Page 46 of Sun's Roar

“Dammit.” He slammed his palm against the steering wheel.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Joshua. His beta answered on the first ring.

“Any sign of her?” Joshua asked without preamble.

“Restaurant’s closed. Everyone’s gone.” Sol jumped out of the car, prowling the perimeter of the building. “I need her address. Now.”

“Working on it.” Joshua’s voice was steady, the perfect counterbalance to Sol’s rage. “My contact at city records owes me a favor.”

Sol paced outside the restaurant, breathing deeply to catch any hint of Helena’s scent on the evening breeze. Nothing.

“Got it,” Joshua said finally, reciting an address across town.

Sol hung up without another word, leaping back into his car. He drove like a man possessed, cutting through side streets and running yellow lights.

The modest two-story house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac looked as unremarkable as possible. No lights shone from within. Sol parked haphazardly and approached the door, every sense heightened.

He knocked hard enough to rattle the hinges. “Helena!”

Silence answered him.

He pressed his nose to the doorframe, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingered faintly but stale. Days old.

“Fuck.” His patience snapped like a dry twig.

One powerful kick splintered the door near the lock. It swung open with a protesting creak. Sol strode inside, switching on lights as he went.

The house was neat and modest, everything in its place. The kitchen gleamed with professional-grade equipment—clearly Helena’s domain. A small dining table stood by a window, a single chair tucked neatly underneath. The sight squeezed something in Sol’s chest.

“How long have you been eating alone?” he murmured, trailing fingers over the back of the chair.

Upstairs, her bedroom smelled most strongly of her. Sol stood in the doorway, momentarily overwhelmed by the concentrated scent. Her bed was made with military precision, a soft blue comforter pulled tight. Botanical prints hung on pale walls. On the nightstand, a small potted herb—basil, he thought—reached toward the window.

Everything spoke of order and calm, so unlike the chaos he’d brought into her life. Yet through their bond, he felt only escalating fear. No feeling of homecoming. No relief at returning to this ordered life.

Sol moved methodically through each room, breathing deeply, searching for clues. His wolf prowled beneath his skin, agitated and ready to hunt.

That’s when he caught it—the faintest whiff of something familiar and unwelcome. Sol froze, and his nostrils flared as he recognized the scent. Victor. The bastard’s cologne hung in the air like a toxic cloud—expensive, pretentious, with undertones of wolf that no human would detect.

“Son of a bitch,” Sol snarled, his fist connecting with the nearby wall. The pain didn’t register through the fury boiling his blood.

“I told you,” he growled as if Helena could hear him. “I told you he’d come for you.”

Sol pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in Joshua’s number, his breathing ragged.

“He’s got her,” Sol barked the moment Joshua answered. “Victor has Helena.”

“You’re certain?” Joshua’s voice was calm but tense.

“His stench is all over her house. Recent. Strong.” Sol saw a framed photo of Helena—she was laughing in a kitchen, flour dusting her cheek, that radiant red hair pulled back. His chest constricted. “We need to find them. Now.”

“Sol, listen to me. Come back to the castle first. We need a plan.”

“Plan?” Sol spat the word like poison. “My plan is to rip out Victor’s throat and bring my Luna home.”

“And that’s exactly why you need to come back first,” Joshua countered. “Victor’s not stupid. He’s planned this. If you rush in alone?—“

“He has my Luna!” Sol roared.

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