Page 13

Nate

I sipped at my espresso and watched the crowds move past the coffee shop.

A wave of humanity, flitting to and fro, all of them in their own little worlds.

None of them knew a shifter was watching them.

Over the years, I’d learned to keep myself as inconspicuous as possible—not entirely easy with my size and the power of my alpha aura.

Even humans could sense it sometimes if I wasn’t extra careful.

Still, it was always surreal to think about how little they truly knew about the world.

My mind drifted, as it had so many times these last few days, to Cameron Torres.

Since meeting her at her apartment, she’d been stuck in my brain, like a splinter under the skin you couldn’t quite work out.

A very attractive splinter. My inner wolf enjoyed thinking about her, too.

Each time an image of her face flashed through my mind, he gave a low, hungry growl.

Surges of desire flooded through from him, echoing my own.

As I watched the sea of people stream by, I compared every woman to her.

That wasn’t something I’d ever done with anyone before, and it confused me.

I didn’t do romance. A one-night stand? Sure.

But thinking about some woman I barely knew, imagining myself with her, was strange.

Especially for me, who preferred to stay hidden and unconnected from both human and shifter societies.

Even here, in the shadow of an alleyway between the coffee shop and a bakery, I felt a bit exposed.

Finishing my coffee, I tossed the takeout cup in a trash can and moved farther back into the shadows.

I made my way to the nearby park, trying to put Cameron from my mind.

Based on the map I’d made after triangulating the addresses Ollie had given me, there were two possible options for the chlorinated water.

One was a health club a bit north of where one of the bodies were found, the other was the park.

Online pictures showed it had a big fountain, and I wanted to see if it was chlorinated.

It was much closer to two of the bodies, so it was a better lead.

Keeping away from prying eyes as best I could, I walked the last three blocks until the park came into view.

I didn’t even need to see it to know. The chemical tang of chlorine stung my nostrils as I crossed the jogging path.

Another hundred yards and the trees gave way into a small clearing.

An ornate concrete fountain sprayed water into the sky.

The water rainbowed down into a fairly large pool.

People strolled around, traversing the concrete path that circled the fountain. This was the place. It had to be. Now the real work began.

Shrugging off my worries about being seen, I stepped out of the trees and walked over to the fountain.

A glance showed me it was only around a foot or two deep.

Thousands of coins lined the bottom from lovers, children, and the young at heart making wishes before offering their money to whatever water gods they thought might grant them their greatest desires.

It was both heartwarming and ridiculous.

Quaint in a way I could never understand.

As a lone wolf, my life was about moving, surviving, and fighting. There was never time to hope and wish.

I took a surreptitious sniff of the air. It had been days since the feral had last killed, and who knew how long since he’d been by this fountain, but my senses were strong. If there was a trace, I’d find it.

A mother walked by with her child. The woman glanced my way, and even from this distance, I could see her eyes widen in lust. The scent of her arousal tickled my nose.

I grinned to myself and continued with my work.

Trying to blend in, I pulled a coin from my pocket and tossed it into the fountain as I circled it, trying to catch a scent that matched the fur Ollie had shown me.

It took some time, but eventually, I found it.

The familiar musk of a feral wolf pulled me toward the surrounding trees again, growing stronger and more distinct.

My wolf worked in tandem with me, using our enhanced senses to hunt down and search out the feral.

Tucking my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, I followed the scent, acting like I was out for a midday walk.

Even then, I still tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, keeping to the woods of the park until the scent brought me back to the heart of the city.

There, the smell faded even more. Thousands of people had walked through the area.

Cars and buses billowed out exhaust, and restaurants, dry cleaners, and sewer grates muffled and washed out the smell even more.

“Shit,” I grunted, crossing the street.

For the next hour, I searched the general area, thinking I might find an apartment complex or maybe a hotel. Something that could serve as our boy’s base. I even went so far as to stroll through some of the buildings, hoping to catch the scent in one of the corridors. Nothing stood out, though.

