Chapter 167
Lynette's POV
I stood at the edge of Black Ridge Forest, running through my pitch one more time in my head. I can offer training, supplies, shelter. In exchange, I need loyalty.
Simple. Direct. The kind of deal desperate wolves might actually take.
"You've been staring at those trees for five minutes," Elara said from behind me. "Having second thoughts?"
I glanced back at her. She stood next to Mira—the "assistant" Kael had assigned to me. Assistant. Right. More like a handler. Mira was all business in her tactical gear, face impassive, posture alert. She'd barely said ten words since picking us up.
"No second thoughts," I said. "Just... thinking about how to approach them."
That was half true. The other half was that I was comparing this moment to the last time I'd been here. Back then, I'd been wearing Elara's body, desperate and alone, digging up Cole's weapons cache. Now I was back in my own skin, with backup, with a plan.
Everything was different. Everything felt different.
"Rogue wolves are paranoid," I continued, more to myself than to them. "They've been rejected by their packs. They want belonging, but they don't trust easily."
Mira finally spoke, her voice flat. "And you think you can convince them to follow you? A wolf with no territory, no pack, no resources?"
I met her eyes. "I think I can offer them something they don't have. A chance."
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue either. Kael had probably given her very specific instructions. Watch her. Report back. Don't let her get herself killed.
"Let's move," I said.
We headed into the forest, following the route I remembered from before. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, but the deeper we went, the darker it got. The temperature dropped. My breath misted in the air.
Two hours in, I stopped.
Something was wrong.
"What is it?" Elara whispered.
I didn't answer immediately. I was staring at a tree trunk about ten feet ahead. Deep claw marks scored the bark—fresh ones. The wood was still pale where it had been torn open.
"Those are new," I said quietly. "Less than a day old."
Mira moved past me, crouching to examine the ground. Her fingers traced over disturbed earth. "Multiple sets of tracks. At least a dozen individuals passed through here."
Elara pointed to our left. "The bushes over there—they're trampled. Broken branches. That's not normal migration patterns, is it?"
"No," I said. My chest tightened. "That's pursuit. Or escape."
The three of us exchanged looks. Mira's hand drifted toward the weapon at her hip. Elara's face had gone pale.
I forced myself to think tactically. "We keep moving. Stay alert. If this was a hunt, we need to know what happened."
We picked up the pace. The forest around us felt too quiet. No birdsong. No rustling in the undergrowth. Just our footsteps and the occasional crack of a branch.
Then I smelled it.
Blood.
Faint, but unmistakable. Metallic and sharp on the cold air.
"Do you—" Elara started.
"I smell it," I cut her off.
We rounded a bend, and the camp came into view.
My stomach dropped.
Seven or eight tents were scattered across the clearing, most of them collapsed or leaning at wrong angles. A fire pit sat cold in the center, ash scattered by wind. A pot hung over it, still warm to the touch from whatever was inside.
"They left recently," I said, moving forward slowly. "Within the last three hours."
Mira was already scanning the perimeter, her weapon drawn. Elara stayed close to me, her breathing quick and shallow.
I walked through the camp, taking in the details. Broken pottery. Torn clothing. A child's stuffed toy lying in the dirt, one arm ripped off.
"This wasn't a fight," I said aloud. "This was an abduction."
"How can you tell?" Elara asked. Her voice shook.
I pointed to the ground near the largest tent. "See those drag marks? Someone was pulled. Not carried—pulled. And look at the tent stakes. They're still in the ground. If people were fleeing an attack, they'd grab what they could and run. They wouldn't leave everything behind like this."
"So what happened?" Mira asked.
"Someone took them," I said. "All of them."
"Lynette." Elara's voice was tight. "Split up? Search for more clues?"
I nodded. "Stay within sight of each other. Shout if you find anything."
Mira headed toward the tents. Elara moved to the edge of the clearing. I stayed near the center, near the fire pit.
I crouched down and picked up a broken knife. The blade had snapped clean off, probably during a struggle. The handle was still warm.
Not a fight, I thought again. A capture.
But why? Rogue wolves had nothing. No territory, no status, no value to anyone. Who would bother taking them?
"Lynette!" Mira's voice cut through my thoughts. "Over here!"
I ran to where she stood near one of the tents. She pointed down. A puddle of blood had soaked into the dirt, already congealing at the edges.
"Not enough to be fatal," Mira said clinically. "But someone was hurt."
"Restraints," Elara called out. She was holding up a length of rope, frayed at one end. "Found these near the trees."
I stared at the rope, then at the blood, then at the destroyed camp around us.
This wasn't random. This was organized. Professional.
A sound broke the silence—a low, pained groan.
All three of us froze.
"Did you—" Elara started.
"Shh." I held up a hand.
There it was again. Coming from the largest tent, the one that had partially collapsed.
I moved quickly, dropping to my knees beside the canvas. "Help me," I said to Mira.
Together we lifted the heavy fabric. Underneath, pinned by a fallen support pole, was a man. Mid-thirties, maybe. His right leg was trapped, his forehead bruised and bloody. His eyes were unfocused.
"Elara, water," I snapped.
She fumbled with a canteen and handed it to me. I lifted the man's head carefully while Mira and Elara worked to shift the pole off his leg.
"Easy," I said. "We've got you. What happened here?"
The man's eyes rolled. He was going into shock.
"Stay with me," I said, patting his cheek lightly. "Tell me what happened."
"They... they came..." His voice was a rasp. "We didn't... didn't see them..."
"Who came?" I pressed the canteen to his lips. "Who attacked you?"
He drank, coughed, drank again. His eyes started to clear a little.
"Wolves," he gasped. "But not... not like us. Trained. Soldiers. The leader... he gave orders... took everyone..."
"Why?" I asked. "Why did they take your people?"
"Don't know." He was shaking now. "We didn't... we didn't do anything wrong..."
Elara crouched beside me. "Did they say anything? The ones who took your people?"
The man's eyes found hers. "The leader... he had an accent. Eastern European, I think. Heavy."
My blood went cold.
Eastern European accent.
I'd heard that accent before. When we saved Vivian. The hulking man who'd kidnapped her—he'd had the same accent. The same cold professionalism.
Wild Hunt.
"Did he give a name?" I asked, though my throat felt tight.
The man struggled to focus. "Rezar... I think... that's what the others called him..."
"Rezar," I repeated softly.
Mira's posture shifted. Alert. Ready.
Elara grabbed my arm. "Lynette—Wild Hunt. But why would they kidnap a bunch of rogue wolves? What would they want with them?"
I stared at the destroyed camp, at the blood, at the rope, at the man still gasping on the ground.
That was the question, wasn't it?