Chapter 28
Wyatt
Itore through the center of town, following the trail.
Where are you?
The air was filled with the tang of copper mixed with pine, freshly dug soil, and grass so strong it seemed magically infused.
They’re masking their personal scent.
Male, smoky, and sour.
Whoever this was clearly had knowledge of the arcane, but there was a familiar undertone that they hadn’t quite hidden this time.
Definitely lupine.
Whoever this bastard was, he was too bold.
The scent wove around the gazebo, through the grass, and around several bales of hay. It was a haphazard zigzag that confirmed he was trying to cover his tracks . . . but I’d caught it, nonetheless. His rage was pungent, and the ire irritated my nerves.
How could someone hate her this much? Hate the thought of us this much? And why had he come out of the woodwork now, when Willow and I had been dancing around each other for years?
I balled my hands into fists as I ran faster. Of all the people for someone to hate . . .
Willow was always the first to volunteer her time for town festivities.
She memorized every resident’s drink order and made sure to have every ingredient stocked, even for the ones who only visited occasionally.
Every Valentine’s Day, she offered the dining space for speed dating for free so that every monster looking for love could do so without a table fee.
She gave all the kids little witchy coloring books so their parents could have a coffee in peace.
She was the first to rally the meal trains when someone was sick or needed a helping hand.
Yes, she was occasionally a little gruff and always type A, but that was the sort of personality that made sure everyone was taken care of. Maple Hollow would be lost without her.
This wolf, whoever they were, was so shortsighted. If they had gotten to know her, they wouldn’t have ever done such a thing. If they’d just give her a chance . . .
A snarl escaped my lips as I raced down a back alley, only to wind my way back to the square again.
They shouldn’t need to get to know her, I corrected myself. Especially the members of my pack. I was their impending alpha and she was my mate, and that was all my pack needed to know. I’d allowed too many of them to step out of line. It was time to fix that.
I bolted across the town square again and through a throng of clamoring visitors standing outside of Midnight Market.
I couldn’t help the partial shift when my emotions were so high.
Instead of stepping away from me in fear, a few tourists cheered and whipped out their phones to take videos.
Just what I needed, more photos of me in half-shifted form floating around.
“The makeup skills in this town are incredible,” one whispered.
“They really make the experience so immersive,” another echoed.
“The fact they haven’t shot a movie here yet is wild!”
But I had tunnel vision, and I didn’t stop for anyone, least of all the people who wanted to take photos with me. I could faintly hear Billy Bacchus shouting to the tourists that I was a method actor or something equally as ridiculous.
Let him reprimand me later. Right now, I needed to find this threat and end them.
My display could be yet another thing to add to the Halloween Festival town reenactments. The skits were getting longer by the day to cover our asses so we could hide under the guise of a zany production.
Billy would find a way to handle it.
The trail led me on a circuitous route, doubling back multiple times as if for good measure, but they were slow enough to deposit their scent when they made miscalculated movements.
I pulled up short when I was led to a door: the police station.
“Dougall, I swear to the fucking moon . . . ,” I growled as I stormed into the building, looking for the infuriating sheriff.
Only a single fluorescent light flickered above the doorway, casting the entire station in shadow. The hairs on my arms stood on end as I listened. Nothing seemed to be amiss, aside from the empty desk . . . and the door to the holding cells being open.
“Dougall?” I called.
There was no answer.
Maybe he was out conducting an arrest?
I moved slower, navigating through the two-desk bullpen that was really only for show since the two deputies—who were werewolves—were strictly patrol officers and there was never any paperwork to be done.
But had one of them betrayed me? The leader of their pack?
I heard a faint sound coming from the storage closet. I dashed the rest of the way to the door and threw it open, only to find Dougall McLeighton tied with yellow police tape to an office chair, his mouth covered in multiple layers of duct tape.
“Damn it, Dougall.” I lurched forward and ripped the tape off his face. “What happened?”
“Gah!” Dougall exclaimed.
I’d pulled off quite a few beard hairs.
“Why didn’t you shift, Dougall?” I asked incredulously. “Barney Fife was a better cop than you.”
“He caught me by surprise,” Dougall replied sheepishly.
“I think it might be time for you to reevaluate your career goals, Dougall,” I muttered. “Who tied you up?”
He grimaced, his brow pinched as his eyes met mine. “You’re not going to like it.”