Deciding to go even deeper down the rabbit hole, I waited until no one was looking and shifted.

My wolf was huge but dark and easily blended into the park forestry.

Plus, in a city like Toronto? People would most likely assume some rich prick’s high-priced specialty breed dog was taking a walk.

Even then, I chose areas farthest from human habitation.

Under bridges, small earthen caves along the river, and culverts.

Searching high and low for the place our boy might be using as a hiding place.

Over two hours, I must have searched a hundred different spots, letting my nose guide me.

Walking nearly five miles, I managed to find nothing.

The closest I came to was a small homeless encampment.

Two guys drunk or stoned out of their minds had fallen asleep in an old storm drain.

Neither had the scent of a shifter. Angry and irritated, I shifted back to my human form and made my way back to the more populated areas.

Later in the afternoon, I bought a falafel pita from a streetside cart and stewed on my disappointment.

If this guy had gone feral enough to stalk and kill human women, then he had to be pretty far gone.

Mentally out of it. Too far gone to hold down a job for more than a week.

He’d be hard up for money, which meant he’d need to get most of what he had secondhand.

After tossing away my empty wrapper, I walked the streets again, searching out thrift stores, cheap corner markets, and pawn shops.

Maybe he’d shopped at one of these places.

Hell, if he was desperate enough, he’d have shoplifted from one.

There wasn’t a lot of hope in my search, but it was the only lead I had.

Near dusk, I stepped into a dingy little pawn shop on the very outskirts of the area.

All pawn shops looked the same, with one corner full of music equipment, drums, guitars, amps, etc.

TVs, stereos, video game systems, and vacuum cleaners sat pushed up against the walls.

The things the poor had to sell off in order to afford life. These places always depressed me.

There was no scent here, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been in here weeks ago. It was time to pick the brains of the humans who may have seen the guy.

Once the lady at the counter was done making a sale and the only other customer in the shop left, I swaggered up to the counter.

The woman, middle-aged and tired, glanced at me warily as I walked up to the counter, but I gave her my thousand-watt smile, and within seconds, she was smiling back at me nervously.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.

“Maybe you can,” I said. “I’m looking for an old army buddy of mine. I think he might be around here, and I was hoping someone might have seen him at some point.” I leaned on the counter and eyed her with barely visible flirtation, trying to lower her guard.

She flushed and gave a girlish giggle. “Maybe I could help. What does he look like?”

The fur Ollie showed me had been sprinkled with gray and carried the scent of age. He was at least a few decades past his first shift, which meant he was older than me.

“He’s maybe a decade older than me. Salt-and-pepper hair.

If I had to guess, he’s gonna look like he’s pretty down on his luck.

” I paused. ”You see, he’s got some pretty bad PTSD from being in the service.

He may look a little sketchy or jumpy. Doesn’t like loud noises, either.

” All symptoms of PTSD, but also symptoms of going feral.

“I’m just trying to find him and help the guy get into treatment. Anyone like that ring a bell?”

She thought for several minutes, then shook her head and sighed sadly.

“No, I’m afraid not. There’s a homeless guy who comes in to try and pawn garbage a lot, but I’d put him in his late sixties or early seventies.

I doubt he was in the service with you. I can’t think of anyone else who fits the description. ”

Cameron and her friend had given an initial statement to the first officer on the scene, and what little we had to go on was that he was somewhere between thirty-five and fifty.

Damn. I gave her a warm smile. “I’ll keep checking around. Thank you for your time.”

I went around to other places in the area, asking a variation of the same thing—my brother was strung out and living on the streets, and I was looking for him; I’d seen a guy drop a phone and wanted to return it to him; a guy owed me money, and he hadn’t paid up yet—to make sure no one put two and two together if these people ever interacted.

I even donned a hat or left my sunglasses on to keep my appearance as vague as possible.