Page 42 of Iced Out Mate

“Uh, what the hell was that?” Dylan asked. He sniffed at the air. “And why does it smell like blood?”

Chapter Nineteen

D Is For…

DYLAN

One second I was kissing and reassuring my fated mate that things were going to be okay, and the next I was scenting blood in the other room, my defenses up and every one of my senses sharpened. Someone was inside. And it sounded like they were trying their best at destroying the living room. Thuds and crashes sounded loud even through the closed door.

“Stay here,” Miles said.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” I jumped off the bed with him, grabbing the shorts I’d taken off and pulling them back on. We were in this together from here on out. He may not have felt the fated mate connection in the same way I did, but maybe that wasn’t a prerequisite to bonding your souls together? Everyone was different, after all.

Regardless, those were questions for tomorrow Dyl. Present Dyl currently had a situation to handle with Miles, and from the rapidly increasing coppery scent of blood, it was going to be very messy and potentially dangerous.

Miles went out of the room first, running down the hall. He had his hands balled into fists. I knew he was ready to fight, same as me. I considered shifting into a wolf to help out with that. Sharp canines and claws could fend off an intruder much better than fists could. But what if this was a home intruder who had nothing to do with Miles’ stalker? One who had no idea shifters existed? Miles having a secret pet wolf in the house could raise questions if the cops got involved.

The moment called for a split-second decision. I stayed in my human form, quieting the wolf inside me that was becoming thirsty for the blood being spilled. Not now.

We ran into the living room and stopped at the threshold, a bloody crime scene unfolding right in front of us. Streaks of bright red crimson smeared the walls, covering the beautiful wallpaper I’d commented on only hours earlier. A vase had fallen and shattered all over the floor. Blood dripped across the carpet and painted it red in thick splotches. “What the fuck happened?” I asked, looking around but seeing no one inside. There wasn’t even a sign anyone had broken in. All the windows were intact, door was closed and locked.

“I don’t know…” Miles said. He sounded as shaken as I felt. We cautiously moved into the living room, peering all around us. Searching for any sign of what could have caused this explosion of blood.

A flapping sound came from my left. I turned to see a red cardinal dive-bombing me. I ducked just in time to avoid it slamming into the side of my head. It hit the wall instead. A sickening crunch sounded through the room as it broke its own neck and fell motionless to the floor.

“Holy shit,” I said.

Miles moved closer to the dead bird. He poked at it with a toe. It didn’t move. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a cardinal at all. There were white tail feathers that hadn’t been coated in blood. This was another species.

“It’s a dove,” Miles said, answering my unspoken question.

“How did it get in? Do you have a fireplace or a window that’s open?”

“I don’t know…” Miles crouched so that he balanced on the balls of his feet. “There’s a note attached to its leg.”

“Hold on, don’t⁠—”

Too late, Miles had already untied the small folded up piece of paper, just as red as the rest of the dead dove. I looked around the living room, wary of any danger that could possibly sneak up on us. I wasn’t an overly aggressive person—usually channeling any anger I had into hockey—but I felt myself ready to fight until my last breath to protect Miles. This had to end. He didn’t even need to read the note before I knew what this was linked to.

His stalker was getting more and more desperate. More cunning.

This was a sign that this sick game was no longer confined to twisted text messages and distant threats. This was as bold as it could get.

Miles stood up. His hands were steady as he rolled the tiny note open. “What’s it say?”

He read it to himself first. I thought I heard something from behind the couch. I swiveled around, ready to fight, but it must have been my imagination. There was nothing there. Only a dreadful and empty silence now, made more ominous by the streaks of blood all across the room.

“What is it?” I repeated myself. Every second that passed added a boulder to my growing mountain of anxiety.

“I don’t think⁠—”

“Just read it.” The anxiousness made me snappy. I understood he was trying to protect me but I couldn’t be kept out of this, no matter how hard he tried.

“It says ‘D is for dove, D is for death, D is for… D is for Dylan. There won’t be any peace or love until the dove is dead.’”

My stomach dropped to the ground. “I’m assuming they aren’t talking about that particular dove being dead.”

“No,” Miles said, shaking his head. “No, they aren’t.” For the first time since this ordeal started, I noticed a tremor in his hands. Anger twisted his expression—a deep fury that any other wolf could pick up on. Body language spoke louder than words to us wolves, and the way his nose twitched upward and his lips followed suit made me know he wanted to tear this person’s throat out.