Deacon grumbled at his cell phone. No service out in the sticks, that’s why they used walkie-talkies to communicate. Still, he took a picture of the delicate white flowers he’d come across to send to Lorena later. They reminded him of the morning next to the pool. If they were going to be apart for three weeks, he would send a few dirty thoughts her way.
He’d been tromping around for nearly half an hour and hadn’t come across anything, Wolvite, human, or otherwise. He’d checked in with his cousins and they were empty-handed as well. He started to doubt himself.
Nonetheless, he continued on his path. The trail cut through the holler under cave mouths that were situated a good twenty feet up the mountain wall. They were silent, gaping maws, gateways to the unknown, and probably his only hope at finding anything.
Maybe she’d been killed in the raid. God was surely a trickster if Deacon finally came upon her, only to find her a few days dead.
Memories of her didn’t come clear to him. He was only eight when she vanished. At that age, he was into sports, fishing, hunting with his Daddy, and getting rough and tumble with his cousins. Girls were gross and the two of them had their stupid sibling squabbles. Her room was pink and she liked horses, and one time she screamed and punched him because he put a caterpillar in one of her Barbie sneakers.
But when he thought on it, he also remembered them walking home from the bus stop after school, and her chasing an older neighbor boy with a stick for picking on him. He remembered her sneaking him a piece of cake when he got sent to his room without dessert for being a jerk at the dinner table. She took care of his fish when he went to summer camp. She taught him to swim.
What sort of woman would she have grown up to be, if she’d never been snatched out of Blue Ditch? Would she have gone to college? Would Deacon be giving her boyfriends a hard time? Would she be married and have children?
He jerked out of his melancholy as static cut across his walkie-talkie. He pulled it off his hip.
“Guys!” It was Jack. “Guys!”
“What’s up, Jack?” Deacon spoke into the radio.
Silence. Deacon frowned.
The radio popped back on, mostly static, but Jack kept yelling, muffled and indistinct.
“What was that?” Deacon asked.
No reply. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
The radio popped back on. This time, Zeke came through. “You hear that, Deacon?”
“I did. Sounded like he was yelling something. You catch it?”
“Negative.”
Deacon waited, breath held, for Jack to come back on. His worry turned to fear. Something had happened.
“You know where he’s at?” he asked Zeke.
“I don’t.”
Deacon turned back down the trail. “Meet me at the caves. We gotta find him, something’s wrong.”
“All right.”
Deacon hurried back the way he’d come, praying the radio would cut on again and Jack would just be cursing because he tripped or slid down a hill. Maybe splitting up was a bad idea, even if they did cover more ground. So far, it had been pointless.
A sound, definitely not the radio, made Deacon stop in his tracks. A familiar growl.
He whirled around and stared up at the cave mouth directly above him, where the sound seemed to come from. He tightened his grip on his gun. A ridge jutted out from the cave, wide enough something might be able to lurk up there out of sight and watch him.
Nothing stirred. He scanned the trees around him, and sniffed the air. He didn’t see, hear, or smell a Wolvite.
Wary, he took off again. Damn skulking Wolvites would have to wait. They had to find Jack.
A moment later, another growl sounded, louder and closer. He spun around and aimed his gun into the trees.
Nothing there. His blood boiled.
“You stalking me?” he called out. “Ain’t enough of you been killed already?”
He would have taken a shot to scare it, but Zeke might hear and get even more worried. He’d only shoot if he absolutely had to.
The forest was still, as if mocking him. He didn’t need this nonsense right now.
“You best scamper off! You keep following me, I’m gonna kill you.” Given what he’d seen last night, the thing might understand him. “Go on, get out of here.”
He turned and started down the path again. He kept his gun at the ready, just in case.
He got about ten feet when a woman’s voice startled him. “Deacon!”
His heart leapt into his throat to choke him.
In turning around, he caught a glimpse of something on the ridge above—someone peeking over the edge, but they pulled back as quick as he looked.
“Chelsea?” he yelled up, his voice filled with hope and alarm.
All was silent. No one appeared on the ridge.
His heart pounded in his ears. He had to get up there, but he also had to help Zeke find Jack.
He pulled out his radio.
“Zeke, I’ll be there quick as I can. Try to locate Jack. I just found something.”
Zeke’s voice cut on. “I’m keeping an eye out for him. You all right?”
“Yeah.”
Deacon hiked his shotgun strap over his shoulder and found a spot where he could climb the wall. The rocks formed a treacherous makeshift set of stairs, but his balance kept him safe.
He ascended the wall, anxious and frantic. He couldn’t be mistaken—he’d heard a woman’s voice, and he’d seen a person. No woman had reason to be out here, certainly not one who knew his name.
The Wolvites might be messing with him, too. If they could project human forms, maybe they could project false voices, too.
When he reached the top of the ridge, he prepared himself for anything. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He found—
Nothing.
