Chapter 3
Before Zeke could even think about snarling a response, Raaze crouched beside him and studied the ground. His expression was focused as he leaned forward to trace patterns in the dirt.
Frowning, Zeke leaned in as well. What had he missed?
"A male carried her," Raaze said, his voice sharp now.
"Over his shoulder, by the look of it. She really did hurt him with that drill, though.
" He pointed to a more disturbed area of dirt a few feet away.
"Here... See how the stride pattern changes?
He had to adjust his grip to compensate for her weight.
She's tiny, so he would only have to do that if she'd injured him. "
Zeke blinked in surprise. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Draanth, the asshole was right. Raaze might be an arrogant bastard, but yeah… he knew how to track. Zeke had missed those tiny signs.
"Trail heads north," Raaze said, standing and brushing dirt from his hands. "Into the foothills. He wasn't trying to hide his path."
"Confident draanthic," Kraath said, joining them. Lines deepened around the garrison commander's mouth as he studied the horizon where rocky outcroppings rose like jagged teeth from the forest. "Or wanting to reach safe territory quickly."
The hairs on Zeke’s arms rose at Kraath's tone.
"Why? What’s up there?"
"Rough country. Lots of caves and hidden valleys." Kraath folded his arms over his broad chest, his eyes narrowing as he studied the foothills in the north. "It used to be empty territory, but the mountain packs have been moving down recently."
"Mountain packs?" Raaze asked with a frown.
"Ferals so far gone they barely remember they were once civilized," Kraath replied. "They claim territory. Mark it. Defend it. Kill anything that intrudes." His gaze slid sideways to them. "With Banic gone, there's no one to keep them in line anymore."
"Banic?" Raaze frowned.
Zeke lifted his head in confusion, but then he remembered Raaze was new to the planet, new to being Izaean... hell, new to everything here.
"He used to be the big bad out here. The worst of the ferals. He kept them all in line with an iron fist... Until he went and 'caught feelings' for Doctor Godwin,” he said, starting to follow the trail, letting Michelle's scent guide him toward the tree line.
The others followed, their footsteps heavy on the gravel. He looked up. The storm clouds were thickening overhead, casting everything in gray twilight even though it was barely past midday.
"How do you know so much about mountain pack behavior, Kraath?" he asked. "That's well outside the normal surveillance area for the Northern Garrison, isn't it?"
The garrison commander’s silence stretched, and Zeke was about to turn and ask again when Kraath answered. "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't monitor all threats, now would I? We've been tracking feral activity in the northern sectors for years."
Zeke nodded at the logic in the point and pressed on.
They quickly left the construction site behind, following Michelle's scent through the forest. The landscape changed from the flat, scarred earth of the work site to rolling hills covered in trees and twisted vegetation.
Fern-like plants carpeted the ground between rock outcroppings, their fronds moving without any wind to stir them.
He gave them a wide berth as they passed, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.
They looked odd to him, but he hadn't spent a lot of time in the north.
They could be perfectly normal up here for all he knew.
Michelle's scent led them through the forest and into rougher terrain, always heading north toward the peaks. But other scents began to intrude... ferals had passed this way recently.
"We're not alone out here," Zeke said, nodding at a boulder as they came upon it. The hard surface was littered with claw marks.
Raaze crouched down to examine the scratches, running his fingertips along the marks. "Some of these are old, but some are fresh. Maybe six hours old."
"How many?" Kraath asked.
"Hard to say from these." Raaze frowned as he ran his fingers over the deepest gouges. "I'd say at least three, maybe more. There are different claw patterns and spacings here." He looked up at them. "This isn't just one feral now, this is a pack."
Zeke’s gut tightened. A lone feral kidnapping Michelle was bad enough… but a pack? He didn’t even want to think about that.
"We keep moving," he growled. "Trail's still fresh enough to follow."
They pressed deeper into the foothills, the path growing more treacherous as they climbed. Michelle's scent remained strong and steady, and his jaw tightened at the other scents wrapped around it.
But then the scent changed, souring as something new cut through it...
Blood. Human blood.
They'd hurt her.
