Ridge's POV
Ridge stood in the middle of the clearing, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching Forrest roll what looked like a giant metal slingshot into place with the enthusiasm of a sugar-high ferret.
"You're going to love this one," Forrest said, practically vibrating as he tugged a tarp off the contraption. Underneath was a mess of springs, gears, ropes, and what suspiciously looked like a catapult made from bedframes and broken training dummies. "I call it the Rogue Lobber."
Ridge blinked. "The what?"
Forrest clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, use your imagination. We trap 'em, we launch 'em. Problem solved."
"You want to catapult enemy wolves?"
"Rogues," Forrest corrected. "Big difference. And yeah. It'll be awesome."
Ridge exhaled slowly through his nose. This was his life now.
It all started that morning when Alpha Griffin had pulled him aside.