He stood on the narrow strip of rock, right in front of the cave. The mountain rose above him. The trees stretched up from the holler floor and created an orange wall on his right.
Maybe she went inside the cave.
“Chelsea? You here?”
Cool air flowed over him from inside, and it smelled like water and moss and things dank and dark.
He had to find Zeke and Jack and bring them back here. Chelsea or not, stumbling into a dark cave deep in Wolvite territory by himself would be a damn fool move. All his Lycan senses and reflexes wouldn’t help him in the pitch black, in a place he didn’t know, where they had the advantage.
And yet, his sister might be close by. He’d found her. She was alive. It had to be her…
A delicate shower of rocks tumbled down in front of the cave mouth. On guard, gripping his gun, he looked up.
And gasped.
Someone sat on a narrow rock outcropping a few feet above the cave, their back to him. Judging by the delicate frame and long brown hair, it was a woman. A woman wearing a red hoodie.
“Chelsea?” He narrowed his eyes. He knew that hoodie, and that hair.
He took a step back to see her better. She looked over her shoulder at him.
“Mel,” he snarled. “What the hell are you—”
Suddenly, a vile scent overwhelmed him and choked off his words. The stench of Wolvite. Something heavy and hot pressed against his back.
“Don’t move, Lycan.” A broad, powerful hand clamped over his mouth.
Deacon struggled and tried to bring his gun up. The thing—man, Wolvite, whatever it was—dragged him to the ground.
He braced himself for the agonizing, piercing heat of claws or fangs, but instead, something struck him hard across the back of the head. His vision swam and went black.
* * * *
Lorena lurched to her feet and looked frantically around the coffee shop, as if Deacon were there and she could rush to his aid. She received a few curious glances from the other patrons. She looked out the windows, out at the street. He was so far away. Hours and hours away.
The urgency compelled her and made her act without thinking. She gathered up her things and ran to the door.
On the street, she fumbled her phone out of her purse. She scrolled through her contacts and found Deacon’s number, and called it.
The call went straight to voicemail.
She gnashed her teeth. Somewhere, far away, something was happening to him, something bad. She didn’t question why she could feel this and she didn’t care. She had to find a way to him.
She called Holden as she marched back toward the diner.
“Lorena.” He sounded cautious. “Where did you go?”
“Where are you?” She broke into a run. “Tell me you’re still at the diner.”
“I am. I was hoping you’d come back so we could go to the airport together. I didn’t mean to—”
“I need the truck!” She drew within sight of the diner. They’d parked the truck on the side street next to it. “I have to go back to Blue Ditch.”
“What? We can’t go back to Blue Ditch, we have a plane to catch.”
“Come outside and get your things!”
She hung up and raced to the truck. It felt like wires were wrapped around her, dug into her flesh and pulling at her. She couldn’t ignore the sensation if she wanted to.
She had the passenger side door open, throwing her things in the truck, when Holden appeared.
“Lorena!” He huffed as he jogged up to her. “What are you doing?”
She pulled his suitcase out and plunked it on the sidewalk.
“I have to go back to Blue Ditch.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her jacket. “This is the cab company I was going to call. They’ll get you to the airport.” She thrust the paper at him.
“You can’t just abandon me here. Why are you going back to Blue Ditch?” He took the paper.
“I have to.” She hauled his duffel bag out and set it on top his suitcase. “I’m not going to make you miss the plane, though. Go on without me.”
“What am I supposed to tell the agency? What the hell is going on?”
She checked to make sure he didn’t have anything else in the truck, then slammed the door shut. She turned to him. “I’ll talk to them, don’t worry. And I’ll get a later flight.”
“Why are you doing this? I’m sorry about what happened earlier, about what I said. You don’t have to—”
“This isn’t about that.” She hurried around the truck to the driver’s side. “I have to go back. I can’t explain right now. Go back to Chicago. I’ll call them.”
He rushed around the truck as she climbed in. He stopped her from closing the door.
“You’re acting crazy right now. Is this about that—is this about Deacon?”
She yanked at the door. “You better call a cab. You need to get to the airport.”
“Lorena!” He held fast to the door.
“I swear if you don’t let me go I will shoot you. Let go of the door!”
He scowled. “Not very professional, threatening a colleague. What’s gotten into you?”
She reached out and pushed him in the chest and made him stumble back, then slammed the door shut.
He pounded on the window as she started the engine. “This vehicle is property of the agency! I’ll report it stolen!”
She flipped him off through the window and threw the truck in drive. She took off down the street and tore toward the highway.
“I shouldn’t have left.” She slammed her hands on the steering wheel. “Why did I leave? God, Deacon. Please be okay.”
Horrible visions floated through her head, spurred by the nagging dreadful certainty that welled in her. She prayed she kept feeling it though, because if it suddenly shut off, that would be worse.
She gunned the truck toward Blue Ditch. The drive would take an interminable amount of time, even speeding as fast as she dared.