We walk about two-thirds of a mile before the terrain starts to worsen. The ground turns wet and spongy. Bram and his men slow down, glancing around warily, as if expecting an alligator to leap out at any moment.
"Much farther? It is not safe here."
"Not far," I reply. "I think maybe six hundred feet."
"Seriously? All right. Let us agree that if we do not find him within six hundred feet, we turn back. Deal?"
"Deal," I say, feeling a knot of nerves tighten in my stomach. Am I really right to be this confident, or is this arrogance that will land me in a terrible situation?
After another two hundred feet, my certainty only grows stronger. At moments, I swear I catch Salt’s sweet, alluring scent, the yuzu fruit tone and fresh kiwi.
"He is close," I blurt out. "Very close. I can already smell him."
Bram merely raises his eyebrows in mild surprise.
"Alphas are fucking animals," one of his men mutters, but I ignore him.
"Yeah, I can even tell which one of you hasn’t changed his boxers for three days straight."
The silence answers me; nobody asks me to point out the stinker.
We lift our feet carefully because the ground here is soaked and unstable.
"He is nearby," I whisper.
I scan the area carefully. Where could he be? If he heard us, he definitely hid. We are now moving through a stretch where we have to step on branches and fallen trunks just to keep our boots out of the water.
"Fuck, much farther?" Bram mutters, wobbling slightly on a wet log.
"It is right here," I say quietly. "Maybe sixty or ninety feet."
I narrow my eyes slightly and reach for Salt… energetically. In my mind, there is only one direction, along the length of a fallen tree trunk. I head that way, stop, and notice a patch of bent grass.
"He jumped here."
I look around, think for a moment, then slowly lift my gaze upward.
Bingo.
There he is.
Curled up on a branch among the leaves, Salt stares down at me with eyes full of anger.
"Will you come down here to us?" I ask softly, my heart speeding up, a strange happiness flowing through me.
Salt… I found him.
We can salvage this whole mess…
"Oh fuck," Bram says, craning his neck. "The fucking bloodhound actually did find him. Holy shit, I cannot believe this."
Then he raises the gun that suddenly appears in his hand and fires.
I do not manage to stop him. I lunge at Bram and knock him into the mud, but the other betas shout,
"It’s just a sedative. Calm down, idiot."
Growling, I turn back toward Salt, who is clutching his arm. Sure enough, a small dart is sticking out of it.