White-hot rage exploded through his chest, his vision blurring red around the edges. His claws dropped automatically, sliding free. He fought for control, forcing his claws to retract as his hands shook with the effort.
“Blood. Close by,” he rasped, but the others had already caught the scent.
“Fan out,” Kraath barked. “Find the source!”
They found it twenty minutes later—a small clearing where the trees opened into a rough circle.
He raced into the clearing to find a wooden post in the center, crude but sturdy.
Dark stains streaked down one side where something…
no, someone had been tied. Michelle's blood.
The smell of terror saturated the air around it, so thick he could taste it on his tongue.
"Draanth," Raaze breathed, crouching beside the post. "She was here for a while. Look at this." He pointed to deep grooves in the bark and the remnants of vine ropes around the base. "She tried to free herself."
Zeke's vision went red again. His claws shot out before he could stop them, and he drove them deep into a nearby tree trunk. Bark exploded under the impact, wood splintering as he raked downward.
"Zeke!" Kraath's voice cut through the rage. "Control yourself!"
But he couldn't. The scent of her blood, her fear, the evidence of what they'd done to her—it shattered every wall he'd built around his fury. A roar tore from his throat as he spun toward the post, claws extended.
The others hit him at the same time, taking him to the ground. They pinned his arms, their combined weight holding him down as he thrashed beneath them.
"She's not here now," Kraath snarled in his ear. "Destroying this won't help her. We need the trail."
He blinked as Kraath’s words registered. Michelle wasn't here. She was somewhere else, still in danger, still needing rescue. He couldn't help her by destroying the only clues they had.
His breathing slowed, and his claws retracted. The red haze cleared enough for him to think.
"I'm good," he growled. "Let me up."
They released him cautiously, ready to pin him again if his control slipped.
But the moment had passed. The rage settled into something colder.
His breathing evened out, his muscles coiling tight with a focused purpose.
I’ll kill the ferals who hurt her. I’ll tear them apart, piece by piece, until they beg for the sweet release of death. I’ll—
"Trail continues north," Raaze said, walking around the clearing. "But there are more tracks now. Definitely a pack."
Zeke pushed to his feet, brushing dirt from his knees. “Let’s go.”
They left the clearing, easily following the tracks of the feral pack. The terrain grew rougher as they climbed, rocky outcroppings forcing them to pick their way carefully between boulders and twisted trees.
Kraath glanced up at the darkening sky as thunder rolled overhead. "Storm's getting closer.”
The trail led them through a narrow canyon where a stream cut across their path. The water ran clear and cold, but the mud of the banks was churned up with footprints. Zeke knelt beside them, taking a deep breath.
The scent of Michelle's blood was stronger here.
"They stopped here," he said, his voice a rough gravel. He brushed his fingertips over a flat boulder beside the stream where Michelle's scent was strongest. "Rested. Gave her water."
"That's good," Kraath said. "Means they want her alive."
But Raaze was studying the feral tracks with growing concern.
"Look at this." He pointed to overlapping prints in the mud.
"These aren't from her captors. The gait is different, and the claw structure doesn't match.
" His voice was grim. "Others have been here. After Michelle's group. More recently."
Zeke's blood went cold as he sorted through the scent markers around the stream. She was hurt and getting worse, and now more ferals were following her?
"How many others?" he asked, his jaw clenched.
Raaze crouched beside the water, studying the tracks in the churned mud.
"At least six more. Maybe eight. There’s a big one with them as well. A brute. The others are giving it a wide berth by the looks of the tracks." He stood, wiping his hands on his pants. "Your female's become the center of attention."
Thunder cracked overhead and rain slammed down on them without warning, turning from scattered drops to a torrential downpour in seconds. The stream beside them doubled in size before their eyes.
"This whole canyon's a wash!" Kraath shouted over the roar of the water. "We've got minutes before it floods."
"This way!" Raaze yelled, pointing toward a narrow gap where the canyon opened into the valley beyond. Already, debris swept past them in the rising current.
Zeke didn't hesitate. Michelle was somewhere ahead in that maze of valleys and rising water. "Move!"
Something was wrong with her leg, like really fucking wrong. It had been playing up since Scarface decided he didn’t want to carry her anymore, and the ferals had made her walk in the middle of them.