Page 19 of Shift of Destiny
7
Chance and Shepherd turned down the narrow alley that led to the now well-lit back entrance of Turn of the Cards. Chance carried the front end of the fifteen-foot steel I-beam, leading the way. Shepherd, with mixed heritage of ogre and bogeyman, could have easily carried it by himself, but he couldn’t see well enough at night to avoid taking out fences, shrubs, or spruce trees.
Finally, they reached the driveway. “Let’s set it here,” said Chance.
Even with borrowing strength from his beast, he was feeling the strain of having carried the heavy beam for four blocks, which was the closest Shepherd could find to park his long truck. They set the beam carefully on the edge of the driveway, next to the rocky strip of the garden. Chance took off his work gloves and shook his hands and shoulders, noting that Moira had left the loading dock door up for them.
“You’re stronger than you look,” commented Shepherd. “What’s your animal, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Chance usually dodged the question, but Shepherd was the closest thing he had to a friend in town. “I don’t know, exactly. I’m not a Florida red wolf or a Canadian white cougar, like my parents.”
Shepherd nodded. “Oh, a mix, like me. You smell like cat or something.”
“Or something,” agreed Chance. He pointed to the roll-off bin Shepherd had dropped off. “Let’s move this into position while we’re here.”
Chance watched as Shepherd lifted the bin like it weighed fifty pounds instead of five hundred and placed it a few feet out from the side of the house. Something glinted on the loading dock, and he stepped up to investigate. It was a piece of broken mirror.
As he picked it up, a wave of Moira’s magic tickled his senses for a moment, then settled around him like a cloak. He looked around and up, but didn’t see her. He liked the feel of her magic on him, and remembered his father, long ago, saying something similar about the feel of his mother’s magic. Chance hoped they could find someone to teach Moira to use her talents. He planned to buy her a mirror as a mating gift, because he’d noticed she had an affinity for them.
An errant breeze brought the sour whiff of wolf and unknown human. It had to have been recent, because scents died quickly in the windy, dry summer. Known wolves made Chance’s beast wary; unknown wolves made it downright surly. Chance stepped closer to and past the gaping doorway, to see if he could smell it again.
He did, and something far worse. The wolf was ill, and tangled with the wolf’s stench was Moira’s scent, and a splash of blood. He crouched to wipe it up with his finger, then sniffed it. Human. He touched it to his tongue, memorizing the taste and scent so he could track it. His beast snarled inside, sure that it was Moira’s. Whoever had drawn her blood was a dead wolf walking.
“Why are you growling?” asked Shepherd.
“I think Moira’s in trouble.” He fought his rising beast and clung to his humanity. He needed his ability to talk to get their mate back. “She told me a guy named Witzer was after her, and he sounded like a collector. I thought the town’s reputation would keep him away.”
Shepherd’s normally genial expression turned darkly thunderous. “You go.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the sheriff and the council.”
Chance cast about for Moira’s scent and found it, then followed his nose to the alley. Two more drops of blood, then a larger, finer spatter. The scents ended in a scent cloud of engine exhaust, and where a bloody handprint—undoubtedly Moira’s from the size and scent—marred a picket of a waist-high white fence. He ran back to Shepherd.
“She’s in a vehicle with two human males and an unknown male wolf-shifter who smells of rot. Scent is fresh. We just missed her by ten or fifteen minutes.” He pointed toward the alley. “They went northwest, or we’d have seen them.”
Shepherd repeated the information into his phone as Chance went back into the well-warded workroom, in case he missed a clue. He ignored the tantalizing magic from dozens of talismans and devices, and focused on using his beast’s unrivaled sense of smell. She’d touched several items, but her scent was strongest on the hilt of a flat crystal stiletto that turned transparent when he touched it.
Chance wanted to shift and track, but long experience with unusual occurrences told him he needed to be prepared for more than just a headlong pursuit. He ran quickly up the stairs for his vest and tools, nearly tripping over Moira’s backpack. Its presence allayed the tiny worry in the back of his mind that she’d left on her own, but it confirmed his greater fear that she hadn’t left willingly. The backpack was her lifeline.
He scooped it into his arms as he clattered down the stairs and out the back again.
Shepherd told him the sheriff was out of town, but Deputy Shiloh was mobilizing the Kotoyeesinay Search and Rescue team of witches and winged shifters to help in the hunt.
“Can you feel each other through your mate bond?” asked Shepherd.
“We’re not mated.” He ground his teeth in frustration. “She doesn’t believe in her own magic, or know what I am, or what you are, or any of this.” He paced back and forth, fighting his urge to shift. “I was trying to show her a bit at a time.”
Shepherd’s phone rang and he answered it. Chance moved closer so he could hear everything.
“A Jeep passed the town limit, headed north on Trapper Road, then turned on the west ridge trail. It’s a maze up in there, near the hot springs.”
Chance shoved his shoulder through one of the straps of Moira’s backpack, then picked up his bag of tools. “I know some of the terrain. I’m going in. Tell them not to zap me.”
“I’m no good for tracking,” said Shepherd. “I’ll stay in town.”
Chance dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, which he thrust into Shepherd’s ham-sized hand. “Before you go, call Iolo Maxen and ask him how to set the alarms.” He saluted Shepherd, then took off at a run toward his truck.
* * *
Chance pushed his truck hard on the dry ruts of the dirt road that led to the ridge area, but it still felt slow. He hoped the kidnappers’ Jeep had similar limitations. He’d checked in with Shepherd right before he left the range of the town’s cell towers. Some incident with tourists in the town was tying up some of the search team, but they’d be there as soon as they could.
In between berating himself for leaving his mate unprotected and for taking her security for granted, he considered his options. Moira’s kidnappers undoubtedly had weapons, teams, and directions to their destination, which was more than he had. On the other hand, the wolf that took her was sick with something. Chance had his beast, and the element of surprise. His dark truck would be hard to see, especially since he’d been borrowing his beast’s night vision and driving with his lights off.
At every fork and turnoff from the windy road, he had to stop and scent, and hope to hell no one else was around to muck up the trail. At the end of the third switchback, where a steep trail went upward, his nose told him the Jeep had lingered and gone no further. One of the men and the dead wolf walking had taken his mate up the trail. Somehow, he’d missed the Jeep going back down, but it could have taken an off-road trail. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to find Moira. He spent precious minutes turning his truck around and hiding it under a scraggly pine that clung to the steep mountainside. He dragged a dark green canvas tarp out of the back tool locker and draped it over the hood and front grill, to reduce the chance of a reflection giving away the truck’s presence.
He left Moira’s backpack in the truck, but took his own, and started up the steep trail. He wanted to roar his challenge to the people who took his woman, who dared to hurt her. Instead, he sent a fervent wish to the silent stars to let her know to hang on, because nothing would stop him from coming for her.
