Page 9

Chapter

Eight

T he sweet scent of roasted meat and mulled wine wafted through Jasmine's Vines & Soul resort, mingling with laughter and the low hum of conversation.

Mia stood at the edge of the celebration, watching the remaining alpha candidates mingle with pack members beneath strings of fairy lights that Beatrice had insisted would "add ambiance."

Her wolf senses picked up dozens of distinct conversations, heartbeats, and the underlying pack bonds that connected everyone.

Except Matthews. His scent was... off. Not quite wolf, not quite anything she recognized.

When she tried to sense him through the pack bonds, there was only a hollow emptiness.

"Your face is doing that thing again," Jasmine murmured, appearing at her side with two glasses of dark red wine. The liquid caught the light like blood as she passed one to Mia.

"What thing?" Mia accepted the glass, the cool crystal a welcome distraction against her fingertips.

"That 'I'm overthinking everything while trying to look casual' thing." Jasmine's expression remained neutral, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Your left eyebrow gets all twitchy."

A sharp, unwelcome heat rushed to Mia's cheeks. She took a sip of wine to hide her reaction, the rich berry notes hitting her tongue with an explosion of flavor that her heightened senses magnified tenfold.

"I'm just keeping an eye on the competition." Her gaze drifted to where Jim stood with a small group of pack elders, his posture relaxed but alert. Even after a year's absence, he still fit into the pack dynamics like he'd never left, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Jim glanced up, catching her stare across the room. The connection zinged between them, electric and uncomfortable, before she deliberately looked away.

Jasmine followed her gaze and sighed. "He hasn't taken his eyes off you all night, you know."

"I know." The words came out more bitter than intended. "Werewolf, remember? I can feel his attention like an itch between my shoulder blades."

The music shifted to something with a heavier beat that vibrated through the wooden floor beneath her feet. The scent of nervous excitement permeated the room as pack members started to dance, their movements becoming more uninhibited as the celebration progressed.

Matthews chose that moment to approach, his gait perfectly balanced, his smile practiced and precise. Two glasses of amber liquid were balanced in his hands, and the artificial citrus scent of the concoction couldn't quite mask something metallic underneath.

"Alpha Mia," Matthews inclined his head with just the right amount of deference, "I thought you might enjoy our Northern Pack's special blend. It's quite... invigorating."

Before Mia could respond, Jim appeared at her elbow as if materialized from thin air. His presence brought the scent of pine and something ancient, like old paper and leather.

"I've always found Southern hospitality beats Northern formality," Jim said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. There was something dangerous in the casual way he positioned himself between Mia and Matthews.

Matthews' perfect smile flickered. For just a moment—so brief Mia almost missed it—his canines extended past what was normal for even an alpha werewolf. A flash of fang that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Jim's hand brushed against Matthews', ostensibly reaching for one of the glasses. The movement seemed clumsy for someone with Jim's grace, and the glass tipped, amber liquid splashing across the front of Matthews' immaculate suit.

"My apologies," Jim said, not sounding remotely sorry. "Let me help you with that."

The temperature between the two men dropped to freezing. Matthews' jaw tightened to granite as he dabbed at the spreading stain with a handkerchief that appeared from nowhere.

"No need," Matthews said, each word precisely clipped. "Though I wonder if your... clumsiness... will affect your performance in the final challenges."

"I'm more concerned with what might be affecting yours," Jim replied, his voice dropping to a register that triggered Mia's instincts to be on alert. "Not looking quite yourself tonight, Matthews."

Across the room, Mia caught sight of Beatrice hurriedly emptying a small vial into a fresh glass before turning toward them with a too-bright smile. The scent of her "truth potion" was distinctive—honey and lavender with an undercurrent of something sharper.

"Gentlemen," Beatrice called, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone who'd had exactly one glass of wine too many. "You simply must try Jasmine's special reserve!" She thrust the doctored glass toward Matthews.

What happened next unfolded in chaotic sequence. Matthews stepped back to avoid Beatrice's approach, bumping into a passing server. The server stumbled, Beatrice tripped forward, and the potion-laced drink splashed directly into Jim's open mouth as he was mid-retort.

