I straightened from my crouch, the half-driven nail forgotten, my eyes scanning the horizon without conscious thought. She'd left hours ago, walking into town to pick up some fabric from Marley's shop. A simple errand. A quick trip. Reid had worried, had wanted her to take the truck, had pressed his forehead to hers and made her promise to be careful. But she'd smiled and kissed his cheek and promised to be back before lunch.
It was past noon now. The sun had crested and started its descent, shadows lengthening across the pasture, and she wasn't back. Wasn't calling. Wasn't anywhere.
"Sawyer?" Kol's voice came from somewhere behind me, concerned and cautious, his sunshine scent carrying notes of worry that matched my own, his footsteps crunching on the dry grass as he approached. "You okay? You've been staring at nothing for like five minutes."
"Something's wrong." The words came out rough, guttural, barely human, scraping up from somewhere deep in my chest where the animal lived. I turned to face him, and whatever he saw in my expression made him take a step back, his golden eyes going wide, his hands coming up in an instinctive gesture of peace, his sunshine scent souring with sudden fear. "Aster. Something's wrong with Aster."
"She's just running late." Kol's voice was soothing, reasonable, but I could hear the doubt creeping in, could see the way his eyes flickered toward the road, toward the distant smudge of town on the horizon, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for his phone. "You know how Marley is. She probably got caught up talking about patterns or thread or?—"
"No." I was already moving, striding toward the barn, toward the truck, toward whatever would get me to her fastest, my boots pounding against the packed dirt. "No, something's wrong. I can feel it."
"Sawyer, wait—" Kol jogged to catch up, his boots scuffing against the ground, his hand catching my arm, his grip tight and desperate. I snarled at him, an actual snarl, my lips pulling back from my teeth, a sound ripping from my chest that didn't belong to anything human. He released me like I'd burned him, stumbling back, his golden eyes wide with shock. "Jesus. Okay. Okay, let's just... let's call the shop. Let's see if she's still there."
I was already at the truck, already behind the wheel, my scarred hands gripping the steering wheel, the engine roaring to life before Kol could climb into the passenger seat. He barely got the door closed before I was peeling out of the yard, gravelspraying behind us in a violent arc, the speedometer climbing past sixty, seventy, eighty.
"Reid's gonna kill us." Kol muttered, bracing himself against the dashboard as I took a curve too fast, the tires screaming in protest, the whole truck shuddering. "Sawyer, slow down. We don't even know?—"
"I know." My voice didn't sound like mine anymore — too deep, too rough, too animal, like something else was speaking through my mouth. My hands tightened on the wheel until the leather creaked, until my knuckles went white, until the old scars on my knuckles stood out like brands. " I can smell him. That wrong scent. Easton."
Kol went pale, his sunshine scent souring into something dark and fearful, his golden eyes widening until I could see white all around the irises. "You can't possibly... we're miles from?—"
"I can smell him on the wind….and I can smell Aster…and fear." I wasn't making sense and I didn't care. Something had snapped inside me the moment I'd felt that wrongness, that fear that wasn't mine but belonged to me anyway, and now there was nothing left but instinct. Hunt. Find. Protect. Kill. The words pounded through my blood like a drumbeat, ancient and unstoppable. "He has her. He took her."
We found the fabric first.
I slammed on the brakes so hard the truck fishtailed, skidding to a stop in the middle of the road, the smell of burning rubber filling the cab. There, in the dirt — a bolt of green silk, trampled and torn, the emerald color she'd been so excited about now stained with dust and something darker. Brown paper scattered by the wind, skittering across the road like frightened animals. And beside it, darker stains. Blood on the gravel. Signs of a struggle — scuff marks, drag marks, the imprint of bodies in the dirt.
"Oh god." Kol's voice cracked, his hand flying to his mouth, his whole body trembling as he stumbled out of the truck, his legs barely holding him. "Oh god, Sawyer, that's blood. That's her blood."
I wasn't listening anymore. I was crouched in the dirt, my nose inches from the ground, breathing deep, pulling the scents into my lungs like a wolf tracking prey. Aster's scent — lilacs and rain and fear, so much fear it made my chest ache, made something howl inside me. And over it, suffocating it, choking it — Easton. That wrong smell of expensive cologne and sour ambition and something rotten beneath, something that had been festering for years.
The trail led away from Longhorn. Toward the east. Toward Branston Ranch.
I stood, and the world went red at the edges.
"Sawyer." Kol's voice came from very far away, muffled by the blood pounding in my ears, by the growl building in my chest, by the animal that had fully slipped its leash. "Sawyer, we need to call Reid. We need backup. We can't just?—"
"Then call him." The words came out as a snarl, my body already moving toward the truck, every cell in my being screaming to hunt, to find, to tear apart anyone who had dared to touch what was mine. "I'm not waiting."
I drove like a demon possessed, the truck eating up the miles between us and Branston Ranch, Kol on the phone with Reid, his voice high and panicked, explaining what we'd found, what I'd become. I heard Reid's response through the speaker — commands, plans, something about calling the other ranchers, about contacting the state police — but it was all noise. Static. Background hum. Nothing mattered except the trail I was following, the scent growing stronger with every mile, the certainty burning in my chest that she was there, that he had her, that if I didn't get to her soon?—
I couldn't finish that thought. Couldn't let myself imagine what he might be doing to her while I drove, while precious minutes slipped away, while she waited for someone to save her. The gates of Branston Ranch loomed ahead, wrought iron and pretension, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms who looked more like soldiers than ranch hands. They were already moving, alerted by our approach, hands going to weapons at their hips.
I didn't slow down.
"Sawyer!" Kol grabbed the dashboard as I floored the accelerator, the truck crashing through the gates with a shriek of tearing metal, sparks flying, the iron bars crumpling like paper. "Are you insane?! They have guns!"
"Let them shoot." I heard myself say it, heard the dead flatness in my voice, and some distant part of me recognized that I'd slipped fully into something that wasn't quite human anymore, something that had been born in violence and lived for it. "Let them try."
The guards were shouting, running, some of them reaching for weapons, radios crackling with panicked commands. But I was already out of the truck, already moving toward the main house with a speed I didn't know I possessed, my boots pounding against the manicured gravel, my breath coming in harsh growls.
One of them got in my way — a big man, military bearing, shoulders like a linebacker, hand going for his sidearm with practiced efficiency. I put him down with a single blow, my fist connecting with his jaw with a crack I felt all the way up my arm, through my shoulder, into my chest. He crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, his weapon clattering away across the stone.
Another came at me from the left, shouting something I didn't hear. I caught his arm as he swung, twisted, heard the pop of his shoulder dislocating, felt the grind of bone leaving socket, dropped him and kept moving. There was screaming now,shouting, the sound of vehicles starting up somewhere behind me, but I didn't care. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Her scent was everywhere. In the walls, in the air, growing stronger with every step, pulling me forward like a rope around my chest. And underneath it — blood. Her blood. Fresh and sharp and driving me into a frenzy that burned away everything but need.
I found the door by smell alone, following the trail through hallways that all looked the same — expensive art, marble floors, wealth displayed like armor — until I reached a heavy oak barrier that smelled like her, like fear, like tears, like a cage designed to hold something precious. The locks were industrial — heavy, multiple, steel and brass, designed to keep someone in.
