Page 24 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
But still… I can't help rooting for her.
As the police finish their questions, I catch the hint of nerves in her voice—just a flicker—but enough to make my instincts bristle. She’s lying. That much I know. But when the polygraph technician signals she passed, I exhale before I can stop myself.
Why the hell am I relieved?
I stand abruptly, pacing the length of my office. My wolf paces with me, scratching at the inside of my skin. Protective. Restless. Agitated.
I growl under my breath. “This isn’t good.”
She lied to the cops. She’s hiding something big. And instead of confronting her, all I can think about is her insides cringing when they asked about the wildfires—the ghosts clinging to her like smoke.
I kill the audio and head to her dorm to tuck the recorder back where I found it.
Not to protect her.
Just... to keep the truth closer.
I know what I have to do.
The forest still smolders with the ghost of fire as I stalk through the blackened underbrush, boots crunching ash with every step.
Maybe something new will turn up. It has to. The next full moon is too close, and I need something to share with the Captain. Something Icanshare with the Captain.
My nostrils flare, catching the tang of burned bark and something new… metallic, faintly coppery—like blood gone stale—as I stalk through the cindered wreckage, boots crunching ash with every step.
Then I see it. A scorched hollow at the base of a tree, ringed with darker, clumped ash.
I crouch down, brushing it aside with a gloved hand. Beneath the loose debris is a partial arm—bone and char fused together. Another victim. Another silent scream left behind in the dirt near Firehouse 333.
My gut twists even as I recognize the importance of this find.
I stay crouched longer than I need to, staring at the remains. Another person turned to ash and silence. The fire didn’t just take them—it left a brand, seared into bone and memory, a haunting that lingers beneath the ash and heat. Whoever did this wanted them forgotten. But the land remembers. And so do I.
I straighten and dial the Captain. “Another body,” I rasp. “Ridge Hollow.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then: “Jesus. That makes four."
I take a moment to assess while preparing an evidence bag. Something isn’t adding up.
"Has anyone reported these victims as missing?"
"No one’s come forward,” The Captain responds. "Weird, huh?"
“Have we tried other counties?" I offer.
The Captain exhales, and I can hear the unease in that breath. “I'll let the Sheriff know.”
I hang up the phone, grateful to have some evidence…and concerned Forensics may actually uncover some clues from it.
Back at the station, I scrub my hands in the sink, the scent of ash still clinging stubbornly to my skin. I watch my reflection in the mirror above the basin—eyes rimmed with fatigue, jaw shadowed with stubble, and a weight behind my gaze I can’t quite shake. I'm not just tired; I'm haunted.
In the common room, Captain Greene is already waiting for me, arms folded, sitting in his favorite chair, watching the late news flicker across the ancient television. “The Sheriff told the Mayor and now he’s breathing down my neck,” he mutters. “Tourist season. Doesn’t want the town looking like a scene from a monster movie.”
I toss a towel aside and join him. “I don’t care about tourists. I care about people getting killed.”
Greene raises a brow. “Any theories?"
I shrug, jaw ticking. “The full moon shows up in every fire report. Every single one. That’s not a coincidence.”
