Chapter 14 - Dylan
I'm on the back porch, halfway through my morning routine of surveillance checks. Sera sleeps inside, exhausted from yesterday's clinic shift. Last night's strange, quiet exchange between us lingers in the periphery of my consciousness—something I'm not ready to examine too closely.
I answer on the second vibration. "Report."
"We've got a situation." James's voice comes through crisp despite the encryption. As Nic's second, he handles most field communications. "Miles Everett is missing."
The name registers immediately. Miles, fifty-three, lone wolf by temperament, though loyal to the pack. Former military. Prefers running the territory's boundaries in wolf form to hunt, sometimes for days at a stretch.
"When?" I keep my voice low, moving farther from the house.
"Forty-eight hours since last check-in. His regular hunting route takes him within ten miles of Pinecrest."
My mind assembles the map, calculating possibilities. "Any chance he's just extending his run? He's done it before."
"I don’t think so. He's never missed a scheduled check-in with his family. Plus, his daughter's getting married next week. He wouldn't go dark now."
The timing aligns too perfectly with the Guardian activity we've been tracking. A spike of adrenaline hits my system, sharpening every sense.
"Understood. We'll investigate." My fingers tighten around the phone. "Permission to engage if we locate him in immediate danger?"
A pause. "Reconnaissance only, Dylan. Your cover is too valuable to compromise without confirmation. Understand?"
The instruction grates against every instinct. "Copy that."
I end the call, already mapping search parameters in my head. Miles is experienced, cautious. If he's been taken, the Guardians must have developed new tactics we haven't identified yet.
Inside, Sera stands in the kitchen doorway, sleep-rumpled but alert. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. The sight creates an unexpected hitch in my chest.
"Problem?" she asks, voice still rough with sleep.
"Pack member missing. Miles Everett." I move past her into the kitchen, needing movement, purpose. "Last known position within striking distance of Pinecrest."
She absorbs this, instantly awake now. "The Guardians?"
"Possibly." I pour coffee into a travel mug. "We need to check Sheriff Donovan's hunting cabin. I've heard them mention it as a secondary location for 'processing' what they catch."
"Slow down." She places herself in my path, suddenly solid despite being half my size. "We can't just storm in there. If they have him, we need a plan. If they don't, we've blown our cover for nothing."
"Every minute we delay—"
"Could be the difference between finding him alive or not, I know." Her eyes hold mine, unflinching. "But rushing in half-cocked guarantees failure. Let's be smart about this."
The rational part of me recognizes her logic. The wolf part snarls against restraint when a packmate might be suffering. But her steady gaze anchors me, pulls me back from the edge of impulse.
"Fine," I concede, setting down the coffee with more force than necessary. "What do you suggest?"
***
The sheriff's hunting property sits eight miles outside town limits—a five-acre parcel backing up to national forest. No power lines, no cell service. Perfect isolation.
We approach on foot, leaving the truck hidden a mile back on an abandoned logging road.
The afternoon sun filters through pine branches, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor.
Beside me, Sera moves with surprising stealth for someone with limited shifting abilities, placing each step with deliberate care.
We establish a surveillance position on a ridge overlooking the small clearing. The cabin itself is unremarkable—weathered logs, metal roof, single chimney. What catches my attention is the outbuilding behind it—newer construction with reinforced walls and a padlocked door.
"There," I whisper, handing Sera the binoculars. "That structure doesn't match the rest."
She studies it, expression focused. "Could be a storage shed. Or something worse."
For what feels like hours, we observe in silence. No movement, no vehicles. The property appears deserted, but instinct tells me we're missing something.
"We need closer access," I decide finally. "Stay here as lookout. I'll circle the perimeter."
Her hand catches my wrist, fingers cool against my skin. "No. We stay together."
I open my mouth to argue, but something in her expression stops me. Not fear, exactly. Determination mixed with something else I can't quite name.
"Fine," I say again, the word becoming a pattern between us. "But follow my lead. If I signal retreat, we retreat. No debate."
She nods once, releasing my wrist. The ghost of her touch lingers as we descend the ridge in careful tandem.
Approaching from downwind, we skirt the clearing's edge. The stillness feels wrong—too complete, too manufactured. Alarm prickles along my spine.
"Something's off," I murmur, barely audible.
Sera tenses beside me, sensing my unease. We pause at the tree line, thirty yards from the outbuilding. Still no sign of life, but the hair on my arms stands on end.
"Trail cameras," Sera whispers suddenly, pointing to a barely visible black box mounted on a nearby tree. "They've got the perimeter monitored."
Clever. If we'd approached directly, we'd have announced our presence already.
"Change of plan." I scan our surroundings, calculating. "There's a maintenance access on the far side of the shed. Lower profile than the cabin."
We circle wide, using natural cover, freezing at every snapped twig or rustled leaf. The path takes us behind the outbuilding, away from any potential camera angles.
The maintenance door yields to careful manipulation—not locked, merely latched. Inside, darkness and the sharp scent of metal, oil, earth. I enter first, Sera following close enough that I feel her breath against my shoulder blades.
As our eyes adjust, the contents come into focus. The space is organized with military precision: traps of various sizes arranged by type, modified with silver components; tranquilizer guns mounted on racks; cages reinforced beyond what would be necessary for normal wildlife.
"Hunter gear," I whisper, examining a trap large enough for a full-grown wolf. "But specialized. Custom work."
