Salvation (Wild Heat)

Chapter 4 – M E M P H I S

We’veeach set up our own lightweight tent, and Camden’s rock pit holds a crackling campfire. The past few nights, it rained nearly until dawn. Tonight it’s finally clear, and stars wink down at us from gaps between the tall trees. I’d prefer to be out here by myself, like I do on my hunts. But the guys aren’t bad companions. Denver keeps us moving at a good pace, and even if Camden’s a little chatty, at least what he has to say is usually interesting: tidbits from his research about this corner of the wilderness.

There’s not much for me to complain about.

Except for the food.

Tonight’s camp, set up the way it is, reminds me of camping with my uncles as a pup. Makes me crave the sticky sweetness of half-burnt marshmallows pressed between graham crackers and chocolate.

My nose wrinkles in distaste as I work my jaw through another strip of turkey jerky. Nothing wrong with jerky, but it gets old fast. When I hunt, I like to eat what I catch. But this is a search party—we move forward, instead of doubling back so there’s no point in setting snares.

So jerky and nuts it is.

“Sure you don’t want some dandelion greens?” Camden asks, offering me a tin bowl filled with rough torn greens and forest berries.

I shake my head. I’m not that desperate.

“Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I can always forage more. Nature always provides.”

Across the fire, Denver opens his MRE. Looks like sweet and sour rice and chicken, and I can feel my mouth watering.

Unlike Camden, though, he doesn’t offer me shit.

We stay quiet while we eat, even Camden. We’re all tired. We’ve traveled some fifty miles by now without a single sign of the Omega. There’s no way to know if we’re any closer.

I don’t mind. I’ve taken hunting trips longer and more hopeless than this. Part of tracking is patience.

The forest around us is alive with sounds. The wind makes thousands of tree branches rustle. In the heartbeats between, there’s the occasional hoot of an owl. They’re just starting out on their own hunts.

By habit, I skim the tree line on the far side of camp, watching for movement from an animal. Camden might be hoping for a flying squirrel, but I’m after a Roosevelt Elk. I’ve never seen one before, and the largest herd of them are right here in Olympic. It doesn’t matter if I can’t pull out my crossbow to take a shot. I’m not a guy who hunts just for the hell of it, to show off how big a buck I can fell. For me, hunting is what takes man out of the constricting rules of the world outside and back to nature. Back to his instincts.

On the hunt, I’m a predator. The animal I’m chasing isn’t my prey—they’re my partner—and it’s my job to move with them and learn their secrets. The paths they’ve created, the water they drink, the dens where they rest. Tracking them is where I excel, and I love every minute of the chase.

Killing them gives me no pleasure. Sometimes, I don’t even take the shot—I aim my crossbow, then let my quarry go. If I do kill, I use every part of the animal. Its hide, its meat, its bones. It sits better with me to eat an animal I’ve killed myself than some poor creature in a factory who never stood a chance.

People leave different traces than animals do. Tracking humans is a whole different ball game, one I rarely choose to play. In fact, I’ve only done it once before. A missing teenager who wandered off from his family on a trip in the Smoky Mountains.

I didn’t find him in time.

I can still remember how young he looked, lying in the ravine, his body twisted. Barely fifteen. His life hadn’t even started. Did he ever get to fly to a new country? Have his first girlfriend? His first kiss?

When I take down a deer, I never lie awake thinking about it. It’s why I never planned to take another job tracking a person. Until I saw Brooklyn’s photo. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. It’s not her looks, though she is beautiful. The dark hair, the olive skin, the small chin almost overwhelmed by her lush mouth.

It’s her expression. The way she looks away from the camera like she’s seeking something just out of reach. I can’t stop wondering, what is she hoping to find?

That’s the problem with looking for a person. I don’t feel at one with the wilderness out here. No, here I’m an intruder, looking to take something that the forest has already claimed as its own.

Suddenly, Denver’s face changes. I spot his nostrils flaring.

He’s scented something.

I sniff too, but I don’t smell anything but campfire smoke.

Now, Denver’s scanning the trees around us, looking for something. If we’re lucky, someone.

He gestures to get Camden’s attention too, then makes some hand motions. Like a come-hither gesture followed by a clenched fist. Trying to communicate something to us.

Too bad Camden and I don’t know his secret military code.

“What?” Camden asks blankly.

I smirk at the frustrated look on Denver’s face. “It means stay quiet,” he whispers. “We have company.”

That can only mean one thing.

“The Omega?” I ask.

Camden raises his brows. “I can’t tell what shocks me more. That she found us before we could find her, or that Memphis actually speaks.”

I don’t bother to acknowledge the crack. Because if Denver has really scented her, that means everything has changed. We may no longer be trying to find a corpse to bring a family peace. She’s alive.

This hunt is going to end the right way.

“She’s close,” Denver says, keeping his voice so low it’s barely audible above the soft roar and hiss of the fire.

I can tell by his flashing hazel eyes that he’s excited, too. “I can’t tell her exact location, but she knows we’re here. She’s probably watching us.”

