Page 27

T he black wolf came to a sudden halt, his senses heightened as he recognized a familiar scent in the air.

As he pressed his nose to the ground, his head moved in a sweeping motion, searching for the origin of the elusive scent.

As he moved through the dense foliage, branches rustled against his sides and the scent intensified.

Once he and Peterson detected the unmistakable odor of the shifter they were chasing, their pace quickened. The warthog left a trail that was impossible to miss, with its strong and distinct scent lingering in the air. As they got closer, the scent became more intense, confirming their proximity.

The scent, now stronger and more identifiable, mingled with the faint one, filling him with a sense of dread.

The idea that the shifters were close to Jayden filled him with a deep, bone-chilling fear.

Among the animal kingdom, warthogs stood out for their impressive strength, which allowed them to survive in the harshest of environments.

Jayden’s slight frame made her vulnerable to unintentional harm, especially if she put up a fight, which he would be shocked if she didn’t.

“Hey, Van, I found something,” Peterson called.

His body went rigid as Peterson’s voice suddenly broke the silence, calling out his name.

With a slight bend of his head, he released the pack he was carrying and felt the weight shift on his shoulders.

With a quick movement, he bent over, unzipped the waterproof pack, and rapidly got dressed.

He hopped as he put on a sock and slid his foot into a boot, then repeated the process.

He scooped up the pack and zipped it as he navigated the narrow animal trail that had been cut through the brambles.

Tracks from deer and raccoons were visible in the soft ground.

He twisted to avoid catching his pants on some razor vines that were mixed in.

He ran his fingers over the deer hair that had become entangled on a branch.

The delicate hairs were dislodged as soon as he touched them and floated away in the gentle breeze.

He stopped when he reached Peterson. Peterson had already shifted, changed into his clothes, and moved to a different location when they stumbled upon the newly made footprints.

He watched as Peterson ran his fingers over the razor vine before lifting them to his nose and taking a sniff.

Peterson’s expression turned into a scowl, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“I found a piece of clothing. It has Jayden’s scent on it,” Peterson replied.

Van accepted the piece of fabric from his friend and took a deep breath. Jayden’s scent permeated his senses, eliciting an instinctive reaction. He closed his eyes at the powerful response to even the slightest connection.

Mate.

He tightly gripped the fabric while his inner wolf let out a silent howl. They were getting closer. His eyes swept across the surrounding area.

Peterson proceeded further along the path before coming to another halt beside a sizable tree.

Van carefully studied their surroundings, in particular searching for any signs of movement among the leaves and branches.

Jayden’s people were well known for concealing themselves among the dense foliage of the canopy.

Was it possible she was there—hiding, afraid to reveal herself?

“I found something else,” Peterson called out.

Van’s brow furrowed in response to the noticeable alteration in Peterson’s tone of voice.

There was a sudden, unexpected catch in it.

Determined, he pushed through the low brushes, ignoring the resistance of the foliage as he made his way to the tree.

Peterson was crouched next to the trunk, examining it.

Peterson rose and held out his hand. “Blood.”

Van leaned forward and sniffed the tips of Peterson’s fingers. His nostrils flared at the tangy aroma of plant mixed with the scent of blood. The wolf in him strained to be released.

Mate hurt!

Calm, my friend. Calm. We will find her.

His canines extended, causing him to wince as he rolled his tongue over their sharpness.

His wolf was obviously not interested in listening to him.

He and Peterson had been keeping their wolves under tight control.

The challenge in finding their mate was beginning to wear on them; especially knowing she was in imminent danger from other shifters.

“I would say the scent and tracks can’t be more than an hour old,” he replied, scanning the surrounding area.

“Let’s hope that the assholes chasing her didn’t find this as well,” Peterson muttered.

Van murmured in agreement. He squeezed past Peterson and walked down the trail at a slower pace, scanning the ground. There were no signs of a struggle. That gave him a small measure of hope.

Bishop cursed as he stared at the river. His fox had picked up the scent of the human woman. The taste of her blood was seared into his senses.

“Damn, but I hate water,” Carter grumbled.

Bishop’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “I know. I’m surprised I can smell anything over you.”

