Page 24 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

A Wolf Transformed (Rowan)

Rewind

Rowan presses the elevator button for their floor with his elbow—yeah, he’s talented—and reshuffles the three bags of stuff from the market across the street in his arms, along with the two bundles of flowers.

He’d chosen purple irises and the sunniest yellow daisies he could find. He also managed to remember the items on the list that Luca gave him before he left.

His biggest prizes, though, are two T-shirts that say I {heart} Clearwater, big enough to cover an extra-large NBA superstar, and two tiny bears with Velcro on their hands.

He’d turned them head to tail in the classic 69 position, in hopes he could get a smile out of his mates—and maybe a real-life demonstration.

When the elevator door slides open, his senses explode, instantly putting his wolf on high alert.

The front door of the apartment is ajar, which is certainly odd, but what’s worse is the scent of pure patchouli, popcorn, and the foulest decay wafting through the air. Rowan’s favorite mocha-vanilla-baked-bread is frighteningly absent.

Slamming open the door, he lets the bags of groceries and gifts hit the floor.

He finds the burner phone on the floor where Luca and Nix had been sitting, and there’s a barstool pulled out halfway, like someone had perched on it. The scent of decay is strongest there. His nose burns with the scent, stimulating his wolf’s desire to re-mark his territory.

Rowan denies himself the pleasure, instead checking the other room and the bathroom just to be sure his nose hasn’t let him down.

But they’re gone.

They should have stuck together, just like Nix had said.

Leo had told him. Gideon had reminded him. Jay had looked him in the eye and said he’d trusted him to be their bulwark (who even says that anymore?) against the evils of the world.

His only excuse was that Nix hadn’t insisted, and Luca hadn’t seemed at all worried. Luca almost always had a good bead on whether they had something to worry about. I mean, who worried more than him?

Still, this is FUBAR, and the blame falls squarely on his shoulders.

Even if Rowan has been working on making his feelings and his actions match what he knows in his head to be true (it hopefully makes him less of a hypocritical jerkface, as per Luca). Rowan knows without a doubt that Nix can take care of himself.

He can …and Rowan needs to believe it now, even more than before he went to the store.

Still, the fear sinks in and won’t let go.

His mates and his children have been taken.

He knows that to be true without a doubt, because they sure as fuck would have waited for him to come back from the store first if it had been voluntary. Plus, if the dead bodies of the interlopers weren’t clogging up their tiny apartment, the threat had to be serious.

Grabbing the cell phone, he checks for messages. When there aren’t any, he types something for Jay and Gideon before erasing it. He starts again and erases that, too.

What can he say? He lost them? They’ve been taken, and he doesn’t know anything? He can’t call to say it either. Just hearing it out loud would be so much worse.

Rowan knows he’s let them all down—for the chance of having happy mates and a chocolate brownie.

He’d let his desire to please overshadow any fucking common sense.

It’s shameful. Jay is going to be disappointed, and Gideon…well, that doesn’t bear thinking about right now. Not to mention that he has no idea how he’s going to get them back.

He’d have to know where they are first.

The idea brings with it a flash of relief. He’s the best tracker in their pack, and the scent of the decaying one is still so strong he could follow it across the city, even after all this time.

Wait. He could follow it across the city.

It will be so much better if he can find Nix and Luca and then call the alphas.

He’ll be contrite and maybe help Nix save the day—if he hasn’t done so all by himself already. Rowan’s heroic actions will be an accolade, not a disgrace.

Yeah, this is the best idea he’s ever had…so far.

With that thought in mind, he takes a deep breath.

He lets the scents of the hallway fill him up: cooking from the apartment next to him, a cleaning solvent on the floor, a bitter scent from the bug sprayer on the ceiling.

He remembers that he hadn’t smelled Carnell’s minions in the elevator when he’d come up, so they must have taken the stairs. And when he gets to the door, he can smell popcorn and—of course—that rotting flesh scent with its undertone of patchouli.

Magic , he remembers suddenly.

That explained why Nix hadn’t laid them out immediately. Goddess knows what that bastard had done to make Nix compliant.

Growling, he hits the bottom of the stairs and pushes the fire exit door open with such force it hits the wall—the impact like a gunshot in the narrow alley.