Jim coughed, sputtering as the liquid went down his throat. His eyes widened in recognition of the taste.

"That was—" he began, before clamping his mouth shut with visible effort.

Mia's stomach dropped. The truth potion. Shit.

Across the room, Jasmine's eyes went wide. She made a subtle gesture toward the back of the resort.

"Jim needs some air," Mia announced loudly, grabbing his arm. His skin felt fever-hot beneath her fingers, the muscles rigid with tension.

"I feel perfectly fine," Jim said, then looked horrified at his own honesty. "Actually, that's not true. I feel like my insides are being pulled inside out and everything I've ever wanted to say is trying to claw its way up my throat."

Matthews' expression shifted from annoyance to keen interest. "What an unusual reaction. Perhaps he's allergic to the wine?"

"Nothing so mundane," Jim bit out, sweat beading on his forehead. "I want to tell you exactly what I think of your false alpha posturing and whatever vampire deal you've?—"

Mia slapped her hand over Jim's mouth. The stubble of his jaw prickled against her palm, and she could feel his lips moving against her skin, still trying to form words.

"Food poisoning," she said firmly. "He had bad sushi."

"I've never eaten sushi in my life," Jim mumbled against her palm. "I think raw fish is disgusting and I?—"

"We're going," Mia said, tightening her grip and physically steering him toward the back exit. Beatrice quickly fell into step beside them, her face a mask of contrition, while Jasmine moved to intercept Matthews, smoothly engaging him in conversation.

The cool night air hit Mia's face as they burst through the back door, the sudden absence of music and voices a blessed relief for her overloaded senses. Jim was trembling now, his jaw clenched so tightly she could hear his teeth grinding.

"I'm so sorry," Beatrice whispered, shutting the door behind them. "It was meant for Matthews. The timing was just?—"

"Catastrophic," Mia finished for her. Jim was now physically restraining himself, one hand clamped over his own mouth. His eyes, normally a warm brown, had lightened to an amber that bordered on gold—a sign his wolf was rising in response to the stress.

"How long does it last?" Mia demanded, steering Jim toward a secluded storage shed behind the kitchen gardens.

Beatrice grimaced. "An hour? Maybe two? It depends on his metabolism and willpower." She fumbled with the lock on the shed, her usually steady hands clumsy with nerves. "I didn't exactly have time to measure the dosage precisely."

The shed door swung open, revealing a cluttered space filled with gardening tools and wine crates. Mia shoved Jim inside and followed, with Beatrice close behind.

Jim staggered against a stack of empty wine crates, knocking several to the floor with a clatter that made Mia wince. His breathing was ragged, and when he finally looked up, the naked emotion in his eyes made her take an involuntary step back.

"I missed you," he blurted out, the words rushing together. "Every day I was gone, every single day, I missed you like a physical ache. Like something vital had been carved out of my chest."

Heat rushed to Mia's face. This wasn't what she had expected. Anger, accusations, secrets about Matthews—not this raw, unfiltered emotion.

"Jim—" she began, but he cut her off.

"I left because I had to, not because I wanted to.

" The words tumbled out now, unstoppable.

"I saw you die, Mia. Over and over. I watched you bleed out in my arms in a dozen different futures, and I couldn't—" He broke off, visibly struggling against the potion's effects. "I couldn't be the reason you died."

The air in the shed seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. Outside, crickets chirped in the darkness, oblivious to the storm breaking within the small wooden structure.

"What do you mean, you 'saw' me die?" Mia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The scent of Jim's distress filled the confined space—sweat and anguish and something else, something old and strange that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

"Time slips," Jim gasped, sliding down against the wall until he sat hunched on the floor.

"I see things—past, present, future. After I was turned, it started happening.

At first just fragments, glimpses... then full visions.

" His fingers dug into his thighs hard enough to leave bruises. "I thought I was losing my mind."

Beatrice edged closer, scientific curiosity overtaking her earlier embarrassment. "That's why you left? Because of these visions?"

Jim nodded, his expression haunted. "I saw Matthews kill her during the challenge.

