Page 5 of Panther Heart’s Secret Passion (Esoterra Shifters World #2)
Chapter Five
Adrienne
I drove back to Mistvale, my hands tight on the wheel, the shard in my pocket burning a hole in my thoughts.
Its faint blue glow pulsed against my thigh, and Allen’s cagey behavior kept replaying in my head.
That hot spring, his touch, the way he pulled away like I’d stung him, it was all too much.
I needed answers, not just about him but about whatever was happening in these woods.
The Misty Pines Motel came into view, but I could not sit still in that cramped room with its buzzing neon sign.
Instead, I headed to the newspaper office, a small building on the edge of town that smelled of ink and burnt coffee.
It was late, but I had a key, and the quiet was perfect for digging into what I had found.
Inside, I flicked on a desk lamp and pulled out the shard, setting it on a stack of old papers.
Under a magnifying glass, it looked even stranger, its surface etched with tiny, swirling patterns that seemed to shift when I tilted it.
The faint pulse was still there, like a heartbeat, and it gave me the creeps but also lit a fire under me.
I fired up my laptop and started searching local folklore, scrolling through grainy scans of Mistvale’s archives.
There were vague mentions of ancient artifacts tied to forest myths, stories of lights in the woods and guardians who protected them.
It was thin, but it was something, and I jotted it down, my pen scratching in the silence.
The door creaked, and Trisha, my editor, stomped in, her gray hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her voice, rough from years of smoking, cut through the quiet. “Phelps, you better have something for me. You have been here three days, and I am not seeing a story.”
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. “I am close, Trisha. There is sabotage at the logging sites, weird marks on the equipment, and some kind of artifact.” I held up the shard, its glow catching her eye.
She squinted, stepping closer. “What the hell is that? Looks like something from a sci-fi flick. You got anything solid to back this up, or are you chasing ghosts?”
“It is solid,” I said, though I was not sure myself. “I have photos, and I am meeting a source tonight. An ex-logger who knows something about the company. Just give me a little more time.”
Trisha crossed her arms, her frown deep. “Time is not free, kid. You have got two days to give me a draft, or I am pulling you back to Seattle. Do not make me regret sticking my neck out for you.” She grabbed a coffee mug and left, the door slamming behind her.
I sighed, my stomach twisting. Trisha was tough, but she was right, I needed more.
Allen’s warnings kept nagging at me, his voice telling me to stay out of the forest, but I could not let it go.
Not when I was this close. I checked my phone, rereading a cryptic text from my source, an ex-logger named Benjamin, who had agreed to meet me behind the Pinewood Diner at ten.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out, the shard tucked safely in my pocket.
The alley behind the diner was dark, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp.
Benjamin was already there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes darting like he expected someone to jump him.
He was older, with a scruffy beard and hands that shook as he lit a cigarette.
“Are you Adrienne?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my distance. “You said you had something on the logging company. What is the deal?”
He took a drag, the smoke curling in the air. “They are dirty. Been funding some group, buying what they call rare pelts from the forest. Not normal furs, either. Weird stuff, like nothing I have ever seen. They pay big, but it is hush-hush. People who talk, they disappear.”
My pulse quickened. “Who is buying? And what kind of pelts?”
He shook his head, stepping closer. “I do not know names. But I saw one of their guys once, had a tattoo on his neck, like a claw mark. Creepy as hell. You need to watch your back, lady. They know you are poking around.”
I nodded, my mind racing. A claw-mark tattoo. That sounded too much like the cloaked figures who had chased me. “Thanks, Benjamin. If you hear anything else, you know how to reach me.” I slipped him a twenty, and he vanished into the dark, his cigarette glowing faintly as he went.
Back in my car, I could not sit still. The logging company was involved, and that tattoo was a lead I could not ignore.
I checked my phone, pulling up a grainy photo I had snapped at the logging site, zooming in on one of the cloaked figures.
There it was, on his neck, a claw-mark tattoo, just like Benjamin said.
My gut told me to move, to follow this now.
I had seen a company truck at the diner earlier, and when I drove by, it was pulling out, heading toward a forest road.
I followed at a distance, my headlights off, the moon guiding me as I tailed it to a trailhead deep in the woods.
I parked a ways back and grabbed my flashlight, my boots sinking into the mud as I crept along the trail.
The ground was thick with thorns, and one snagged my hand as I pushed through a bramble, the sharp sting making me hiss.
Blood welled up, but I ignored it, too focused on the truck ahead.
It was stopped, the driver talking to a man under a pine tree.
I crouched behind a log, my breath shallow, and aimed my flashlight.
The man turned, and I saw it, the claw-mark tattoo on his neck, stark against his skin in the dim light.
My heart pounded. This was it, the link between the sabotage, the attackers, and whatever Allen was hiding.
A twig snapped behind me, and I spun around, my flashlight catching Allen’s face, his jaw tight with anger. “Adrienne, what the hell are you doing out here?” he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me deeper into the trees.
I yanked free, my voice sharp. “Following a lead, Allen! Unlike you, I do not just wander around pretending everything is fine. That guy over there? He has the same tattoo as the ones who attacked me. You gonna tell me that is a coincidence?”
His eyes darkened, his voice low. “You are risking your life chasing this. You have no idea what you are messing with.”
I stepped closer, my anger boiling over.
“Then tell me! I am sick of your half-answers, your warnings, your whole mysterious act. Do you know what this feels like? I am out here, alone, pouring everything into this story. I have been grinding for years, Allen, writing stupid clickbait articles, begging for a shot at something real. This is it, my one chance to prove I am not some nobody journalist who will crash and burn. If I fail, I lose everything, my career, my dreams, all of it! And you are just standing there, hiding whatever you know, acting like I am the problem. I am terrified, okay? Terrified I am not good enough, that I will let everyone down. Just tell me the truth, Allen. Please.”
He flinched, his face softening, and he knelt in front of me, his hands gentle as he took my injured hand.
The thorn had left a jagged cut, blood trickling down my wrist, and he pulled a bandana from his pocket, wrapping it carefully.
His touch lingered, warm and steady, and that flutter in my chest was back, messing with my head.
“Adrienne,” he said, his voice quiet. “I care. I do. But this is bigger than your story. It is dangerous, and I am trying to keep you safe.”
I swallowed, my throat tight, my anger cracking.
“I am scared, Allen. Scared I will fail, that I will lose everything I have been fighting for. I have been at this for years, and I am so close. I cannot stop now, not when I am onto something real. That tattoo, those pelts, the shard in my pocket, it is all connected, is it not? And you know how.”
He stood, his eyes soft but guarded, his hand still holding mine.
“You are not gonna fail. You are too stubborn for that.” He gave me a small smile, and it hit me like a punch, that warmth spreading through me.
“But you have to trust me. Those guys, they are bad news. You keep digging, and they will come for you.”
I stepped closer, my voice shaking but firm. “They already are. Those cloaked figures, they knew my name. And now I know they are tied to the logging company, to that tattoo. I am not backing down, Allen. But I need you to stop hiding things. If you are in this with me, then be in it.”
He looked at me, his green eyes searching mine, and for a second, I thought he would finally open up. But he just squeezed my hand, his voice low. “I am with you. Just let me handle this part, okay? Stay out of the forest for now.”
I pulled my hand back, frustration bubbling up. “You do not get to decide that. This is my story, my fight. You want to help? Then start talking.”
Before he could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at it, my stomach dropping as a news alert flashed across the screen. Benjamin, the ex-logger, was dead, found in his car just outside town. A note was pinned to his jacket, the words chilling: “She knows too much.”