“Dr. Wyeth wasn’t discreet.” Silas gestured to the journal in Rasmus’s white-knuckled grip. “There’s more than just medical notes in there. There’s records of payments, summaries of meetings, complaints about his benefactors. He basically plastered the Temple’s name all over it.”
Which explained why Antonin kept it. Whether he had a direct connection with Dr. Wyeth or not, it made sense to keep an ace in his pocket. Hiding it saved the Temple from international outrage and prosecution, but if he’d ever needed to leverage something against the organization as a whole…Yeah, evidence of a war crime would do it.
Rasmus swiped his hand over his clammy face. “The Temple was building an army. Why?” He paused, eyes darting like he might find the answers out in the grass somewhere.
Silas’s mind churned through everything he knew, everything he’d seen and heard in the last few years.
There was nothing concrete, no one thing he could pin his suspicions on, but his gut warned him that he’d been closer to the Ardeo’s web than he realized long before he ever set his sights on Petra.
“No organization that has the means and the wherewithal tomakesoldiers stops on its own,” Silas replied. “It just changes tactics. I haven’t figured out what they’re after, but I will.”
Rasmus’s gaze sharpened as the shock began to wear off. “Is this what Pet needed your help with?”
“No.” He scowled. “Not directly. She had no idea what she was stepping into. And stop fuckin’ calling her that.”
A shadow of a smile came and went across the were’s scarred mouth. “How’d she get shot? I figured it was your fuck-up, but…”
Itwasmy fuck-up.But Silas still answered, “Vanderpoel.”
“When she asked me to set up the meeting between you two, I asked her why. Figured I could probably talk her out of it if I knew. But she said she needed information on someone, and he was dangerous enough that she didn’t want me or the pack involved. Must’ve been him, huh?” Rasmus straightened up a bit, his shoulders no longer bunched up around his ears. “The sabbatical excuse is good for a few months, Shade, but if this is as bad as it looks?—”
“I know.”
He wasn’t naive enough to think the Ardeo died with Vanderpoel, nor that he could hide Petra away forever. Willingly, anyway. The shock of killing Vanderpoel would wear off eventually and she’d want to return to the world, maybe even to her position as High Priestess. The clock was ticking before they were either found or she got it into her head to do something reckless.
Silas had no intention of failing her again, so that meant he had to figure this out before either of those things happened.
He’d put the entire Temple on notice, and he wouldn’t sleep until he’d rooted out every threat to his mate. If that meant he had to burn the entire institution down, then so be it.
Pushing himself slightly away from the car, Rasmus asked, “What do you want in exchange for this?”
“My mate wanted it to be a gift.”
“Great, but that’s not how this works.”
Silas fought the urge to turn his head to check on Petra. He’d been gone from her side for too long. His skin was beginning to feel too tight again, his clothes scratchy and stifling.
“You’re right,” he bit out. “I want you to be my eyes and ears in San Francisco. At least until we get back. I want to know if someone so much as whispers her name. And be on standby if I need something in the next few weeks.”
“What are you planning?”
Silas was already turning away, his long strides carrying him swiftly back to Petra, when he replied, “What wouldyoudo if a shady secret organization tried to kill your mate?”
Rasmus answered matter-of-factly, “Destroy ’em.”
Silas lifted a hand over his shoulder and flicked his pointer finger.Got it in one, asshole.
Rasmus barked his name, but Silas didn’t stop walking. He could make out the shape of Petra nearly pressing her nose against the windshield. Now that he’d sighted her, only an m-lev train could have knocked him off course.
His heart thumped in his ears as a rush of anticipation moved in a prickling wave over every inch of his flesh.It’s time,the animal in him howled.It’s finally time.
“Shade! What am I supposed to do with the journal?”
“Whatever the fuck you want,” he growled, yanking open the driver’s side door with a little too much force.
The scent of his mate and his own musky release wafted over him, more intoxicating than any drug. Rationality wavered.
Gogogogethomegrabherlickhercuntuntilshebegsgo—
