightens my throat.

Before Morgan even comes into view, I catch the soft, sweet notes of vanilla and amber in the air. Alex’s scent follows—bold, rugged, laced with leather.

With Alex leading, the two of them jog into the clearing. His blue T-shirt is off, tucked into the waistband of his gray shorts, swaying with each stride. Morgan’s purple glasses are practically sliding off her face from the sweat.

“This is it,” Alex says, glancing at his phone.

Morgan halts, bending forward as she braces her hands on her knees, exhaling loudly. “I’m. So. Out. Of shape,” she mutters, barely able to get the words out.

“I could go another five miles easily,” Alex says, stretching his calf.

“Remind me to slap you when I have the energy,” Morgan replies, swiping at her damp forehead.

Alex’s chuckle draws a smile to my face.

“Uh, where are they?” Morgan asks, peering around the area—somehow missing the backpack just a few feet away.

Alex stretches, standing inches in front of it. “I don’t know. Laken said they’d be waiting here.”

Relief and disappointment battle inside me. If they can’t see my bag, then West can return to his village and report that at least three people were unable to cross the boundary. But at the same time, it means Morgan and Alex won’t get to experience the Mantra village—the world I’m just beginning to glimpse. They’re missing out on something incredible. Something I can’t even explain.

I tap West’s arm, signaling it’s time. We step back, moving away from the clearing before circling around to approach from a different angle.

“Hey, strangers,” I call softly, eager to greet them.

Alex throws up a hand. “Hey!”

Morgan narrows her eyes, suspicion laced in her excitement. “Umm, where did you two come from?”

“Sorry, we got bored waiting and wandered off,” I say quickly. “This is West.”

West offers his hand to Morgan, then Alex. “Great to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Alex says. “We heard you needed help with something?”

West glances at me, panic flickering in his eyes.

“We actually don’t anymore,” I admit. “West was looking for something he lost on his hike yesterday, but we already found it.”

“But I really appreciate you coming all this way,” West adds smoothly.

Morgan smiles. “No worries.” She tugs at her OU college T-shirt, fanning herself. “Laken said you live on a farm nearby?”

West lifts his brows slightly before recovering. “Yeah, just down that path. About two miles.”

“Hunter and I stumbled upon it this morning,” I explain. “And he’s still there, enjoying the company of a very pretty girl, I’m happy to report.”

“Good for him,” Alex says, crossing his arms, unintentionally flexing his defined chest and biceps.

Morgan doesn’t even try to hide her ogling.

I tuck my hair behind my ears, guilt rising in my chest. “Would y’all be mad if we went separate ways for the rest of the day?”

“Laken, we could never be mad at you,” Morgan says sincerely.

“Yeah, and we can definitely keep ourselves occupied. Right, Stretch?” Alex ruffles Morgan’s hair with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes. “If you say so, Professor Monologue.”

Despite their playful teasing, I know I’m asking a lot of her. Morgan didn’t sign up for a day alone with Alex, despite her on-and-off infatuation.

“Give us a minute,” I say, tugging Morgan aside.

Behind us, Alex’s voice carries. “You gotta tell me, bro, how did you manage to catch her from that height?”

I turn to Morgan, finding her still watching Alex like he’s a particularly shiny toy.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” I ask quietly.

A smitten smile tugs at her lips. “Let’s just say Alex and I had a very heated moment this morning.”

“Wait—really?” I whisper.

She tightens her ponytail. “I’ll probably get my heart crushed, but screw it. We’re having fun. That’s what being young is about, right?” Her gaze flickers to West. “By the way, he’s smoking hot.”

I grin. “I know. I told you.”

We steal a glance at the boys—both laughing, though Alex’s laughter rings out louder.

“West and I already kissed a few times,” I admit, trying to contain my bashful smile.

Morgan’s brows lift. “That was fast.”

“Too fast?” I scrunch my nose.

“Not at all. He seems great. Besides, he saved your life.”

For the next few minutes, we spill whatever comes to mind, our laughter blending into the rustling leaves around us.

When it’s time to part ways, I hug Morgan tight. “Good luck with Alex.”

She smirks. “I’ll need it.”

“Oh, by the way, cell service is terrible past this point, so don’t even bother.”

Alex shakes West’s hand. “Stay safe and have fun.” He winks.

“Thanks, you too.”

“Bye for now,” he says, throwing an arm over Morgan’s shoulder as they head back.

Morgan turns, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Bye, Laken! I love you!”

“Love you more!” I call back.

I wait until they’re out of sight before stepping back over the boundary to grab my bag.

“Ready to head back?” I ask, adjusting a strap.

“Yes.” West helps with the fabric caught in the buckle, his gaze softening. “Your friends are great.”

“Thanks. I got lucky with them. Hunter too.”

West hesitates. “Is it possible he has the same birthmark?”

I shake my head. “No, he would’ve said something. He’s seen mine plenty of times.”

His brow lifts slightly, suspicion surfacing.

