Continuing to work, I kept an eye on Phin, the shifters lurking in the trees, and the fire. The fire was almost completely out, and Charles and I had cleared out a sizable perimeter around the pumphouse. Sheriff Maslow had already finished his task and was returning to his car. While he was here, that was one less person watching over Walkerton so he often left as soon as the situation would allow.
Chief called Charles and me back a couple of minutes after the sheriff left. "Good job, you two. I'm glad you're getting a chance to work together finally."
I gave him a sharp nod, more eager to get Phin out of here than I was eager to get a pat on the head. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of chances to do the same again." I didn't so much dislike Charles. He seemed like an okay guy. He was older, closer to the chief's age than me or Paster or Krat.
I hurried toward Phin, but before I could get him back to the car, I knew the shifters had come closer. I smelled them and heard them. And when I turned, I saw them, strolling out with a purpose to their steps. I didn't recognize the young man, other than my animal recognizing his. He was a young black man, maybe in his early twenties. His hair was cut close, like a buzz cut, and he wore a white tank top that should've left him freezing. His jeans were muddy and stained. He had the muscular body of a shifter, but with dark, haunted eyes. How did the pack keep getting new members?
First Paul and now this guy, except this guy wasn't alone. There was a woman with him. She looked a few years older than him. Her clothes were as stained as his, and her eyes were wary. She stood behind the bigger guy.
"Where'd you come from?" the chief asked, but the two walked right by him, zeroing in on where I stood.
"We need your help. You're a fireman, right?" the guy asked.
"What's the problem, son?" the chief asked, coming closer.
The guy shook his head. "No, not you, him. We want his help." He pointed at me, and I bit back my growl.
This was just what I needed—some new fucking shifters who didn't understand that we all kept a low profile around here. The more he separated me from my crew, the more they would look at me as separate and then wonder why that was. I didn't doubt that he might have needed help, but he wanted me to help solely because he sensed I was like him. Already, Charles looked between me and them as if trying to figure out how we fit together.
"Please, my daughter…" the woman said.
"Did she say daughter?" Phin tugged the back of my jacket.
Fuck.
"Please, we're in a home just over the hill." The young man pointed back the way he came. "It's a five-minute walk. We've put out the fire, but…"
I didn't see any smoke on the horizon. Sure, it was only five minutes, but it was a five-minute walk I shouldn't have had to take because the pack elders were responsible for caring for the pack. Unfortunately for this guy, the pack elders were my parents and Aver and Branson's. They were also the most manipulative, spiteful group of people I'd ever had the displeasure of knowing.
"My daughter is hurt," the woman whispered, receiving a sharp glare from the guy with her.
Dammit to hell! I stomped toward the engine, pulling out the first aid kit and a travel pack for when we hiked the forests in the summer. I remembered Phin and froze.
"I'll come with you," he said, like he was in my head. Coming to the opposite conclusions.
"Are you okay with this?" the chief asked. As far as they all knew, I'd grown up on the other side of the island and moved out when I was eighteen. Nothing more. The citizens on the human side of Walker County all believed the shifter side to be full of odd extremists or hermits, men and women who preferred living off the grid. Some of them thought the shifters were all in some weird cult—funnily enough, those people weren't too far away from the truth. "I can send Charles with you. Paster needs to get back to the station, and Krat is coming off a shift."
I shook my head. I didn't think these two would let anyone who wasn't a shifter near their problem. They were clearly new to this location, so they didn't know who to talk to in the pack. I'd go, see what was wrong, help anything I could, and then tell Paul that they had newcomers. I didn't want Phin coming with me, but it was better he be with me than wait in the forest. The guys wouldn't hang around much longer now that the emergency had been handled. "It's fine. I'll check it out and radio in if I think I need help."
The woman looked relieved while the younger man stared me up and down. You came for my help, buddy. Don't get territorial.
The car was useless through the thick forest so Phin and I took off on foot. He skipped beside me while I trudged forward feeling like a bear with a thorn in my paw.
"I'll stay out of the way, I promise," he assured me in a whisper that he didn't know the two shifters in front of us had no problem hearing.
I nodded, unsure of how to reply. I couldn't warn him without him having a thousand more questions. He didn't seem at all worried that we'd willingly followed complete strangers into the woods only because they said they needed help. In a book on how not to die, not wandering away with strangers had to be somewhere in the first chapter.
I helped him balance on the rocks while the two shifters simply walked through the cold water. The river was only ankle-deep at the moment.
"There," the man said, pointing at the bottom of the hill we'd just crested. There was a small shack, no larger than the pumphouse had been. I spotted some charring on the outside wall near where it looked like they'd had a firepit.
"You live here?" Phin asked, his worried eyes finding me.
At that moment, our shock was the same. I knew things had gotten rocky with the pack, but not that the people were suffering this much.
"When did you get here?"
"Two days ago," the young man said. "We haven't been approached and weren't sure how…"
In my days on pack lands, there were scouts who were supposed to look out for this exact thing—shifters drawn to so many of us in one area. Some were just curious while passing through, others were looking for a new place to call home, and then a small few came to start trouble. I didn't think these two were here to start trouble, which meant they'd been overlooked, living on pack lands for days.
I also understood the young man's caution. In some packs, you were meant to wait to be addressed by someone higher up the pack pecking order. Not doing so could mean being thrown out or worse.
But they obviously needed help.
I reached for my phone. This couldn't wait.
"Hello?" Paul answered on the third ring.
"It's Nash. You have people near the pumphouse. You know, where you all saw smoke about an hour ago but did nothing to put it out?"
"Whoa, I've been inside Elder Delia's home working on her floor for hours."
"What?" I snarled, my fingers flinching, urging me to hang up.
"She's my pack sponsor, you know that," Paul said with a hushed tone. "I'll come out there right now with a welcome wagon. How many?"
I knew there were three at least. I had a feeling there were a few more people hiding inside that shack, and that wasn't just because I could see a tiny face peering at me through a hole in the siding. "Just bring who you can find." I hung up angry at myself, angry at Paul, angry at the pack.