Chapter 67
RAFE TRU
There’s magic floating through the air. It’s a subtle mist everywhere but nowhere at the same time, making the hair on my arms stand up.
I’m not a magic expert but can sense its presence.
Driftwood Pointe could be any New England coastal town with lots of brightly colored trees, not yet ready to give in to winter, yet there’s a prevalent stinging wind.
The streetlights shine, giving off a welcoming glow.
I’m not delusional, thinking I’ll find my missing sister’s scent right away, but my wolf’s impatient to run after driving from Colorado. Cora’s the reason I became a tracker. I don’t want other families to suffer the unknown, for me, the worst news is better than not knowing.
An old, dirty shirt of hers sits on my front seat in a plastic bag. I’ve memorized her smell but open the bag so it’s prominent. An image of her running to the creek takes my breath away. After all these years, she’s so clear in my mind.
There’s a common green area in town, and although I’m itching to park and begin my search, I drive the short distance around the block to the Tidal Inn, where I made my reservation.
I send a quick text to my pack alpha before I shift. I’ve memorized the map of the town and shouldn’t have any problems, but lack of preparation is the fastest way to run into trouble.
As a tracker, losing my phone and link to the world could be a matter of life and death, so I wear an enchanted pouch that my wolf can carry. A gift from my stepmother.
She was so thrilled she could access her magic and make me something lifesaving. Lost hikers are my specialty, since I’m central to many mountainous trails. This pouch is the type of magic I believe in, the type that helps people. I’m against people using magic for personal gain.
My wolf is right below the surface, watching and analyzing all the scents. The salty air from the harbor overpowers individual smells. Shifting is the best strategy for finding scents, but something holds me back.
Cora wasn’t found in the wreckage that killed my father and severely injured my stepmom. She was just gone. No trace, no car seat, no body. The grief of losing my father and her daughter drove my stepmother’s sanity beyond the brink. She died of a broken heart, but it took ten years to kill her.
I shake off the past and concentrate on why I’m here. A scent pulls me forward. It’s not my sister, but my wolf is losing his mind, so I shift.
The town is a blur as my wolf races toward the delicious smell of cedar and orange blossoms, but it’s the added scent of amber that has his attention. We’ve never smelled anything so intoxicating.
A low rumbling growl leaves our throat as my wolf circles a hospital.
The person attached to the scent is inside, but we don’t smell any distress or injury.
It’s strong enough to assume the person works here.
I have a fleeting thought to wrestle control back from my wolf and start a calculated search for my beloved little sister.
My wolf never gets off track for frivolous reasons; if he thinks we need this person, I trust him.
We gallop through the parking garage until the scent is popped off by a midsize sedan that’s at least five years old.
A floor below us, a metal door clangs open, and voices echo off the cement walls.
As the mouthwatering scent gets stronger, my wolf does an uncharacteristic happy dance and flops next to the driver’s side door.
I attempt to regain control from him and shift, but he refuses me for the first time in our twenty-seven years. Apparently, he doesn’t trust me as much as I trust him. As the smell of orange blossoms fills my nose, it’s clear he’s a man, not a shifter.
“Count me out. I’m done dating for-ev-or!” His voice is light and teasing, but there’s an underlying gravity to it. My wolf responds by showing his belly.
We’re an enormous wolf with black hair and a menacing growl. Most shifters are wary around us, and this guy might piss himself when he sees us.
His footsteps draw closer, and my mind is bombarded with a singular focus.
Mine.
Mate.
Mine.
Claim.
Mate.
He steps into view as my wolf lies back with our tongue lolling out, trying to be nonthreatening. The gorgeous man has a slight build with reddish brown hair and warm, honey-brown eyes. His smile lines disappear when he sees me.
My wolf whimpers in pain and shields our face with his paws. He’s blatantly faking, but it works.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?” My mate kneels next to us and rubs our belly.
We chirp happily, wishing we could purr. His touch shocks me. It’s an explosion of my internal organs and a cosmic settling at the same time. All I can do is pant.
“Where’s your home? It’s dangerous being in a parking garage.” He searches as if my owner will suddenly appear. “You’re a sweet boy, but I gotta get home. It’s been a helluva shift. Come on, boy, move over here.” He snaps his fingers at the empty parking space next to his car.
“Who are you talking to? Did this place finally scramble your brain?” the same woman he was talking to before calls out, but our eyes are glued to our mate and my wolf still won’t give me control.
“Ash, give me a hand. There’s a dog by my car and I’m not running it over.” My mate stands with his hands on his trim hips. The scrubs don’t do much to show off his body.
“Row, I swear on a full moon, if you’re pranking me, I’ll curse your love life.”
“Ha. Nothing would change.” Row’s laugh is humorless, and his spine straightens.
“Holy shit, that’s a fucking wolf!” Ash cries.
“No, he let me pet him, see?” Row bends and we lick his face. “A wolf.” He laughs as if the idea is absurd. That could be a problem.
“You’re on your own.” Ash turns on her heel, and we take Row’s distraction to nuzzle his leg.
“Hey, what’s that around your neck? You got an ID tag?” Row reaches for my cell phone pouch, and my wolf yelps in distress, holding his paw at an odd angle. “Poor baby, you must be hurt. I’ll get you fixed up.” He opens the car door and lifts me onto the backseat.
He’s surprisingly strong, which makes my wolf drool. I’m undeniably attracted to him, but my wolf is obsessed. Someone has to keep a clear head; this guy, our mate, has no self-preservation instincts.
He whips out of the parking spot and speeds away as if there are no other cars around, and we barely make it under the parking gate as it lifts.
There’s a blanket on the seat embedded with his scent, so we bury our nose in it.
Our mate begins a conversation, which makes me wonder if he knows we’re a shifter.
“What should I call you? Pup? Wolfy? Good boy?”
Both my wolf and I are high on his scent and don’t give a fuck what he calls us, as long as he stays.
“My name’s Chason Harlow. My friends call me Row. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you. Ash would’ve called the police, the fire department, and animal control. We’ll be home in a minute, the perk of inheriting my mom’s house. Hopefully you have a name and number to call your owner.”
My owner? So he doesn’t know we’re a shifter?
He cranks the wheel and slams on the brakes in a tiny driveway that fits one car, it’s off the road in front of a small cape-style sunny yellow house.
Chason Harlow opens the back door. “Can you walk? You’re a heavy pup and too much to carry into the house.”
My wolf jumps out, pretending not to put pressure on one paw, but wagging his tail, eager to get inside our mate’s house and let me shift.
This is going to be awkward.