Page 126 of Marked

“That’s me. Who’s this?”

“My name is JC Watts, I’m alpha of Toronto and Ottawa,” the man said.

A bolt of surprise shot through me. Why the hell was he calling me? Had Ollie and Cameron already spoken to him? Already tried to get a good word in? No, that couldn’t be it. There was no way they could have gotten to him yet. This must be about something else.

“I know who you are,” I said. “Want to tell me why you’re calling me?”

“I need you to get your ass to the shifter clinic in Toronto. It’s about five kilometers outside the city limits?—”

“I know where it is,” I said, fear suddenly boiling up inside my stomach. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s Ollie,” JC said. “He’s been hurt. Head injury, probably broken ribs, too. He’s banged up pretty bad, but not the worst I’ve seen.”

My breath was coming in quick hisses, and my fingers ached as I clenched the phone. Not good. A car crash, maybe? The rain had been bad. It was possible he’d hydroplaned or something.

“Cameron?” I asked, terror seizing my heart. “What about her? Cameron Torres. Ollie was bringing her to you. Is she all right?”

There was a short pause, and in that span of seconds, I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

“She’s missing. I spoke to her for a few seconds right after the attack, but she was nowhere to be seen when we found Ollie. Histruck looked like it had been through a war zone. Nate, Ollie says you’re the best goddamned tracker he’s ever known. We need you here to help us look for her.”

“Attack? What do you mean, attack? Tell me what the fuck’s going on.” I gripped the phone so hard, I thought the screen might crack.

Every thought I’d had about talking myself out of joining the pack vanished. There were bigger things at stake here than my feelings or my future. Cameron was in trouble. I had to save her. Iwouldsave her. Another voice deep in my mind muttered to me that I needed to get my ass in gear and get to that clinic. I was pretty sure it came from my wolf.

“I’m on my way,” I said, running to my room, boots splashing in puddles as I went.

“How far out are you?” JC asked.

If I drove like a normal person, it would take me at least two hours. If I drove like a madman?

“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” I said, then ended the call.

Above me, the clouds parted, and the sun reappeared. By the time I rushed out of my room and shoved my belongings into the saddlebags, the puddles were steaming.

When I took off, the highway was well on its way to drying out. Good. I slammed the throttle of the bike and rocketed down the road, the speedometer cranking higher as I went. I watched it mark one hundred kilometers per hour, then one-fifty, and finally settling in at two hundred.

My bike flew down the road, passing cars like they were standing still. The entire time, my mind was on Cameron. As each mile clicked by, I cursed myself again and again for leaving her. As angry and hurt as I’d been, I should have ensured she made it to the pack before running off like a pissed-off child.

When I arrivedat the clinic an hour later, I’d worked myself into a full panic. The clinic looked nothing like it usually did. In the past, the nondescript building had appeared to be nothing but an office, and humans had no clue it was a hospital for shifters.

When I pulled into the parking lot, it was full of cars, trucks, bikes, and SUVs. People milled about, looking tense and worried. Whatever was going on, it was serious.

“Hang on, buddy,” a big shifter with tattoos winding around his arms and neck said as I slammed my kickstand down. “Clinic is closed.”

“I’m here to see JC,” I snarled, getting off my bike.

The guy put a hand on my chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh, my man. No one gets in without the boss’s say so.”

My hand curled into a fist, and I was seconds away from slamming it into the prick’s face when a voice called out from behind.

“Let him through, Maurice.”

Me and the big guy turned to see a young man standing at the clinic’s open door. He was young, maybe early- to mid-twenties, with a strong, muscular physique. A thick, blond beard covered most of his face. In contrast, his head was shaved. He looked like a cross between a Viking and a marine.

I glanced back at the guy who’d blocked my way and slapped his hand away from my chest. “Yeah,Maurice. Let me through.”

Frowning, the guy backed away, and I hurried to the door.

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