I blink, realizing how that must have sounded. “Sorry, I meant—he’s seen me in a swimsuit. Part of it shows when I wear one.”

His expression shifts, and then it hits me. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?

West shakes his head.

“A swimsuit is small bits of fabric worn for swimming. Kind of like undergarments, but usually brighter. More colorful.”

He takes a moment to process the information.

Then, with an almost hopeful tilt of his head, he asks, “Will I ever get to see you in one?”

I chuckle. “Maybe.”

*

West moves with quiet confidence, his steps sure and steady as he guides us along the familiar path. His presence alone anchors me, keeping my thoughts from spiraling too far.

As we approach the fallen log, my gaze lingers on it, memories from earlier rushing back in vivid flashes—the pounding of my heart, the raw intensity of staring down a wild predator, the sharp edge of fear that somehow made me feel more alive than ever before.

Just like when I fell from the rock.

The realization settles deep in my chest, twisting into something unexpected. Is it strange that a part of me craves the rush? That the brush with danger, the sheer unpredictability of it all, excites me as much as it terrifies me?

I’m about to point out where I stumbled upon the wolf West calls Bree when his tense, halted movements freeze me in place.

“What is it?” I ask, inching forward.

“I need you to stay where you are,” he says, urgent in his request.

I tighten my brows at the anxious look gripping his face. “Why, what’s wrong?”

There’s no answer from him. Just an attentive stare to my right, as if he’s sharpening all his senses.

For a moment, the forest is silent. But then—a sharp rustling cuts through the silence. The sound is quick, sudden, like something large shifting through the underbrush. Twigs snap. Birds fly off.

West’s eyes widen. “Get down!”

Before I can even react, a blur of gray explodes from the bushes to my right. A wolf, its coat a storm of shifting silvers and shadows, leaps toward me with frightening speed.

I barely have time to gasp before West slams into me, knocking me to the ground. The impact forces the breath from my lungs, the earthy scent of damp leaves and moss filling my senses. A snarl rips through the air just as West shields me with his body.

A sharp yelp follows—a clash of bodies, the scrape of claws against flesh. West grunts, his back arching slightly as the wolf’s nails rake across him before it stumbles away, landing with a heavy thud against the ground.

Heart pounding, I push up onto my elbows. “West—”

He exhales sharply, his arms still braced around me, muscles tense. “Stay down,” he murmurs.

West pushes himself to his feet, his posture rigid as he squares off against the wolf. The wounds on his back are deep, fresh claw marks trailing down his skin, but he barely seems to notice.

“Do you suddenly have a death wish, Jude?” West shouts, his voice sharp with fury. “You better think twice about who you’re messing with.”

I blink, still catching my breath. Jude? My pulse hammers as I glance between them, my confusion growing. “You know him?”

West doesn’t take his eyes off the wolf. His jaw tightens. “He’s one of Bree’s lackeys. They belong to the Enoch pack, not too far from here.”

Jude snarls in response, pacing back and forth, his muscles coiled, his amber eyes locked on us like we’re prey. Every step is deliberate, taunting—like he’s enjoying drawing this out.

“Why is he attacking us?” I ask, my voice hushed, uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he exhales sharply, irritation and confusion flashing across his face.

Jude doesn’t give us time to figure it out. His growl deepens, his claws digging into the dirt before he lunges.

The impact knocks West to the ground, his body hitting hard. I flinch, instinctively wanting to scramble back, but before I can move, a searing pain tears through my leg.

Jude’s teeth sink into my calf.

I scream—mostly out of fear, but the agony of the bite is painfully real. A sharp, sudden pain followed by a deep, stinging burn.

West’s roar of fury shakes the air. “You will pay for—!” His body trembles, clothes ripping from him before the words are even finished.

Dark fur bursts across his skin in a flash, the change so quick it’s almost a blur. In an instant, a black wolf stands before me, golden streaks running through his coat, shimmering in the sunlight.

I stare, wide-eyed, breathless. West?

But there’s no time for questions. With a ferocious snarl, he launches at Jude.

The fight is brutal. Snapping jaws, vicious growls, the heavy thud of bodies crashing against the earth. West’s teeth clamp down on Jude’s neck, dragging him through the air before slamming him down with unforgiving force. Jude yelps, struggling, but West is relentless. He pounces, sinking his teeth deeper, his growls dark, guttural, filled with something primal.

“West!” My voice cracks, pain shooting up my leg as I try to sit up. “Stop! Please!”

For a moment, he doesn’t. The rage in his movements is unshaken, wild, like he’s on the verge of tearing Jude apart.

Then, just as suddenly as he attacked, he freezes. His breath is ragged, his grip loosening. Jude whimpers, twisting free, then stumbles to his feet. He doesn’t hesitate—he bolts into the trees, his howls echoing into the woods.

West turns to me, panting, blood and drool dripping from his fangs. His golden eyes meet mine, still burning with the remnants of the fight.

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.

Because for the first time, I see him not as West. Not as the caring, captivating man I have come to know.

But as something else entirely.