Page 90 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
My breath stops. I wait for details on this new development.
"We got the results back on the claw. It matches one of the victims,” they murmur. “And there was DNA on it—Bode’s. With something... else.”
My heart pounds. “Else?”
“We can’t place it yet. But it’s not entirely human. Or entirely wolf.”
I take a breath. “Most likely the wolves got to it after it was dumped in the woods.”
Ember looks at me, speculative. “Possible."
They hold up the USB drive. "We'll get these fast tracked,” they state as they climb back in the vehicle.
I notice the scent of lavender, rosemary and sage coming from the air freshener, the same herbs that Tori uses. Interesting. I had no idea how popular this combination had become.
“Oh, and you might be interested in seeing these.” They hand me a piece of paper. The test results from Tori’s blood work.
I swipe my fingers over the paper, murmuring under my breath, then slide my hand past Ember’s face. “Nothing strange here.”
Ember’s gaze turns dreamy for half a second. Then they blink. “Everything’s normal.”
I hand the report back with a slight nod and pull my hood over my head.
The door closes, and the ignition starts.
I stop them with my hand on the window. “Be careful, Ember. Agent Leighton was no slouch.” They smile and nod. They understand.
“When we go, we go in broad daylight. And bring plenty of backup. Bode is smart. We must be ready for anything.”
Ember smirks, that edge of steel in their smile. “We will.”
With that, they roll up the window and lock the door.
The next day we meet up at the police station. The mood is electric. The photos I took—Agent Leighton’s watch, the bloodied ring, the claw—has set wheels in motion faster than I expected. There’s a surge of adrenaline running through the halls, agents in dark jackets prepping gear and coordinating strategy. FBI and the local police joining forces.
I hover near the evidence board, heart thudding as I look over the photographs I helped put there. The map of the forest. Cork board images, minus those photos of Marcus, Noah and me. Victim timelines. Bode’s production schedule.
And then I see it again—those letters in the margins of the schedule.
“FM.”
They’re written beside three of the shoot dates. Scribbled like nothing. A production note most people would gloss right over.
But I’m not most people.
“Full Moon,” I say out loud, the words escaping my lips like a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Across the room, Ember freezes mid-step. Her head swivels toward me.
“What did you say?” she asks carefully.
I turn to her slowly. “The schedule… Bode’s notes. ‘FM.’ It wasn’t a location or anyone's initials. I think it means Full Moon. Check the dates. Each one for shoots out of town on the night of the Full Moon, the very nights of all six arsons. What's interesting is that Bode is specifically planning shoots out of town every Full Moon. He's aware of the pattern.”
Ember’s mouth tightens. We lock eyes.
And in that long, loaded silence, everything sharpens.
The timing of the fires. The murders. The erratic behavior of Bode’s crew. The elevated aggression. It all clicks.
