Page 13 of Mated Exile

Several long minutes later, we race out of the woods and into the dead land at the edge of everything. A stench hits my nose, and I sneeze in disgust: rot and ruin, blood and torn flesh. The vampires have been here, that's for sure. As I study the dead, lifeless land around us, I spot more than one torn bit of flesh they left behind, teeth marks in hands and feet they've no doubt regrown by now.

At least we hampered them temporarily. I take some pride in knowingmyfangs have left some of the marks behind.

Finn pulls back now that we've found the end of the trail, putting weight on his back leg gingerly. Lance draws up on his injured side, ready to brace him if needed. I catch up with Roarke, who's ahead of the rest by a good amount, his nostrils flaring as he paces out into the sunlight.

We follow Delilah's trail with our eyes now as well as our noses. There are tracks in the dirt, and a shallow furrow filled with her scent. She was dragged off, no doubt unconscious, by a group of vampires. A growl builds in my throat at the thought, and I hear an answering snarl.

Looking over, I meet Roarke's dark wolf eyes. His teeth are bared, lips twisted back from white fangs. Tipping his nose down, he inhales her scent and snaps his jaws in the air with murderous intent.

A moment later, he tips his head back to howl at the late morning sky. The sound of it raises the fur on my back and sets my teeth on edge. It's a call, one only a wolf born with natural leadership can make, that pushes an authoritative voice into my head:This way, this way, follow me here.

He's calling out to the rest of the pack, dragging them here, like he dragged Finn and Lance to our battle last night. His howl is followed by an answering one, from a deep, older voice I know is Niall's wolf. They'll be here as fast as they can, as our reinforcements.

As soon as the call is answered, Roarke tears off across the parched and lifeless ground. I follow close at his tail. Behind us, Lance and Finn take a slower pace, the latter wrung out and spent.

I can't wait any longer. I need to see Delilah. To know that she's safe, and bring her home.

I won't lose her again.

Soon, the destination we've been looking for becomes clear. Ahead of us is a large abandoned dump site, marking where humans and werewolves alike once shed blood in a brutal war. There are dilapidated, abandoned buildings, paint peeling from old bricks. A chain link fence around the dump is twisted and bent, while beside it, a strange stone landmark rises from the parched land.

Something about the round, stone building sparks something in me. It doesn't resemble the other buildings, which are all metal, chrome, and brick, places meant to warehouse weapons the federal government once built in its attempt to take over territories like ours. When it became clear that firepower couldn't out-muscle werewolf magic, they abandoned all of it. But I never recall them building something that, from a distance, resembles a Roman coliseum.

As we get closer, the resemblance grows. It's a fraction of the size of the real thing, with a large stone archway out front. This is where the stink of the vampires is the worst: rot and ruin, blood and damnation. Roarke's pace slows as he warily scans the area, and I do the same.

Behind us, Lance catches up, leaving Finn to trail in his wake. His eyes narrow and he paces around to the side of the round stone building, looking for signs of a trap.

In the end we don't find anything. So we dare to stalk inside, leaving Finn out near the archway to watch our backs.

If the outside of the building looked like a coliseum, with a sliver of seating visible from the archways, the inside resembles one to a tee. There are rows of seats, built out of the same chrome and varnished wood as a public school gym, almost like the vampires repurposed them—which, I realize with a start, they may have done.

The domed roof overhead is open in the center, letting a beam of sunlight out onto the ground below. Enough light to see by, but not so much that it would shine directly on the stands and take over entire vampire covens. Even with our werewolf blood pumping through them, they're only able to survive dawn and dusk, not high noon.

The presence of the sun doesn't explain why the entire arena-like stadium is emptied out. Nor does it explain the large, ten-feet deep hole in the middle of the ground. The stadium seats overlook the hole, and a small, two-foot wide ledge runs around the edge of it.

Craning my head over the edge of the hole, I peer down into the darkness. There's nothing there, though as I inhale, a strong scent wraps around my nostrils: lemon mint and a fruit scent, almost like berries. Beneath it all is a smaller, less obvious smell that I now recognize as Delilah.

She's here.Or was, recently. Since I see no downside to it, I leap into the pit. The ten foot drop is unpleasant—my chin hits the stone ground and knocks a few brain cells loose—but I get up and shake it off, looking around myself for answers.

There's a ledge set into the wall, carved with flourishes, but it's empty. Chains are bolted to both sides of the pit, crusted with blood. At my feet, gouges mark the stone floor, and similar marks stretch up the walls, going five or more feet up before they fall back, like something large, powerful, and angry tried to escape this place, only to fail more than once.

I inhale again, tail lashing behind me, stalking through the darkness. Shewashere. I can feel it in my bones. A whine leaves my throat as I press my muzzle against the spot where she once was.

A few moments later, there's athumpas Roarke joins me. Then a louderthumpwhen Lance does as well. Even with the three of us together, the pit isn't crowded. It's nearly fifty feet across, and smells of blood both old and new.

Werewolves fought in here. I can feel it, smell it, taste it.

They aren't here now, though. And they aren't in the cell area we find, hidden through a large iron door that Roarke shifts back to open, his teeth gritted as he forces his hands to wrap around it. There are bits of scent inside a cell with iron bars, suggesting someone wasjusthere. So we shift back, make our way out of the pit together—something easy enough to do, once we find the stairs—and rejoin Finn outside to give him the news.

Though Roarke is still upbeat and determined, certain we'll catch her scent again, there isn't a sign of her for hundreds of yards beyond the arena.

She was here, and yet again, she vanished.

Just the thought of it is enough to make me want to break down again.

I only resist because I know, the moment I do, I will have lost her for good. Somehow I manage to hold myself together, just barely, because wherever she is, we know now she's still alive.

And as much as that should relieve me, it only adds more worries to the problem at hand.

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