Chapter 29 Chapter 29
Chapter 29
DEREK
Barely. So faint and frightened and hurt. But alive.
I approached the Mercedes, or what was left of it. The vehicle was a mangled mess of metal and shattered glass, barely recognizable. Blood stained the interior—Selene's blood. I could smell it from here, could identify her unique scent underneath the copper tang.
And there, mixed with her blood, were other scents. Wolf scents.
I leaned closer, letting my enhanced senses analyze what my nose was telling me. Three distinct wolves, all male, all unfamiliar. But underneath their individual signatures was something else—a pack scent, the shared marker that identified wolves who ran together.
I knew that scent.
"Fucking Blackwood Pack," I snarled, my eyes flashing amber.
David and his partner exchanged glances. "You're sure, Alpha?"
"I'm sure." The Blackwood Pack had been a thorn in my side for years, a mid-sized pack that operated in the northern territories. Their Alpha, Vincent Blackwood, had long resented the Sterling Pack's dominance, had made no secret of his desire to expand his territory and influence.
But this—kidnapping my wife, attacking a human under my protection—this was a declaration of war.
"Get samples of everything," I ordered. "Every fiber, every scent marker, every piece of evidence. I want irrefutable proof that Blackwood was behind this."
Because when I destroyed them—and I would destroy them—I wanted no question about justification. The Council of Alphas might overlook many things, but an unprovoked attack on another pack required evidence.
While David and his partner worked, I walked the perimeter of the crash site, looking for anything they might have missed. The skid marks told the story—Selene had tried to brake, tried to avoid the collision. She'd fought to maintain control even as they'd forced her off the road.
My brave, foolish wife.
I found myself thinking about last night, about the gala. The way she'd looked in that midnight blue dress, beautiful and sad and so completely unaware of the danger that came with bearing my name. The way she'd confronted me on the dance floor, asking how long we'd keep pretending.
She'd been right. We had been pretending. I'd pretended our marriage was a simple obligation, that I felt nothing beyond duty. She'd pretended to be the perfect wife while slowly breaking inside.
And now she was bleeding and afraid and held captive by wolves who saw her as nothing more than leverage.
The guilt was crushing. This was my fault. If I'd been a better husband, a more attentive partner, maybe she wouldn't have been out driving alone. If I'd told her the truth about what I was, maybe she would have been more careful, more aware of the dangers.
If I'd actually loved her instead of pining for Jasmine—
No. I couldn't think about that now. Self-recrimination was a luxury I couldn't afford. Selene needed me to focus, to use every resource at my disposal to find her.
My phone rang—Marcus.
"Talk to me," I said.
"We've narrowed down the most likely locations in the western district. There are five buildings that fit the profile—large enough to hold prisoners, isolated enough to avoid attention, defensible enough to stage an operation from. I'm sending teams to each one for preliminary surveillance."
"Good. And Connor?"
"He's pulling satellite imagery from the last few months, looking for patterns of movement in and out of those buildings. If Blackwood has been using one as a base, there should be increased traffic."
It was solid strategy, methodical and thorough. But every minute spent searching was another minute Selene was in their hands, another minute she was suffering.
"I'm heading back," I told Marcus. "Keep me updated on any developments."
I shifted again and ran, pushing my wolf form to its limits. The city blurred past, humans and cars and buildings all becoming abstract shapes as I focused on one thing: speed.
Back at the office, I shifted to human form in the underground garage, where one of my assistants had left fresh clothes in my car. I dressed quickly—slacks, dress shirt, no tie—and headed upstairs.
The war room was humming with activity. Connor had multiple screens running, showing satellite footage, traffic camera feeds, heat signature scans. Elena was on the phone with one of our informants, her expression intense. Marcus stood at the main map, marking locations with different colored pins.
"Status," I demanded as I entered.
Marcus looked up. "Two of the five locations have been ruled out—no recent activity, no signs of occupation. We're watching the other three now." He pointed to pins on the map. "This one is an old textile factory. High walls, limited entry points, would be easy to defend. This one is a warehouse complex, lots of room to hide vehicles and people. And this one"—he tapped a pin near the edge of the district—"is a former meatpacking plant. Isolated, lots of cold storage that could mask heat signatures."
"Any movement at those locations?"
"Not yet. But we've only had eyes on them for thirty minutes. If Blackwood is smart—and he is—he'll have posted lookouts to watch for exactly this kind of surveillance."
I studied the map, trying to think like Vincent Blackwood. He was cunning, patient, willing to play the long game. But he was also arrogant, convinced of his own superiority. He wouldn't expect me to move this quickly, wouldn't anticipate that I'd identify his pack's scent at the crash site.
That gave me an advantage, however slight.
"The meatpacking plant," I said suddenly. "That's where they are."
Marcus frowned. "How can you be sure?"
"Because it's what I would choose. Cold storage to mask thermal signatures, industrial equipment to muffle sounds, isolated enough that screams wouldn't carry. And it sends a message—treating my wife like cattle to be slaughtered."
The thought made my wolf snarl, made my hands clench into fists. But I forced myself to remain calm, to think tactically.