“I see it all.”
“Look at me.”
When she did, he sucked in a breath. Giuliana was glowing, her eyes as red as the underside of her coat. The color permeated, the same rust hue of what she sensed.
“Show me,” he ordered.
Using her to extend his control, he yanked on the scent to straighten it so it would lead them where they had to go.
“Run with me but stay connected.”
Giuliana only nodded as they sprang forth, humans and wolves, keeping sight on the tracer they followed. She moved with the same determination as a scenter, tirelessly, giving herself over to the hunt.
She’s a healer, and she’s as driven as you to do what she’s meant for.
He agreed with his wolf, following her stead and keeping them on track. Each step was silent. They were predators, meant to stalk this sort of terrain and pick apart their prey. Never, in all his years, had he heard of a connection quite like this.
Even when he’d worked with Fabiana, she hadn’t been able to see the scents. She only became more aware of them. He’d done it when she asked about how he viewed the world, the studier in her intrigued. But this … this was something else entirely.
They were working together instead of him directing the way. Now that Giuliana had sensed the blood in a way only she could, he was able to as well. It wasn’t a scent as much as it was a feeling in the pit of his stomach, a gnawing in his gut he had to fix.
The Greenwald sped past, the trees a murky backdrop to a night alive with power. They zipped through the trees, never stopping, heading straight toward the end.
They came to a small clearing, soft grass swaying in the delicate breeze. It should have been beautiful, this place where the moonlight touched the earth. It should have been a space to camp out for the night before they moved on.
Instead, it was slick with the eerie black of blood in the night.
Each blade of grass was splattered with it.
Heath.
Wolves.
My wolves!
Pasquale staggered to a stop beside Giuliana and surveyed the scene before him. What the hell was going on? He shouldn’t smell his pack in this scent of destruction. They never should have been here.
But all the blood was Heath’s.
All the signs pointed to a vicious wolf attack.
There were paw prints pressed into sticky congealing blood, perfectly preserved. Blood-caked fur was trapped under the paw prints.
Pasquale used his nose, but Giuliana bent next to the grass and put her hands out, palms down. “There’s enough blood that whoever was attacked should be dead.”
Not who … Heath. The both knew it. She was tied enough to his ability that she knew exactly whose blood was here.
“Giuliana—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “He can’t be dead. You smelled him heading to Scorched Earth.”
“We’re in the direction of it, Giuliana.”
She balled her fists. “And what wolves did this? I’d recognize our pack immediately, and even the Moonstone to the south. My uncle dealt with them a lot when we built the Arena, as they are over the entertainment sector. These weren’t their wolves.”
No, they weren’t. And he didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want his people to face any more bullshit. But when she turned teary eyes to him, he couldn’t lie to her. Couldn’t destroy what little bond they had.
Who was he kidding? This would ruin everything.