The alleyway is empty of any vehicles or people now, just two large dumpsters that throw a myriad of food smells and other detritus straight to his brain.

He flinches and turns down his tracking nose to his normal level (what?

It’s totally a thing). It’s frustrating, and no doubt what the abductors had intended to use to hide their scents, should the pack get this far.

“Fuck!” Rowan yells as he lets frustration feed his rage.

He spots a piece of red fabric lying on the ground. It’s the exact shade of the T-shirt Nix had been wearing this morning. When he picks it up, he gets a familiar whiff of mocha, overlaid with iron and the slightest tinge of himself.

The scrap is covered in dark brown stains that are unmistakably blood. Luca’s blood.

The idea that someone had made his sweet mate bleed enough that Nix had had to tear his clothing to stop the flow has Rowan’s wolf scratching and clawing at the inside of his skull.

Rowan wants to give him free rein to run through the city and bring death and destruction to anyone who stands in his way, to find the person who’d hurt his mates and tear them limb from limb. But he can’t. He has to keep a clear head so he can track his mates.

Then he can let his wolf out.

He crouches down so he can get the scent of the vehicle in his nose.

Yes, it’s weird. He knows it, but he’s been doing it for so long that it’s second nature.

There’s gasoline and exhaust and metal, but also that rotting-flesh scent.

It’s infected the air around wherever the vehicle had been sitting.

It’s that scent that sets him off out of the end of the alley at a run.

It’s easy to avoid pedestrians or cars crossing the street, even at full speed, as the wolf is close to the surface. Its instincts are unmatched when it comes to self-preservation and the pursuit of that scent.

He can tell that the abductor’s truck has passed through a heavily congested area—perhaps because of an accident or construction delays—and his wolf redirects him down a side street and into an alley so they can reroute around the intersection.

Losing the scent of the truck for a moment, Rowan stops to catch his breath. He pulls out his phone and sees a text from Finn that Grayson’s visit to the Guild has gone well and that they are staying for refreshments.

No, Rowan won’t be texting him back either.

If a disappointed Jay is distressing, a disappointed Leo is worse. He’ll keep this to himself until he can at least find his mates’ location, and then he’ll confess to having left them and take his medicine.

There isn’t a message from Gideon, though, which is odd—but maybe they’re too busy with the kids and the crowds.

Gideon may talk about not being a “kid” person, but Rowan thinks it’s a front. After all, Gideon is the most parental of them all. Like Rowan told him at the safe house, Gideon is going to be the best Dad to ever Dad.

He might spare a minute to check the app to be sure his alphas are still well; and with that thought, it strikes him suddenly that he’s running all over the Goddess’s green planet tracking Nix and Luc like an animal, when he could have just tracked them on the fucking app.

You’re an idiot, Rowan Foster.

With that idea in mind, he turns toward the other end of the alley—phone in hand—intent on hailing a cab and following their microchip signatures. He’s thinking about where best to find said cab when there’s a sharp pain in his belly that sends him to the ground.

His wolf howls at the pain, and Rowan can’t help but howl with him.

The part of his enigma he kept subdued out of respect for Jay explodes in a fury.

Layered with loss and grief, the feeling is almost more than he can bear. With his wolf so close to the surface for tracking, the pain grows tenfold, and his wolf knows immediately what it is.

That kind of pain only means one thing: his alpha’s gone, and the mantle’s looking for a new home.

As the biological next in line to lead, his enigma is catapulted into dominance in the blink of an eye. He’s not expecting it—not the agony of loss nor the drive to lead—even though Gideon had long ago guessed that was why Rowan struggled to keep his wolf under control.

His wolf howls in victory while Rowan lets his tears flow.

He is his wolf, and his wolf is him.

All at once, there is a tsunami of emotion, and there is no one to help him handle it.

No one to lead the way and point out the joys and the pitfalls of life in that firm and gentle way.

No one who has the same perfect dimples and bright, shining eyes.

No one to show him what it means to be the best leader.

No one to hold him tightly in strong arms.

No one who smells like wood smoke on a cold, crisp morning.

No one to run their fingers through his hair and tell him he is good.

It breaks Rowan into a million pieces, and in the next instant, he is out cold.