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Neither of us asked for this link, and we wanted to be rid of it.
Didn’t we?
I absentmindedly rubbed my neck tattoo and watched Fane out the corner of my eye. His face remained unreadable, but a storm brewed within him. I concentrated and a wave of confusion took shape.
That makes two of us.
My boots sank into the soft, springy forest ground with each step. A cool wind blew, tossing my hair around, and the branches creaked above us, shedding a few more colorful leaves. The air in Mohan Wilds was different than the city's, untainted by car exhaust and burning tires. Street food and the aroma of varying cuisines from restaurants didn’t permeate the atmosphere, either.
After being bitten, the city had strained every one of my senses. I hadn’t realized it until now, in this quiet, peaceful forest. No wonder the Mohan pack lived out here. I hadn’t felt this calm in, well, never.
And then that serenity melted away as an eerie feeling sank over me, tickling my nape and then my spine. Fane and I slowed our steps at the same time and locked eyes.
“You feel that?” he murmured.
“Something is… off.”
His head tilted back as he sniffed the air. “This way.” Fane jerked his chin toward the left.
“What do you smell?” I followed him and inhaled through my nose, taking in a multitude of scents. Loamy soil mixed with the crisp air, and the musky scent of squirrels and a rabbit lingered. Another fading aroma blended into each current.
Fane rolled his shoulder, the tattoos on his neck twitching. “A wolf.”
We traveled for a few moments until a small campsite emerged in the trees with a simple green tent and a folding lawn chair next to an extinguished fire. Fane ran his hand over the burnt wood.
“It’s cold.”
I bent and slowly peeled back the flap on the tent to find an empty sleeping bag. “No one’s here.”
“But they were.” Fane kneeled beside me and crawled into the tent, rummaging around before popping back out with a thermos. “This belongs to Joseph Morrice.”
“Whoa, can you recognize everyone’s scent in the pack?”
He pointed to the name written on the thermos in black marker.
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “Oh.”
“He’s a wolf in his early forties.” Fane tossed the thermos back into the tent and stood, jamming his fingers through his dark hair. “Joseph wouldn’t just up and leave his campsite with all of his things.”
A cooler on the left stood out amongst the foliage, and I trekked over, lifting the lid. The smell of turning meat gagged me, and two raw slabs of beef wrapped in butcher paper floated in water. “He didn’t cook his dinner.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” Fane studied the ground. “I don’t see any wolf tracks, so he didn’t shift and leave.”
Leaning on my raven training to search for clues, I walked the perimeter like this was a crime scene. The vegetation remained untrampled, and no branches were broken. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle.”
Fane shook his head. “I don’t smell any blood, either.”
I squatted and brushed away a pile of recently fallen leaves, revealing a claw mark. “Maverick.”
He was by my side in seconds, frowning. “Those could have been made by a wolf or a regular animal.”
My blood iced over as my last meeting at Corvin Manor rushed through my mind. “Shifters have been going missing in Savannah.”
His head snapped in my direction. “What do you mean?”
I told Fane about Barric Hartwell’s visit with Coltrane before my mission, and the emergency meeting she called the other day. “There’s no pattern, and the radius has spread farther from the city. No shifters were reported missing from the Mohan pack at the time, but maybe that’s changed.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “You asked about this pack?”
