Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 426: Lucas: Pack or Mate

LUCAS

All of us stand in what must be Jericho's room. His scent is heavy in the air, and a wheelchair sits on its side, tossed into a corner.

It's an unnerving sight that begs the question—is he still alive? Even if he ran, how far could he get without a wheelchair? And if he's taken captive, how badly is he being treated as an invalid?

Aurum snarls, his rage echoing through my skull. The sight of that wheelchair burns into my eyes and soul. A stark reminder of Jericho's new vulnerability—and my failure to protect him.

Vester is the first to break from the ominous sight, his voice clear through the pack bond. What is our next move?

The watch is still dead. No signal from Wolf's Landing, no word from Ava or Kellan. The silence is filled with too many scenarios I've played out in my head.

But the mate bond pulses steady in my chest. Ava's alive. They all are—every mated pair in our group can feel their other half. It's the only comfort we have right now.

"We follow Jericho's trail. Kellan and Ava know the evacuation protocols. They'll keep our people safe if anything happens."

They have to.

The words I don't say hang heavy in the air. Every alpha faces this choice—pack or mate. The needs of many versus the call of your heart. Right now, my chest aches, but my alpha bond is yanking me forward.

There are times I can let the world burn to choose my mate, but this is not one of them.

She's strong, Aurum reminds me. He, too, feels the pull to our pack. To those taken from us, dead and alive.

I know.

The familiar weight of command settles over my shoulders as I shift to resume the hunt, leaving that damned wheelchair behind. It doesn't make the ache in my chest any less, but the explosion of scent at least keeps my mind busy as I trot behind my scouts, aggression pulsing through my veins.

When we find these damn bloodsuckers, I'm tearing out every one of their throats. Every vamp will burn on pyres stacked to the sky.

magic on our dead—them,

rings out sharply in the pack link, and I

for a confrontation. We've spent too

Fresh powder covers most tracks, but beneath that pristine layer, chaos reigns. My nose brushes the ground as I follow the faintest traces, piecing together what happened

sets of prints. At least seven

one set that catches my attention the most. A little heavier, the stride inconsistent.

against one injured wolf

casual stroll, but a run for their lives. We might not be

cuts through my concentration from the

Not much, but enough to confirm violence. The scent is days old, muddled with vampire stench and something else. It smells like mushrooms and tree rot and summer.

out, I command. Check for

tale. Scuff marks in the snow indicate a struggle. Jericho didn't go quietly—wheelchair or not. Pride mingles

the scouts has already

hackles rising. Drag marks mean Jericho was incapacitated. Alive, but

idea what kind, but it has that itchy smell that Luna

melted in a perfect circle, as if hit by intense heat. But we

the scents. Vampire. Wolf. Blood. And underneath it all, that itchy-smelling magic my scouts have already

some information from that. Unfortunately, she's

as fuck hope

area; only one trail heads out for any distance, and

each yard. Seven sets of prints become five, then three. They're covering their trail—professionals, not random attackers. And they're no longer hunting. They have what they came

Jericho. Or maybe his friend. Or—neither of them. They were

are endless, but they give us all something to bounce around in our heads as we continue

voice echoes in my head. Like they wanted us to

their tracks, and yet still left a clear trail. His suspicion isn't unwarranted; I've been feeling a

aside from a brief glimpse of some corpses and strange magic, we've had