I saw vampire hunters tracking me to Wolf Valley.

I saw too many paths leading to her death, and most of them led back to me.

" His voice broke. "So I left. Tracked the source of the threat.

Ended up in Eastern Europe following vampire bloodlines and—" He stopped abruptly, his face contorting in pain.

Mia knelt in front of him, close enough to see the pulse pounding in his throat. "And what, Jim?"

When he looked up, there was genuine fear in his eyes. "Something's wrong. The potion's reacting with..." He gasped, doubling over. "Can't talk about Charlotte. About the vampires. There's a blood oath?—"

Beneath his skin, something strange was happening. Faint blue lines appeared, tracing patterns across his forearms like luminescent tattoos, pulsing with an unnatural light.

"What the hell?" Mia breathed, reaching out instinctively.

Jim's hand shot out to stop her. "Don't touch—" But it was too late. Her fingers brushed against the glowing marks, and the world around them fractured.

For one terrifying moment, Mia saw double—the cramped shed and simultaneously a stone chamber filled with hooded figures. Jim was there in both places, modern clothes in the shed, ancient robes in the chamber. The markings on his skin burned brighter, connecting the two realities.

Then the vision collapsed, and Jim cried out in agony as the markings faded beneath his skin once more.

"Beatrice," Mia barked, her alpha authority surfacing through her shock, "get Jasmine. Now."

Beatrice nodded and slipped out the door, leaving Mia alone with Jim. The only sound was his labored breathing and the distant murmur of the celebration continuing unaware.

"Jim." She hesitated, then placed her hand on his shoulder. The muscle beneath her palm was rigid with tension. "What just happened?"

He looked up at her, pain etched in every line of his face, but there was something else there too—relief, as if a great weight had been partially lifted.

"The truth is coming out one way or another," he said with a weak attempt at his usual smile. "I'm just not sure either of us is ready for it."

Before she could press further, the door swung open, revealing Jasmine's concerned face.

"Matthews is asking questions," she said without preamble. "I can't keep him distracted much longer." Her sharp gaze took in Jim's condition, and her expression hardened. "What happened?"

"The potion's interacting with something else," Mia explained, not taking her eyes off Jim. "Something to do with a blood oath."

Jasmine cursed under her breath. "Blood magic. That complicates things."

Jim leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed. "You have no idea," he whispered.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air as a thin trickle ran from his nose. The truth potion was still working its way through his system, fighting against whatever other magic bound him to silence.

"We need to get him somewhere safe," Mia decided. "My cabin. It's the most protected place in the territory."

Jasmine nodded. "I'll create a diversion. Food poisoning story should work—I'll have Beatrice mention exotic mushrooms in the appetizers. That'll keep everyone distracted with worry about their own stomachs."

Despite his condition, Jim managed a pained laugh. "Always tactical, Jasmine."

"Someone has to be," she replied, but her voice had softened. "Can you walk?"

Jim nodded, struggling to his feet with Mia's help. The contact sent another jolt through her system—the ghost of that strange double vision, like looking through a fractured window into another time.

"Matthews can't know about this," Jim said urgently. "Whatever you do, don't let him suspect anything about the potion or my... condition."

"I'm more concerned about your immediate health than Matthews' suspicions," Mia retorted, but the worry gnawing at her insides belied her sharp tone.

"That's because you don't know what he's really planning," Jim said, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "But you will. Once this damned potion either reveals everything or kills me trying."

The certainty in his voice sent ice down Mia's spine. She'd known Jim was hiding something since his return, but the depth of his secrets was becoming apparent—and far more dangerous than she'd imagined.

As they prepared to slip out through the kitchen gardens to avoid the main celebration, Mia caught a glimpse of Matthews through the window.

He was watching the back entrance, his perfect posture and practiced smile still in place, but his eyes were cold and calculating.

For just a moment, they flashed with an unnatural light, and Mia's instincts screamed a warning that had nothing to do with wolf politics and everything to do with primal survival.

Whatever game was being played here went far beyond a simple mating challenge. And Jim—infuriating, secretive Jim—was at the center of it all.