Page 29 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter twenty-seven

Poking the Wolf

SERA

B ode’s eyes light up when he sees me walking toward the campfire like I belong there. I can feel the glow of his memory pulsing—he still believes the enchantment I brewed into that beer. Believes the bonding was real. That we shared something deep and primal and permanent.

Good. Let him.

I walk right up to him, lean into the performance, and kiss him like I mean it—slow, open-mouthed, heated. His growl rumbles in my chest like satisfaction. He cups the back of my neck with a possessive squeeze, and I let him. Just long enough.

"I missed you," I murmur, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. His pack watches us closely, but their gazes shift away once they’re sure he is safe.

He wraps an arm around my waist and introduces me to everyone around the fire like a prized possession.

His daughter—icy and sharp, her mate beside her like a sentinel, watches me warily.

Then there's her son, Bode’s five-year old grandson, young and curious, eyeing me like he’s trying to place where he’s seen me before.

I hold his gaze just long enough to earn his respect.

Then my eyes land on someone I didn’t expect to see here.

Marcus.

He’s lounging like he belongs, his arm draped around the same pretty crew member I saw him flirting with at the bar and later in a more intense conversation at the coffee shop.

My stomach knots. I zero in, scanning his face.

His scent. His energy. Has he hunted yet?

I don’t see the signs, but something’s off. Something deep under the surface.

I work harder to sell the act—letting my body stay close to Bode’s, my expression loose and smitten. I seal off my thoughts with a block so tight it gives me a headache. No one here can know what I’m really thinking. Especially not Marcus.

When he catches me alone refilling my drink, he saunters over. His voice is low and sharp. "I told Noah he couldn’t trust you."

I take a long sip and meet his eyes, calm as glass. "That’s rich. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What are you doing here?" he asserts.

I wink in Bode's direction, hoping I'm not over-selling it. "What are you doing here?"

"You're going to break his soul." He stares me down. I can feel the menace and distrust of his wolf.

“Does he have one?” I counter, walking off before he can say another word, my pulse hammering behind my ribs. He’s not wrong. Not entirely. The secrets I’m keeping for Noah’s sake might be the very thing that destroys us.

I stare into the fire for a moment too long, willing my focus back. Now’s not the time for doubt or guilt or love. Now’s the time for strategy.

The evening stretches on with Bode’s crew gathered around the fire, swapping stories laced with werewolf lore.

Some of them are silly, some chilling. I laugh when expected, ask just enough questions to appear curious.

I learn more tonight about werewolf hierarchy and protocol than I ever did from FBI files.

Bode stays close to me, brushing fingers over my skin, his wolfish possessiveness on full display. I let him. Every move I make is calculated.

And when he finally guides me back to the cabin with that glint in his eye, I go.

Right on schedule.

He closes the cabin door behind us with a low thud that sends a flicker of anticipation down my spine—though not the kind he intends. I’ve danced in fire before, but this? This is a whole new level of danger.

Bode turns toward me, his eyes glowing faintly amber. “You make a man wait too long, sweetheart.”

I laugh softly, the sound breezy and sweet. “You make a woman long to come back.”

He grins. It’s sharp and smug, the expression of a predator who thinks the prey is ready to lie down willingly. He cups my face, tilting it up for a kiss that’s more force than finesse, all alpha pride and territorial hunger. I respond in kind, letting him believe I’m swept up in it.

Then his hands go to the buttons of my shirt.

Not yet.

“Slow down,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his jaw. “Let me look at you.”

He straightens, chest out. Good.

I reach into the pocket of my jacket, fumbling like it’s all just nerves.

He leans in. That’s when I move—quick, practiced, lethal. The syringe slides from my sleeve into my hand with a whisper of metal against fabric, the cold sting of its presence matching the chill in my spine. One fluid motion, and I plunge it into the side of his neck.

His eyes widen. “What the—”

He stumbles back, reaching for the wound, but the sedative hits fast and hard. His knees buckle. I guide him gently to the bed like we’re dancing, stroking his hair again as his vision dims.

“Sleep well, lover.”

The moment he’s out, I’m across the room, finishing the job I started two nights ago.

No time to waste.

I scan the drawers, the wardrobe, the carved wooden box near the dresser. Nothing useful. Then my gaze catches on a display of costume jewelry laid out on velvet. Something has changed since my last visit. I see a glint under the soft cabin light.

A silver watch.

Not just any watch. I’ve seen this one before—on the FBI investigation board.

Yes, and on Agent Leighton’s wrist.

My throat tightens.

