Aaron handed it over without question and waited for Frank to add the address to Google Maps.
As Frank passed it back to him, the wind changed, bringing with it a scent that had all the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Isaac’s low growl sounded next to him, and Aaron tensed, senses on high alert as he glanced around for the source. All seven shifters edged towards the start of White’s driveway, as though drawn there by an invisible string.
“What is it?” Coldwell hissed, following them, gun drawn. “What can you smell?”
Alpha Wallace stepped quickly to his side. “Blood, death. There’s another shifter close by, Detective, and if he’s not dead already, he soon will be unless we find him. And fast.”
Not waiting for his reply, she and Alpha Jones sped off up the driveway, disappearing from sight.
“Fucking hell!” Coldwell motioned for Stewart, Bridgford, and the two Met police with them to follow. “Come on. When we get to the house, you go in the front and we’ll go around the back.”
Aaron was torn between wanting to help find the injured shifter and going to Michael. The scent of blood clung to him, each breath in bringing a fresh wave of it. Alpha Wallace was right, even Aaron could smell whoever it was had been badly injured.
Footsteps sounded on the gravel drive, and a moment later, Alpha Jones appeared, running full pelt towards them. “We found Wilson,” he shouted.
Aaron noticed Coldwell’s flinch, probably at Alpha Jones’s volume. But if he thought they were going to surprise any shifters in the house, then he was mistaken. They likely knew they were there the second they reached the driveway.
“Is he dead?” Coldwell replied, in a somewhat quieter voice.
Alpha Jones got the hint and lowered his volume. “No, but he’s not good. Shot twice and stabbed in the chest.” He came to a halt in front of them. “He’s lost a lot of blood. His body’s struggling to keep him alive. He needs help.”
“Help?”
Alpha Jones brushed past them, towards his car. “I need to get the bullets out and stitch him up.”
Aaron swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Where did you find him?” he managed, gaze caught on the blood covering Jones’s clothes.
“Just inside the entrance hall.”
Grabbing what looked to be a medical bag from the boot of his SUV, Alpha Jones stopped in front of Coldwell. “There’s no one else in that house, Detective.”
“What do you mean?”
“If there was another living being in there, then we’d hear them. If there was another shifter, we’d smell it, but there’s only Wilson’s scent in that house.” He moved to head back.
“Wait.”
Alpha Jones looked back over his shoulder.
“Are you saying White wasn’t bitten?”
“No. Wilson has blood in his mouth that isn’t his.” He started walking up the drive again. “I’m saying that White didn’t go through the change here.”
Oh no.
The pieces seemed to slot into place for everyone all at the same time.
As Aaron whispered, “Michael,” Frank was ordering everyone back to their cars and reaching for his radio, all protocol seemingly thrown out the window as he bypassed the usual police talk Aaron had heard them use before.
“Arch?” he hissed, voice frantic. “Arch? You there?”
The two seconds it took him to respond felt like a lifetime. “Archer. Go ahead. Over.”
“Thank fuck,” Frank muttered. “Stay where you are. Do not go into the property. Over.”
“What—”
“I repeat, do not go into the property. We found Wilson almost dead, no sign of White.”
