Chapter One #2
Arlo barely registered the replies of his team behind him as he vaulted over the fence then veered toward the alley, his pulse hammering in sync with the strange pull tightening in his chest. He was playing a dangerous game following in the wake of the feds, but instead of slowing, he increased his pace.
The scent—that scent—was still in the air, weaving through the damp night like an invisible thread, dragging him forward without thought or hesitation.
It was subtle, yet insistent, something other that had nothing to do with the chase, nothing to do with the mission, but everything to do with him.
His shark instincts churned beneath his skin, demanding, searching, hunting. For what, he didn’t know. Only that his body moved on instinct, following that intoxicating electric awareness through the dimly lit streets.
Chase. Hunt. Find.
Arlo picked up speed, his strides lengthening as he chased the scent, faster and faster, until he was all but running.
The logical part of his brain screamed at him to stop, that he was heading straight into dangerous territory.
The target had vanished into the maze of backstreets, and the tactical team was still flooding the area.
If he was spotted, if someone got a good look at him in pursuit, questions would be asked. Questions the CIA would have to deny.
And yet, he couldn’t stop. This was too important, even though he had no clue why.
His breath came steady and controlled, but his heart pounded against his ribs as he pushed forward. The scent was pulling him now, driving him deeper toward the city. Soon he had caught up to the FBI tactical team.
Up ahead, a couple of their numbers cut left so Arlo went right following that incredible scent which was stronger now. Any minute Arlo would be right on top of it. He was certain.
The scent of the target was weak, and fading fast, but it was still there, entangled with that richer, deeper, more intoxicating scent that was sweeter than anything he had ever known.
His shark rumbled beneath his skin.
Chase. Hunt. Find.
Under different circumstances, Arlo would have questioned his inner shark, because all reason had seemed to have left it, but he too was as single-minded in his mission: find the scent’s origin. Nothing else seemed to matter.
The alley narrowed, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and exhaust fumes. His senses screamed, his pulse surged…and then he saw her.
A figure emerged from the shadows of an alleyway, running directly into his path.
A woman.
Arlo barely managed to stop before colliding with her, his body tensed from the sudden shift in momentum. For a split second, neither of them moved. The world around them seemed to blur, the chaos of the chase fading into background noise as something snapped into place between them.
Mine!
The realization hit like a lightning strike, sharp and inescapable, burning through Arlo’s veins like acid.
His gaze locked onto the woman in the dim light.
She was all sharp angles and quiet intensity, standing her ground like she belonged in the middle of a warzone.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, damp strands clinging to her temples.
Her eyes…he couldn’t tell the color in the darkness, but he felt them, piercing straight through him.
His instincts roared, demanding he close the space between them, demanding he do something, but she was just as frozen as he was, her breath shallow, her body rigid.
She feels it too! his shark said, elated. She knows!
Arlo didn’t have time to process it, not fully.
Because in that exact moment, while they stood there, locked in a silent, breathless recognition, something else occurred to Arlo. Something unrelated. The suspect had disappeared, his scent fading to a mere memory on the breeze.
Arlo cursed, snapping his head toward the direction he’d been heading, but it was too late.
The man was long gone.
Arlo’s gaze snapped back to the woman and his shark let out a low growl of approval.
A rush of emotion filled up his senses right before a word slipped unbidden from his lips, the same word she uttered at the exact same time, so quietly he wouldn’t have been able to hear it without the aid of his shifter abilities.
“Mate.”
The weight of the shared word settled into the thick Miami air between as if it were something tangible. Disbelief and wonder warred for dominance.
The woman—his mate—stood there, wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled breaths. But she wasn’t looking at him like he was her destiny. No, she was looking at him like he was the enemy.
And then, just as fast as the recognition had hit them both, reality crashed back in.
The suspect was gone.
The frustration slammed into Arlo like a punch to the gut.
His entire body tensed, a mix of rage, disbelief, and something far more unsettling rattling in his bones.
He tore his gaze away from her, scanning the alley as if the bastard might somehow materialize from the shadows.
But the scent was gone, too faint now to track.