Sera moves to a workbench where papers are spread beneath a battery-powered lamp. "Maps," she says softly. "With tracking data."
I join her, studying the markings. Red pins indicate capture sites; blue pins mark sightings. A chill runs through me as I recognize the patterns—these aren't random datapoints but carefully documented shifter movements. Someone has been studying pack behaviors with disturbing precision.
"They know too much," I breathe, tracing the migration routes. "These are established pack paths going back generations."
But before I can process further, the distant crunch of tires on gravel freezes us both.
"Vehicle approaching," I whisper, already calculating escape routes. "Two minutes out, maybe less."
We move toward the door, but a second engine sound joins the first—another vehicle, approaching from the opposite direction. We're about to be surrounded.
"No time," Sera hisses, scanning the small building. Her gaze locks on a narrow door in the corner. "There."
I follow her to what appears to be a supply closet, barely large enough for cleaning equipment. Without options, we squeeze inside, pulling the door closed as engines cut in the distance.
The space is absurdly small—perhaps three feet square. Sera presses against me, her back to my chest, our bodies forced into intimate alignment by the closet's constraints. I can feel her heart racing, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.
"They'll hear you breathing," I whisper directly into her ear, my lips nearly brushing against her hair. "Try to match mine."
Her head nods slightly, hair sliding against my jaw. I resist the urge to inhale deeply—her scent fills the tiny space, wildflowers and clinic antiseptic and something uniquely her. Instead, I focus on controlling my own breathing, slow and steady, offering a rhythm she can follow.
Outside, voices approach—the sheriff and at least two others. Heavy boots on wooden steps. The outbuilding door creaks open.
"—best setup in the county," someone says proudly. "Got everything we need right here."
"Impressive," replies a voice I don't recognize. "These modifications look professional grade."
"Military background comes in handy," the sheriff answers. "These aren't normal wolves we're dealing with."
Sera's body tenses against mine. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her waist, steadying her. Her hands grasp my forearms instinctively, fingers pressing into muscle.
"Still no sign of that big one you were tracking?" the unfamiliar voice asks.
"Trail went cold at the ridge line," the sheriff sounds frustrated. "Like he just disappeared. But we'll find him. Always do."
Miles. They're talking about Miles. Relief floods me—he hasn't been captured. He's still out there, possibly making his way back to pack lands already.
The men move around the space, their footsteps reverberating through the thin walls of our hiding place.
One passes so close to the closet that the floorboards creak beneath his weight.
Sera's grip on my arms tightens, her body pressing more firmly against mine as she tries to remain completely silent.
The contact ignites something unexpected—a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the closet's confined space.
Her curves fit against me with accidental precision, the nape of her neck exposed where her hair falls forward.
I find myself acutely aware of every point of contact between us, of her scent filling my lungs with each careful breath.
Minutes stretch into eternity as the men continue their inspection.
They discuss upcoming operations, equipment needs, patrol schedules—information that would be invaluable under normal circumstances.
But all I can focus on is Sera's body against mine, the slight tremor that runs through her when footsteps approach our hiding place again.
I tighten my hold instinctively, protective rather than restraining. She relaxes fractionally, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she leans back into me. Trust. This is what trust feels like—given freely despite every reason for caution.
Something shifts in my chest, a tectonic movement of barriers I've maintained since Ethan's death. I want to protect her not just because the mission requires it, but because I can't bear the thought of her being harmed. The realization is terrifying in its intensity.
Finally, mercifully, the voices recede. Engines start again. Tires crunch on gravel, growing distant.
Neither of us moves immediately, waiting to ensure they're truly gone. In the stillness, I become aware that my thumb is tracing small circles against her waist, an unconscious gesture of comfort I don't remember initiating.
"I think they're gone," she whispers, voice unsteady.
"Wait," I murmur against her hair. "Two more minutes to be sure."
She nods, making no attempt to pull away. We stand locked together in the darkness, her breathing now synchronized with mine, her heartbeat a quick counterpoint I can feel through her back.
When I finally release her, the loss of contact feels strangely significant. She turns within the confined space, now facing me, close enough that I can see gold flecks in her brown eyes despite the darkness.
"Miles wasn't captured," she says, voice barely audible.
"No." I struggle to focus on the mission rather than her proximity. "But they're still hunting him."
Her gaze holds mine, something unspoken passing between us. "We should go. Report back."
"Yes." But I don't move, can't move, transfixed by the slight parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her cheeks.
She reaches past me for the door handle, her arm brushing against my chest. The contact is electric, sparking awareness that races through my system like wildfire. She pauses, her face tilted up toward mine, eyes wide with recognition of whatever this is building between us.
For one suspended moment, I consider closing the distance between us. Her pulse visibly flutters at the base of her throat, matching the rapid rhythm of my own.
Instead, I step back as much as the small space allows, breaking the spell. "After you."
She slips out of the closet, and I follow, both of us blinking in the relative brightness of the main room. The air feels cooler here, easier to breathe without her scent overwhelming my senses.
"We need to move," I say, voice rougher than intended. "Before they come back."
Sera nods, not quite meeting my eyes. "Lead the way."
As we retrace our path through the forest, maintaining professional distance that feels more deliberate than before, I struggle to rebuild walls that seem suddenly, alarmingly permeable.
This mission just became complicated in ways I never anticipated—ways that have nothing to do with missing pack members or human hunters, and everything to do with the woman walking silently beside me.