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.

our dead—them, I'll rip apart limb by

pack link, and I can sense bloodthirst

for a confrontation. We've

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

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

chest. Seven against one injured wolf and whoever was carrying

but a run for their lives. We might not be able to differentiate the different supernatural scents saturating the trail,

voice cuts through my concentration

snow. Not much, but enough to confirm violence. The scent

out, I command.

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

heading northeast. One of the scouts has

marks mean Jericho was incapacitated. Alive,

use. No idea what kind, but it has that itchy smell that Luna gets

is melted in a perfect circle, as if

separate the scents. Vampire. Wolf. Blood. And underneath it all, that itchy-smelling magic

probably glean some

I sure as fuck hope

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

northeast, growing fainter with each yard. Seven sets of prints become five, then three. They're covering their trail—professionals, not random attackers. And they're no

Or—neither of them. They were

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

Vester's voice echoes in my head. Like they wanted us to

tracks, and yet still left a clear trail. His suspicion isn't unwarranted;

we had run into rogue wolves? And yet, aside from a brief glimpse of some corpses