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Rafe hadn’t fired Mac. Not yet, anyway. Though when he woke up hours ago and found Jess gone from his bed and all trace of her removed from his room he’d strongly considered throwing his second in command from the battlements. Mac must have sensed it because the man had made himself scarce.
Wise move.
Some may have privately accused the alpha of brooding, but no one was dumb enough to say so. Rafe wasn’t brooding. He was merely thinking at length about why Jess had abandoned him without a goodbye and whether he could make her come back to him.
He’d tracked her down once and knew he could do it again. But he didn’t want a woman he needed to hold captive. At least, not in the long term.
Before Mac informed him that Jess had left of her own volition, Rafe had entertained the deranged thought that she had been kidnapped from his arms. But the only person who might have wanted to do that was locked in the dungeons.
Rafe had planned to let Martin stew for a bit longer, but with Jess gone and his mood incredibly foul, there was no better time to interview the man who had been plotting against him. There had always been whispers of Martin’s insurrection, but until last night he had never moved directly against Rafe.
So Rafe crossed his castle in quick steps, the dark cloud of his mood surrounding him and preventing anyone from approaching him.
The term dungeon was a misnomer for the set of rooms that held Rafe’s prisoner. As a matter of fact, the room was on the third floor in the keep. But the lack of windows and the chains in the cells made it feel as dungeon-like as any of its subterranean brethren.
The first sign of trouble came when Rafe saw there was no guard to the entrance to the third floor. There was always a guard when the dungeon held a prisoner, but Rafe thought that the guard had only momentarily been called away. That hope was dashed when he entered into the guardroom just outside the dungeon and found that it, too, was empty. From the dust on the floor, no one had been in the dungeon in days.
Rafe sprang into action, picking up the guard phone and calling in Mac and his team. He needed to know what the fuck was going on and where Martin had ended up.
Twenty minutes later he received the news that he’d been dreading.
Gemma walked into the command room, “Sir, he was spotted just after six AM headed east. A second witness spotted him a few hours later near the house of Rebecca Patrick. Our scout didn’t know that he was supposed to be detained so did nothing. We now have reason to believe that he’s going after Jessica Patrick.”
That settled it. “Give me Jess’s address. I’m taking this bastard down.”
By afternoon, Rafe was searching the city, his wolf bristling beneath his skin. There was no sign of Jess anywhere, and no sign of Martin since Gemma’s update. Mac had tracked down Jess’s address and it was Rafe’s ultimate location. A team followed close behind, but they moved too slow for him.
Even if Jess wanted to leave, he would do anything to ensure that she wasn’t hurt, especially not by his enemies.
Jess lived in a small apartment building just outside the center of the city. Rafe rushed up to her door and his heart pounded faster when he saw that the door had been forced open.
Martin waited for him, sitting on Jess’s dark blue couch, and reading through what looked like a journal. He snapped it shut when he saw Rafe.
“I thought you would come for your whore,” Martin spat.
“Tell me where she is and you may get out of this alive.” Rafe could tell that she wasn’t there, her scent was a few hours old and the only sounds in the apartment were from him and Martin.
Martin’s eyes narrowed but then he smiled. “She’s dead.”
Rafe had been punched more times than he could count, but this didn’t feel like that. No, now he was gutted.
But Martin didn’t give him time to react. While Rafe froze, Martin pounced, changing form in midair and swiping Rafe across the chest with his claws.
The pain brought Rafe out of his daze. He jumped back, narrowly avoiding another swipe of Martin’s claws. Between one breath and the next, Rafe shifted, his own wolf tearing out of him in a burst of pain and rage.
Rafe let that feral beast at Martin, pouncing on him and tearing at him with sharp fangs and claws. Martin was not so easy to defeat. He had fought his way up through the pack and held onto position through more than one alpha. He fought back, his claws digging into Rafe’s belly and tearing open a wide swath of flesh.
At another time that pain may have stopped Rafe, may have distracted him. But he was a thing of rage now, intent on ending this man who had taken the woman he loved from him.
This time, when Rafe landed on Martin, he didn’t let go. He dug his fangs into Martin’s neck and ripped his throat out, the man’s hot blood spurting out over his muzzle.
Martin collapsed, dead. As soon as it had started, it ended. Rafe threw back his head and howled, the mournful song echoing throughout the walls of Jess’s apartment. When he stopped, he tried to walk, but only made it two small steps before he stumbled, the pain in his stomach too much.
Martin had hit something important. Rafe collapsed, the room going dark before he could shift back or try to call for help.
