Page 34 of A Wolfe in the Woods

“I’m totally fine,” I lied. My calves were already beginning to burn. “Just pacing myself.”

Then he stopped, waiting for me to catch up. “I should warn you—it gets a bit more unpredictable from here on.”

Now the woods were beginning to press in around us. The trees here were older, their trunks filtering golden shards that flickered as we moved, the sun casting long gold streaks that bathed everything in a warm, honey-colored glow. The hush deepened, like the forest was closing its mouth around us, swallowing us up.

“Define ‘unpredictable,’” I said warily.

Jonathan smirked, nudging his head forward. He wasenjoyingthis, I realized. “Come on.”

We rounded the bend…and everything changed.

The path narrowed sharply, swallowed by overgrowth. Branches reached across like arms, clawing at our sleeves and hair. Knotted limbs arched overhead, forming a loose canopy that choked what little light remained. The air cooled, damp with moss and old things. Roots twisted underfoot, and the ground felt uneven, like we’d stepped into someplace not entirely meant to be walked on.

The golden hue was gone. In its place, shadows crept.

I froze when I heard rustling.

It came from the brush just ahead. No, to the left.

Then again. Closer this time.

Jonathan stopped, bracing one foot ahead of the other.

Something darted through the undergrowth loudly, scattering leaves and thorns and breaking twigs in its wake. Whatever it was, it bolted away from us, deeper into the woods.

My heart was screaming, beating furiously. I let out a shaky breath.

Without a word, Jonathan reached back and pulled something from his pack in one swift motion. His arm lifted—and I caught sight of it. A glint. Silver and cold.

Afreakingmachete.

I stopped breathing, my eyes rounding like an owl’s.

He held it up, the arched curve catching the last of the dusky light, then brought it down hard, slashing through a thick wall of vines like they were paper.

He turned slightly toward me and smirked. That was it. Like brandishing a machete was just another normal charming personality quirk…up there with owning a cat or collecting records.

I blinked, trying to quiet the irrational part of me that still buzzed from the burst of adrenaline.

He gestured forward, so I followed. A few steps through the brush, he stopped abruptly and I nearly walked into him.

“Damn,” he muttered, crouching low as he studied the trail ahead.

I followed his gaze and saw why.

A section of the path had completely eroded. The ground split clean through, a jagged gash cutting across the narrow trail. The upper crust of soil jutted out on both sides, too wide to step across and too high to jump. The drop below wasn’t massive, but it was steep and choked with brush and debris.

“We had heavy rain this past winter,” he said, frowning. “Looks like it washed through.”

“Well,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “Guess we’re turning around, then.”

Jonathan didn’t move. “Nah. We can do this.”

I blinked. “What? I can’t jump that. I could barely get to this point without having a heart attack.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Giving up so easily?”

“I’m not giving up,” I snapped. “I’m saying I physically cannot leap across that unless I transform into a sprite in the next few seconds.”