Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted

LUCAS

For Ryder's scent to be so crisp, he should be in range for a pack link.

And yet there's nothing when I try.

More evidence it's a trap.

We follow the original trail. There's always a chance I'm wrong, and it's really Ryder. If it is, though, he's in a better situation than Jericho to survive.

Choices. It always comes down to choosing. The hardest part of leadership.

My pack falls into line without question as we continue our pursuit of the attackers.

The original trail weaves between snow-covered pines. The tracks continue to lessen, until it seems as if only one of them remains, but each step is heavy in the snow. Jericho's drag marks persist, but at intervals, as if he's carried at some times and pulled along at others.

But then, after another mile of tracking, it all stops.

Vester circles the area where the trail ends, agitation swishing his tail. There's nothing. Not even a lingering scent.

The growl that vibrates my chest comes from Aurum; my brain's too busy processing what we're seeing. Check the perimeter. Twenty-yard radius.

My wolves spread out, methodically searching every inch. They examine trees, rocks, anything that could hide a clue. The sound of their movements only emphasizes the unnatural silence that's fallen in this part of the world.

But there's nothing.

We widen the perimeter, but stick together. Fifty yards.

Then seventy-five.

One hundred.

Still nothing.

First the empty camp, then the bodies, now this. Every lead dissolves like smoke the moment we get close, as if they're playing with us.

They must have teleported. But why wait until now? They should have done it from the start.

Vester's question is a valid one as we trot back to the end point of the trail.

Magic has rules, just like anything else. There must be limitations to their skill. Energy cost. Distance. Number of people they can transport. Sister Miriam was able to appear over large distances, but from what we have learned, she is an old vampire with unique skills.

So they had to wait until they reached a specific point? one of my scouts asks. Or maybe until they recovered enough power?

Or both. There could be other limitations. Thinking of how their numbers seemed to shrink, and how we assumed it was from them covering their tracks more wisely, I add, They started it a while ago. This was just the last of them.

They waited to transport Jericho until the end. Why? That seems strange, if he was one of their targets.

More questions. Always more questions without answers; I'm convinced these damn bloodsuckers are trying to drive us mad.

There's always Ryder's trail, Vester points out privately, not broadcasting the option to the other wolves.

We should follow Ryder's trail.

Aurum's certainty pulses through our bond.noveldrama

It's a trap.

Of course it's a trap. Aurum's mental voice carries a hint of amusement. But traps work both ways.

Our enemies want to split our forces—which means they're counting on us doing exactly that. They expected me to choose between Jericho and Ryder. At least, that's the theory.

And if we're wrong?

But Aurum just radiates with readiness, bloodthirsty for battle.

And I am, too.

Alpha? Vester's question hangs in the air.

Broadcasting to all of them, I announce, We backtrack. It's time to follow Ryder's trail.

Vester's ears perk forward. You're sure?

They want us divided, so we stay together and spring their trap on our terms.

My wolves spread out in defensive formation as we backtrack the mile back. The crisp scent of Ryder remains where we found it, too fresh to be real, with his presence absent in my head.

The trail leads west, away from the direction Jericho was taken.

Aurum's certainty floods our bond again. Whatever awaits us, he's ready to face it. And so am I.

Stay alert.

We press forward, our formation tightening. It's an easy trail to follow, and our pace is fast. The tracks in the snow fade suddenly after half a mile, but the scent remains.

The scent of Ryder saturates the air, so thick it coats my tongue. No wolf's scent should be this strong, not even if they rolled in the snow and marked every tree.

Something's wrong. Aurum's ears flatten against our skull. This isn't natural.

Keep moving. My paws sink into the deep snow as we crest another hill. The landscape stretches before us, white and pristine save for scattered patches of brush and lonely trees.

The wind shifts, bringing another wave of Ryder's scent. My nose burns from its intensity. Aurum's hackles rise, his aggression bleeding into our shared consciousness.

Slow down. I signal the formation to tighten. Check every angle.

My wolves spread in a defensive circle, scanning the terrain. The snow-covered hills offer too many places to hide. Each dip and rise could conceal enemies lying in wait.

Alpha. One of my scouts motions toward a cluster of snow-laden bushes. The scent is strongest there.

We approach with measured steps. The overwhelming smell of Ryder emanates from that spot like a beacon, drowning out any other scents that might warn us of danger.

This is wrong. Aurum's thoughts mirror my own. His scent shouldn't be this concentrated.

Another gust of wind brings not just Ryder's scent, but an underlying note I hadn't caught before. Something chemical. Artificial.

Stop. I halt our advance. They're using his scent to mask something else. Or they're too idiotic to place a trap correctly.

Vester's nose twitches. Like a scent bomb? How is that possible?

The memory of that sickly green circle and its preserved bodies flashes through my mind. We need to be ready for anything. Fall back. Ten yards.

My pack retreats in perfect synchronization, maintaining their defensive positions. The wind whips across the open ground, stirring loose snow into small flurries. Ryder's scent continues to pour from those bushes, becoming more artificial with each passing second.

But outside of the artifical nature of his scent, there's nothing there. Not even a whisper or zing of magic to sting the nose.

Move with caution. My command ripples through the pack link as I edge forward. Aurum grumbles in my head, our nose burning. Watch the perimeter. They want us focused on this spot.

My wolves maintain their positions, alert and ready. Vester's silver form prowls to my right, his muscles coiled tight beneath his fur. The rest of my pack spreads in a protective circle, their eyes scanning the terrain.

Snow crunches beneath my paws as I push through the first branches. The bush's needles scratch against my fur, releasing a sharp, fresh scent that cuts through the fake Ryder smell. Nothing appears disturbed inside the branches. No footprints. No broken twigs. No sign anyone's been here.

There's nothing here, Aurum notes, his frustration matching mine.

I press deeper into the bush, sweeping my nose low across the ground. The snow feels different here, packed harder, as if—

Click.

My paw sinks into something solid beneath the snow. Metal scrapes against metal.

Every muscle in my body locks. My pack freezes in place, their breath held.

One second passes.

Two.

Five.

Eight.

Ten.

Nothing happens.

Alpha? Vester's question carries an edge of tension.

Stay in position.

I lift my paw with deliberate slowness, backing away from whatever mechanism lies hidden beneath the snow.