I’m too winded, too blinded by the white light to jerk away. To even scream. My vision begins to bob in and out as I choke on the fabric, gagging.
I listen for the sound of heavy feet, pounding the earth with each step. The bone-chilling roar of my mate. The crash Wyatt makes as his tall frame bursts through a door.
Heavy panting is the only sound that fills this bright, unforgiving room.
No one is coming to my aid.
Axe
My sister’s mate summons me to Tumbler Ridge, a small town about three hours southeast of Tukkon. There, I stare down the pair of dead bodies shot down by silver bullets. Gemma, I recognize. Her partner, the male, I do not.
Chris scrolls through the cell phone he found lying next to them. “Looks like they were paid off. I’m assuming this happened right after they completed the transaction.”
My jaw clenches as I assess the traitor’s pale face. Does loyalty even mean anything anymore? Was this some twisted way to get back at me for humiliating her sister?
An agitated bark from the wolf snaps me back into focus. Those aren’t the questions I should be asking right now.
“Any idea where they crossed the border?”
The Silverback shrugs. “My best guess would be that they diverted south and continued along the Heartlands until they got to the Kitsault River. Lots of small settlements around there, as you know. I imagine it’d be easy to avoid detection.”
My scouts were correct then.
I take a picture of Gemma and send it off to Jabir.
Chris raises a brow. “If this is an exchange with vampires . . .”
His words are drowned out by pummeling intrusive arguments from my wolf, desperate to get his hands bloody.
No one knows where the Blood Master dwells. There’s no telling how much time Vessa has before he comes out of hiding to retrieve her and drag her down to the cesspool where demons spawn. Or if he already has.
I clench my teeth hard enough to crack a molar.
My wolf whines.We mustn’t think about what’s happening to her. They’ll keep her alive. They have to.
Chris clears his throat, noticing that I haven’t been paying attention to a single thing he’s said for the last two minutes. Handing me the cellphone, he continues. “I would get Jabir on this. See if he can track down the routing number.” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Have you notified anyone else from the task force?”
“No. And at this time, I am going to refrain from doing so,” I reply, slipping into the back seat to rummage around.
He scans the quiet forest. Birch trees surround us for miles. “Still, it might be worth paying a visit to Preston’s lab.”
I figured Caulder’s recent radio silence had to do with being so angrily dismissed. That, and discovering his findings were wiped along with other sensitive files on his hard drive, a precautionary move we executed to prevent him from going forward and presenting the bloodwork to the Yinsew Council.
But what if Preston sold his findings to someone else before meeting with us? Someone with a connection to the Blood Master’s cause?
Ducking my head, I step out of the sedan. “You got the address?”
I don’t returnto Lupine Manor until the pitch-black hour of zero-two hundred. Home is the last place I should be. Instead of staring into empty space, I should be out covering every square mile of forest. Knocking on every door. Gathering every recruit I can.
My wolf aches for her laugh, her sweetness. The need to take in her scent beckons me up the stairs, barreling into theLuna’s suite. In this room are traces of her on every surface: pillowcases, bath towels, the parka she wears almost daily hangs on a hook by the closet. I inhale them all desperately, gulping when I spot the fabric strung over the vanity—the white shawl she coiled around her hair during the Lupercalia hunt.
Clutching it to my face, I breathe in the faint, maddening scent of her. It’s still not enough. Nothing ever will be, not until she’s back in my arms.
I reach for the suitcase Vessa arrived with and heave it onto the bed, popping it open. Sweaters, weathered books, and a burgundy purse stuffed with a wad of cash, a newspaper article, and pearl earrings. Was this all she had to her name?
My thumb smooths over the picture attached to Rhea Lemaire’s obituary. The resemblance to her daughter is minute, but her smile devastates me. It’s the kind that’s made of pure starlight. That makes you feel like the world is better off because you’re in it. A world that was going to shit until the day you met her.
Swiping her pillow, I clench my fist around its silky exterior, inhaling the last tangible trace of her.
