Page 27 of Lycan’s Hunt

“Who could do something like this?” I ask aloud, my voice thick with emotion.

Maverick’s jaw clenches with anger as he stares around at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he replies through gritted teeth. “But we need to find out.”

Is this some sort of twisted trafficking operation? Are vampires behind it, or is our own kind involved? And why do they need both humans and werewolves?

Damian speaks up, his voice filled with grief. “The council will have trouble explaining this.”

I nod before turning toward the sound of someone approaching. Rhett is striding toward us, a look of disdain on his face. Clyde steps forward. “I called you, Rhett. We need your input on this.”

Rhett looks at the container, covering his nose against the stench. “Not one of mine,” he snaps. “I’m not into shipping illegal cargo. You’re looking at the wrong Alpha.” His dismissive tone sends a wave of anger through me.

Then, out of nowhere, Bianca wanders over. The moment she sees the scene before her, she pales and immediately turns to vomit at the sight. I feel a mixture of disgust and frustration.

“Great, God knows where it washed up,” Damian murmurs, and Bianca straightens, her face ashen.

“Didn’t Jefferson lose a few containers a few weeks back?” she suggests, glancing nervously at the container.

We all turn to look at her in surprise.

Clyde steps forward, his brow furrowing in thought. “Jefferson?”

“Yeah, he was angry because he lost four containers of one shipment,” Bianca confirms, her voice shaky.

I glance at Clyde, who nods slowly, the realization dawning on all of us. “I will head out and look into it,” he says, his tone serious.

“I’ll go with you,” Rhett offers, his expression shifting to one of determination. “I can help you look at shipment logs.”

Maverick interjects, “Maybe we should leave it to the authorities to handle.”

“We are the authorities,” Clyde snaps back, his voice firm. “If Jefferson is behind this, it’s up to us to deal with him.”

With tensions rising, this situation is spiraling out of control. We stand in the shadow of something far more sinister than just a washed-up container. I can feel it in my bones.