Page 6 of Bloodbane
CHAPTER SIX
A Grain of Truth
{ T H A Y N E }
The serenity that always comes from running settles over me as my pace increases. Too often, lycan life feels like being caged, but this? This is freedom.
Even a decade after the change, I find myself marveling at my body working so efficiently, so effortlessly. The scenery streaks by as I drive forward, the wind whips past my face, kissing my skin, and running invisible fingers through my hair. The scent of snow tickles my nose on the way to fill my lungs and filter into my powerful muscles as they stretch out and fall into a familiar rhythm.
Sticking to the cover of trees, I race through the forest that surrounds the town until the dense groves begin to thin. I fall into a steady jog as I approach the lake, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. If Arlo’s story holds even a grain of truth, I don’t want to give away my position before I know what I’m walking into.
Scanning the flat expanse, I search for any signs of life—human or other. But minutes tick by with no movement aside from the falling flakes: growing in intensity as my hope of finding answers shrinks.
Finally stepping out from the shield of trees, I advance swiftly, seeking any sign of the battle Arlo insists had been waged here. My eyes catch on a patch of snow, shallower than that around it. In a blink, I’m kneeling beside it, scraping my hands through the fresh powder until pristine white reveals icy red stains beneath.
So much red.
I rock back on my heels. Now at a lower vantage point, I can make out the twin tire tracks heading toward the main road, though the shallow depressions are filling in fast. They must have left only minutes before I arrived.
Rising to my feet, I cast my gaze around for anything else amiss, but the settling storm seems intent on keeping the lake’s secrets. Any answers to be found probably disappeared with the mystery trucks, and hell, Gage and Rob could be the ones driving. If this is some elaborate prank or stunt to call my leadership into question, I’ll re-break the bastard’s nose before I banish him.
I turn on my heel and start back toward the trees, but carried on the wind, a familiar scent stops me mid-stride. Drawing in a deep breath, I close my eyes and let my feet follow my nose.
More breaths.
More steps.
And then again.
After a few minutes dressed as hours, I find the source of the scent: a pair of black sweatpants and a navy beanie obscured by white, some fifty feet from the blood stains in the snow. Recognition sparks immediately. The clothes belong to Arlo. Further scent-guided steps reveal two additional piles of clothing nearby—one belonging to Gage, the other to Rob.
More minutes pass searching in vain. Each second births new questions until my wolf-warm blood is simmering hot enough to melt the pale shroud clinging to my skin.
Whose blood is it? If Gage and Rob are dead, where are the bodies? Why were they all naked? Who was driving the trucks? Did they see what happened? Where did they go?
The last thought spurs me back into the trees, clutching the abandoned clothing. Arlo knows what happened, I’m sure of it. I’m equally certain he’s hiding something behind the vampire story, but what and why? It’s a point of pride that I’ve never used Command to compel confessions, but with my suspicions outweighing evidence, there may be no other choice. Lives could rest on information Arlo is refusing to share willingly.
My impatient feet crush the underbrush, now driven on with a new single-minded focus. I will uncover the truth of what happened here, even if I have to spill more blood to do it.