Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Peyton
Before dawn, the temperature dropped and it started lightly raining. When he was abducted he was wearing a short-sleeved, knit pullover shirt and jeans because it’d felt comfortably cool.
And he hadn’t anticipated being abducted.
If I had, I would’ve worn my abduction clothes.
And a gun.
I will never hear the end of this from Dewi. And Beck. And evvvvveryone. I walked into that trap. Literally.
It didn’t take long for his clothes to quickly soak through, between the rain and running through dense foliage now wet from the precipitation.
Gillian is going to fucking kill me if these assholes don’t beat her to it.
Despite the cold and the rain, Peyton focused on running, on staying ahead of his captors.
They were humans, but even he couldn’t outrun a high-powered rifle round or a helicopter carrying advanced detection equipment.
And while he suspected they wanted him alive—why else tranq him?—he knew they’d probably kill him to protect their secrets if they couldn’t easily recapture him.
It’d been several hours since he’d last heard or sensed any signs of pursuit, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have drones and IR tech searching the region.
Not to mention exhaustion was setting in, compounded by his hunger, thirst, and the lingering effects of whatever they dosed him with to knock him out.
Meaning he’d need to find somewhere to hole up and rest. Somewhere he could escape detection from the air.
Until he could get a better handle on where he was and what the terrain ahead looked like—or found signs he was approaching a populated area—he couldn’t take the chance of stumbling right back into his captors’ arms.
He was approaching rocky hills surrounded by a thickly wooded area, and he hoped to find a deep cranny or natural cave or, better, an old mine shaft to crawl into.
He’d even settle for a thick, concrete drainage pipe at this point.
Anything to shield him from detection so he could catch a few goddamned hours of sleep and try to come up with a plan.
And figure out where the fuck he was. He preferred to stay clear of roads until he had a better idea of his location and figured out how to reach friendly territory.
Because he suspected this territory would likely prove decidedly unfriendly.
Not that he’d come across any roads. Hell, he hadn’t even crossed anything resembling an off-road track.
He was still too close to where he’d been held to want to pop his head up just yet.
No doubt his captors were patrolling roads leading from the barn they’d held him in and would be searching any population centers nearby.
Plus, he needed to get hold of Ken, let him know he was alive, and try to coordinate an exfil.
If he came upon a larger city, it’d be easy enough to slip into a home or apartment, use his Prime on the occupant so he could get information and access to a phone or computer, and plan his next step. Hiding his identity would be easier, too.
Meanwhile, he suspected Trent and the others had already gone through the paperwork, and Ken had designated Badger acting Pack Alpha.
He hoped.
Duncan would be his second pick, except he needed the old shifter able to act unimpeded. Also, while Duncan was catching up on his knowledge, he still didn’t know jack-shit about many modern developments. Nuances Ken would understand.
Like the massive computer systems spanning the globe, able to pick out fake IDs in ways they never worried about decades earlier. Or ubiquitous CCTV cameras, both governmental and privately owned, that law enforcement and the military could tap into.
But mostly he wanted Duncan held back as a potential weapon to use in the field, someone most shifters wouldn’t recognize until too late. And Duncan would likely decline that position if he were asked, out of worry that the pack wouldn’t trust him yet. Hell, he’d been back less than a year.
Peyton slid to a stop and froze, listening as in the distance he heard the unmistakable fwop-fwop of chopper rotors. It wasn’t daylight yet, meaning if they used FLIR or a thermal camera, they’d have an easier time finding him.
Adrenaline spiked through his system, and he took off running again, frantically scanning the hillside for any hint of cover. He jumped a small stream, nearly falling in the slippery mud on the other side, but he also smelled something.
Wolves.
Bio-wolves, not shifters.
Close by, their scent was fresh enough that he smelled them in the air, even with the rain, because he was downwind of them.
Peyton frantically stripped, shoved his clothing into a hollow at the base of a tree, and shifted, taking off toward the other wolves. He didn’t relish the thought of having to fight any of them because while his Prime powers worked fine on humans, it wasn’t likely they’d work on bio-wolves.
Within minutes, he quickly caught up with them, a pack of over a dozen.
He hung back, staying downwind so they didn’t scent him, but anyone looking for him would mistake him for one of them.
They had taken down what looked like a deer and were feeding.
Peyton sat there, watching from a distance as light slowly crept into the sky and cast the woods in a soft, purple haze.
The chopper grew closer, but he didn’t detect it changing path or circling. Even the wolves seemed unimpressed and didn’t bother interrupting their meal. The helicopter passed somewhere behind Peyton and kept going. Still, Peyton held his breath and listened as the sound grew fainter.
Before the sun rose too high, he slowly backed away from the wolf pack and loped to where he hid his clothes, shaking the water from his fur. At least being shifted was warmer than traipsing around in wet clothes.
And that gave him an idea.
Staying shifted, he searched the rocky hillside for a suitable hiding place.
He couldn’t start a fire even if he had a lighter on him because of the risk of discovery, but at least he could seek dry cover.
It took him fifteen minutes to find a deep enough overhang, too small for him to stand in upright as a human, but it was more than snug enough for a wolf.
Racing back to his clothes, he shifted, retrieved them, used his jeans to bind his shoes and other clothes into a bundle he could carry in his mouth, and then shifted into his wolf form.
Once he reached his nook, he shifted back again, untied the bundle, and arranged the clothing as best he could to give them a chance to dry out. With that done, he returned to wolf form, crawled into his temporary home, and curled nose to tail in a tight ball to stay moderately warm.
As sleep caught up with him, he thought about Gillian.
I love you, baby. Hang on. I’ll do my damnedest to get back.