Chapter One
Marcus
The rain pelted down, a relentless drumbeat against the earth, as I stared at the mutilated body at my feet. The thick scent of blood hung heavy in the air. I could taste the violence—the rage that tore through this victim—leaving nothing but a shell of ripped flesh and shattered bone.
I knew the taste well.
The crime scene lay on the border dividing the urban decay and the wilderness of our pack lands. Abandoned warehouses loomed like giants, their empty windows staring down at us, silent witnesses to the carnage. The body was in the center of a weed-choked lot, only half-hidden beneath a rusted dumpster, as if someone wanted me to find this atrocity.
It was a message.
I crouched down, my boots sinking into the mud. Beneath the stench of death, a familiar scent hugged the air, just as I expected. Earthy, wild. A werewolf.
Fuck.
A growl rumbled in my chest. This wasn’t the first body we’d found like this—it was the third in three months. Each one had been torn apart with the same savagery. Each one reeked of the same unhinged fuck… And each one failed to tell me whether the fuck was one ofmywolves.
“Marcus.” My gamma’s voice was low over the hiss of rain. She came up behind me, a solid presence of muscle, though with eyes filled with a concern she could never quite hide. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too exposed.” Maya ran a hand through her brunette hair, disturbing the strands plastered to her cheeks by the downpour.
I rose to my feet, my joints protesting the movement. I was thirty-six, not old for a human, andnowhere near seniority by werewolf standards, but the weight of these murders was crushing me.
“This is my territory, Maya. I need to see it for myself.”
My warrior conceded with a nod, understanding my compulsion more than most. The need to protect gnawed at my insides, keeping me awake at night. This was the curse of the alpha.
I turned back to the body, my mind racing. The victim was a white male. There was no face left for anyone to identify, but scabs covered his calloused hands. A laborer, I assumed. Someone no one would notice missing right away.
But why? Why these victims? Why now? And why under the fucking Moon would someone be stupid enough to challenge me?
The rain intensified, a cold, miserable torrent that soaked through my clothes. If not for my werewolf’s internal thermostat, I would’ve been chilled to the bone. Instead, I welcomed the discomfort of the fabric clinging to my skin. It kept me on edge, and I needed every ounce of focus. Because this death was my responsibility.
My beta had been MIA for days. And whenever Ethan did decide to come home, I knew he’d be too drunk to care about a dead human so close to our pack compound. So, it was up to me alone to put a stop to these brutal murders, before the Bureau got involved and made my life hell.
A sudden scent in the air caught my attention. Faint—almost imperceptible beneath the rain and the rot—but unmistakable.
Warm… Human… And close.
I spun around, scanning the shadows, my senses on high alert. There, under what was left of a crumbling doorway, stood the female dressed in dark clothing that blended with the night. The electricity of her aura crackled like lightning in the rain.
Not just a human then. A hunter.
Maya followed my gaze, her body tensing as she readied herself for a fight, but I held up a hand. The hunter was alone and didn’t appear to pose any immediate threat.
She stepped from the shadows. Rich brown skin, box braids peeking from the hood of her jacket, and eyes like pools of melted chocolate. She was armed to the teeth—knives, a gun holstered at her hip, and silver-tipped arrows peeking from a quiver slung across her back.
But her weapons didn’t hold my attention. Her mouthwatering scent did. As she moved closer, the sweet aroma of lavender cut through the air until it invaded my lungs and made me lightheaded.
I shifted my feet, planting my heels firmly in the ground. “Who are you?” I growled, irritated by my reaction.
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she met my gaze head-on, her chin lifted in defiance. “Does it really matter?” Her voice was steady. “How about we skip all the boring formalities, and you tell me who killed that man.” She stared at me with a ferocity that, under different circumstances, I would’ve loved to challenge in my bed.
“You’re a hunter,” I said, stating the obvious.
She sighed, but nodded with a small, sharp jerk of her head. “I am… And that man’s killer is a werewolf.”
The venom in her voice seemed personal. But beneath her anger, there was a hint of sadness in hereyes. Of angst in the set of her jaw… Of resolve in the hand hovering over her knife.
“We’re not all monsters,” I muttered, my gaze never leaving hers. “Some of us just want to live in peace.”