“If she really is lost, why wouldn’t she come ask for help?” Camden muses and I want to roll my eyes at his naivety.

Denver’s jaw tightens. “She’s an unbonded Omega without suppressants. She’s smart—she’s keeping her distance for a reason.”

“Speaking of, guess it’s time for those suppressants,” Camden says.

I head toward my pack to retrieve them. But when I lift the side flap, I’m met with an extremely shitty surprise.

The little black box is gone.

Fuck.

I start tearing through my gear, even if I know in my gut there’s no hope. I don’t throw stuff randomly in my pack. My supplies are chosen and stored carefully. I know for a fact I put the rut suppressants in that pocket, and if they aren’t there, that means they’re long gone.

Denver and Camden are watching me intently when I look up.

“What’s wrong?” Camden asks.

“They’re gone.” I can barely force myself to say the words. “The suppressants must have fallen out of my bag. No idea when. They could be miles back the way we came.”

My teeth clench together so hard that it hurts. How could I have let this happen? I never make mistakes like that. Securing my supplies is second nature. Those suppressants were irreplaceable, and now that the Omega’s within reach, they’re an absolute necessity. We’ll never be able to get her home safely without them.

I’ve failed her.

To my surprise, Denver sets a hand on my shoulder. His expression is one of quiet reassurance. “Hey. What’s done is done,” he tells me. “No beating yourself up. Right now, we need all your focus on what we do next.”

He’s pure soldier now. Resigned, measured, and practical. I can see the leader he must have been on the battlefield, pushing his men to keep going through blood and battle. Instead of punishing me for my fuckup, he’s reminding me that I’ve still got a job to do.

Denver meets Camden’s eyes then looks back to me. “I need to know now if you think you can handle being near her. If you can’t, then you need to leave. Because when her heat starts, I need you to be one hundred percent sure you can handle yourselves.”

“I’m not leaving,” I say immediately. I know how to keep people at a distance. It won’t be easy, but I’ll figure it out. Brooklyn’s face has been stuck in my head. Her lost, desperate expression. I’m not letting that face haunt me, which means I can’t run away.

Camden shakes his head. “You really think it’s that easy? That all you need is self-control? That’s bullshit. Have either of you been near an Omega in heat?”

He watches as Denver and I both shake our heads.

“I’ve got three sisters,” he murmurs. “They’re all Omegas. You think you know how bad heats are, but you have no idea what it’s really like until you’ve seen it. Before my sisters were bonded, Alphas tried to break into our house during one of their heats. Through the fucking door with their bare hands. And that’s while my sisters were on suppressants. You’ve got no idea.”

“So go,” Denver says simply. “There’s no shame in knowing your limits. Memphis and I will deal with her.”

“No,” Camden blurts out. “I can’t leave. Not when she might need me—us. I just think?—”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Denver demands.

Camden looks thoughtful. “There are some natural suppressants. Things I might be able to forage out here. Some herbs and berries. They’re not nearly as powerful as the meds, though.”

“How long would it take you to find them?”

“Not sure,” Camden says. “The ones that are native to this area are common enough, but it might take me a day to find them all. I spotted some mint by my tent. If we rub it under our noses, it should mute her scent, at least enough for a first meeting.”

Denver nods. “Good. Then we can make initial contact. What about the herbs that can delay her heat?”

“I can find them in maybe a day.” Camden frowns, obviously unconvinced. “But what if the herbs fail? We have no idea what condition the Omega’s in. She’s probably weak and malnourished. There’s no way she could fight us off if…”

He breaks off, like he can’t bear to put it into words.

“If we lose control,” I finish.

Denver stares us down. “If you lose control, then you’ll be dealt with. By me. And I’m not going to feel a second of guilt for what I do to you.”

His voice doesn’t waver as he stares us down. He’s the biggest of us, with the most combat training. He probably couldn’t take both of us, but if one of us snaps, Denver would have no problem neutralizing the threat.

But what if Denver’s the one who can’t resist? If he goes into a rut, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop him. Even with my crossbow, I don’t like my odds against a high level soldier.

Seems like Camden’s thinking along the same lines I am. “What about you?” he demands. “What if you break, and you can’t stay away from her?”

A muscle twitches in Denver’s jaw, but he inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Fine. We’ll check in with each other. If anyone’s resolve is weakening, the others take over. Camden’s herbs slow her heat down, but we’ll do what it takes to get her back before it starts.”

“So once we get the mint, we track her,” I say.

Already, I’m itching to get up and sniff around, search for signs of her in the dark. Denver’s nose can’t be that much better than mine. She’s probably blocking her scent somehow, so I’ll have to use other markers. Broken branches, footprints, the sounds of movement through brush and over uneven earth.

But Denver shakes his head. “No. That’ll spook her. My guess is if she’s willing to get this close, she’s desperate. All we need to do is bait the trap. Leave out some food and see if she tries to take it. If she does, we take her then. If not, you can track her easier tomorrow when the sun’s up.”

Camden is already nodding. Clearly, I’m outvoted.

They better be right. Because if Brooklyn doesn’t come to us, I won’t rest until I’ve hunted her down.