The notes of char, burned wood, and ash are almost eerie the closer we get to it, but there’s something else too. Something that makes my lips curl back. Old blood.
My hackles rise as I lower my head to the ground. The source is faint, days old at least. Maybe a week.
Jericho halts. “Ro, wait.”
I look up.
He scans our surroundings, then pauses, looking southwest. “Come with me.”
We creep forward through the trees, passing two bushes singed from fire, then another tree with charred circles on its bark. The pattern is inconsistent, as if something caused it.
Or someone.
My steps slow, and I glance at my friend. His eyes are pained, almost haunted, as if reliving a memory.
I lean into him, seeking comfort as much as offering it. This is where it happened, then—where Jericho discovered his vampire gift and where my dear friends were brutally attacked by Rip and Alden.
The bushes remain blackened and brittle under the snow, and there are half a dozen trees scarred by flame. I can only imagine the scene that must’ve unfolded here.
We move past it, into the open field beyond. The snow lies untouched except for the faint whisper of old prints. The cold wind drags across the open space, and my paws sting as I step forward.
Then another scent hits me.
Familiar. Painfully so.
Justice.
It’s faint, dulled by time—but it’s his. A sharp ache twists behind my ribs; the grief sneaks up fast to choke me. I lower my muzzle to the ground, following the trail a few yards away before I stop. The bitter tang of blood still lingers, but there is something else too.
I paw at the ground carefully, pushing the ice aside until I find a simple leather bracelet.
It’s not Justice’s. He never wore jewelry like this. Genny hadn’t either. Was it one of the vampires’ then?
I yip at Jericho. He approaches cautiously, the steam of his breath curling between us.
Jericho sees it immediately and crouches beside me, reaching for it with a gloved hand. He examines it carefully, jaw ticking. His expression hardens instantly.
“It’s Rip’s.”
A growl slips from my throat—raw and guttural.
He nods at me. “I’m sure of it, Rowen. I’ve seen him wearing it several times. He has a necklace too. The beads match the ones in his dreads.”
Anger flares in my chest quickly followed by hope.
I nudge his pocket, signaling we need to take it. He seems confused, but when I do it again, he carefully pockets the bracelet.
I turn on my heel and run toward the house, moving fast to warm my chilled body. The wind howls louder than before, thick with the taste of snow. When the first light of home appears through the trees, I sprint even faster, Jericho right beside me.
I paw at the latch on the side door, granting us access to the mudroom, then quickly shift.
Jericho averts his eyes as I pull my pants on. They’re blessedly warm, making me shudder.
“You didn’t lose it, did you?”
He pulls it out.
I grin.