I don’t like what this means, but I’m not surprised.

What it does give me is the link I need to get a warrant.

I leave everything where it is and snap a few pictures with my phone. I capture images of other unidentifiable trinkets while I’m at it--a ring with dried blood under the setting, a cufflink engraved with initials I don’t recognize. They’re either trophies of his kills...or gory movie props.

My magic hums, urging me to get out before he stirs. But I consider Bode one last time. There’s no satisfaction in this. Just certainty. I made the right call.

Now to get this evidence into the right hands before the monster wakes.

Ember and I meet just before sunrise, our rendezvous point cloaked in mist and the hush of pre-dawn silence. They wait by their car, arms folded, face unreadable.

“Got something for you,” I say, sharing the images from my phone.

Their eyes narrow at the contents—first the watch, then the bloodied ring. “Where’d you get these?”

“From Bode’s den. He’s keeping souvenirs. The watch looks like Agent Leighton’s. There’s more, probably.” I hand over the USB drive with the images on.

“Good. This, along with the results we got back on the claw, will give us enough to get a warrant.”

My breath stops. I wait for details on this new development.

"We got the results back on the claw. It matches one of the victims,” they murmur. “And there was DNA on it—Bode’s. With something... else.”

My heart pounds. “Else?”

“We can’t place it yet. But it’s not entirely human. Or entirely wolf.”

I take a breath. “Most likely the wolves got to it after it was dumped in the woods.”

Ember looks at me, speculative. “Possible."

They hold up the USB drive. "We'll get these fast tracked,” they state as they climb back in the vehicle.

I notice the scent of lavender, rosemary and sage coming from the air freshener, the same herbs that Tori uses. Interesting. I had no idea how popular this combination had become.

“Oh, and you might be interested in seeing these.” They hand me a piece of paper. The test results from Tori’s blood work.

I swipe my fingers over the paper, murmuring under my breath, then slide my hand past Ember’s face. “Nothing strange here.”

Ember’s gaze turns dreamy for half a second. Then they blink. “Everything’s normal.”

I hand the report back with a slight nod and pull my hood over my head.

The door closes, and the ignition starts.

I stop them with my hand on the window. “Be careful, Ember. Agent Leighton was no slouch.” They smile and nod. They understand.

“When we go, we go in broad daylight. And bring plenty of backup. Bode is smart. We must be ready for anything.”

Ember smirks, that edge of steel in their smile. “We will.”

With that, they roll up the window and lock the door.

The next day we meet up at the police station.

The mood is electric. The photos I took—Agent Leighton’s watch, the bloodied ring, the claw—has set wheels in motion faster than I expected.

There’s a surge of adrenaline running through the halls, agents in dark jackets prepping gear and coordinating strategy.

FBI and the local police joining forces.

I hover near the evidence board, heart thudding as I look over the photographs I helped put there. The map of the forest. Cork board images, minus those photos of Marcus, Noah and me. Victim timelines. Bode’s production schedule.

And then I see it again—those letters in the margins of the schedule.

“FM.”

They’re written beside three of the shoot dates. Scribbled like nothing. A production note most people would gloss right over.

But I’m not most people.

“Full Moon,” I say out loud, the words escaping my lips like a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Across the room, Ember freezes mid-step. Her head swivels toward me.

“What did you say?” she asks carefully.

I turn to her slowly. “The schedule… Bode’s notes.

‘FM.’ It wasn’t a location or anyone's initials.

I think it means Full Moon. Check the dates.

Each one for shoots out of town on the night of the Full Moon, the very nights of all six arsons.

What's interesting is that Bode is specifically planning shoots out of town every Full Moon. He's aware of the pattern.”

Ember’s mouth tightens. We lock eyes.

And in that long, loaded silence, everything sharpens.

The timing of the fires. The murders. The erratic behavior of Bode’s crew. The elevated aggression. It all clicks.

He’s planning something.

Something big.

And the full moon is tonight.

Ember crosses the room in three strides and rips the schedule printout from the board. “He’s syncing the attacks to the lunar cycle,” she mutters, scanning the notes. “He’s going to leave town tonight. We’ve got to go in before that happens.”

I swallow hard, my voice steady even as my stomach churns. “He’s not just a killer, Ember. He’s a tactician.”

“And today,” Ember says grimly, “we walk into his trap.”

I look toward the door, dread curling in my gut. I can feel it rising in the air like static before lightning. The full moon’s power tugging at the wolves, dragging out the worst in them.

We’re out of time.

I’m not sure we’re ready.