Carter growled and shoved him. Bishop turned with a snarl of warning. He was at the end of his patience with the warthog.

“You smell like piss and shit,” he snapped.

Carter waved his hands. “What the hell do you expect? Do you see a fucking shower anywhere? I’ve been sleeping on the ground and shitting in the woods. I’m tired of this garbage. I’m not swimming across any cold ass river. I say let the damn wolves catch her, then we kill them and take her.”

Bishop pursed his lips and stared out across the river.

Had the human swum across, or floated downstream?

Had she circled around them? After almost two weeks in the forest, he was as fed up with sleeping on the ground and shitting in the woods as Carter.

Hell, he could smell his own stench, and it was nauseating.

They were so close to finding her. When they had come across the faint odor of her blood a couple of hours ago, he thought they had finally gotten a break.

Now we are back to square one.

“You’re right. Maybe we have been approaching this all wrong,” he murmured.

“I am? We are?” Carter muttered, staring at him in surprise. “What do you want to do?”

“Instead of following the woman, we follow the wolves,” he said.

Carter gave him an uneasy look. “I’d rather take my chances with the human. Those wolves are dangerous.”

“Yes, they are… unless we use their connection to the woman. They won’t do anything that will put her in harm’s way. We let them find her and we take her from them,” he explained.

Carter shook his head. “They ain’t going to just hand her over to us.”

“That’s why we kill them. But, that means we’ve got to make sure they don’t know we are coming,” he explained.

“How we gonna do that?” Carter asked.

Bishop motioned to the river. “We’ve got to get wet.”

Carter cursed under his breath before he stared moodily at the icy water.

It was highly unlikely they could sneak up on the two wolf shifters.

He had read the dossiers on Van Timberwolf and Peterson Redfoot.

Ex-military special forces, two of the best trackers in the world, and highly motivated from what he had witnessed over the last month if the tension between them and the female was what he thought it meant.

They wouldn’t do anything to put her in harm’s way.

She was hurt. He would use that to their advantage. He was tired of chasing the wild goose. It was time to set a trap and let the wolves bring the human to them.

“Let’s go. The wolves will be here soon,” he said.

Carter started and glanced warily over his shoulder. “How do you know?” he asked.

“Because you aren’t the only one who stinks,” he said, walking toward the water.

The flutter of white paper caught Van’s attention as he jogged along the trail.

He bent and picked it up. The paper was crinkled but still a pristine white.

The name of the brand and the red letter showed it was from a two-inch roll of gauze that looked as though it had just been opened.

He glanced around, searching for any other clues.

“What did you find?” Peterson asked.

He held the paper out. Peterson lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and nodded. “This was hers.”

“I can smell the warthog,” he said.

“The river?” Peterson muttered.

He nodded, unwilling to voice his fear. They didn’t know how badly Jayden was hurt. If it was bad, she might be trapped between the other shifters and the river. His worst fear was that she would try to cross it. The water would be high and treacherous after the recent storm.

“Be ready,” he said.

Peterson nodded. He regretted their decision not to bring a firearm. They had opted for light and minimal. They took off for the river, with him in front and Peterson on his heels.

“We have eyes on two shifters, General,” Ike Clanton said.

“Wolves?” Eric asked.

“Negative, sir. Looks like a warthog… and possibly a fox or wolverine,” Clanton responded.

Eric studied the feed on the camera being transmitted back to him. He would only have a fifteen-minute window before the satellite was out of range. His focus moved to two additional heat signatures that entered from the southwest.

“Do not engage. You have two additional bogeys incoming at five o’clock. Satellite range is about to pass. Split the team. I want eyes on both bogeys, understood,” he instructed.

“Roger that, sir, split, identify, but do not engage,” Clanton replied.

“I don’t want anyone interfering with the human. I want to know where she is going and what she is after. Do not engage until you are ordered,” he repeated.

“Roger that, sir. What do you want us to do if either of the targets intercepts the human?” Clanton asked.

“Eliminate the warthog and the other shifter. Let’s see how the human does with the wolves,” he responded.

“Roger that. Retrieval team out,” Clanton stated.