Page 5

Oh Mother, are those… footprints?

My hand falls from my ear, phone still clutched in my fist. I focus on the patterns of blood on the floor, inching closer until⁠—

There.

Tiny footprints in blood, the size of a small female. I can see where she was standing. Right there, by the stairs. Heels rooted, like she was bracing for something.

And then…

She moved. Exploded forward, really. I count eight perfect, bloody footprints in a straight, desperate line. I can see exactly where she stumbled—just once—staggered back to her feet and continued her sprint across the floor, a desperate race that ended in a skidding stop right next to one of the largest puddles of blood.

Terror as I’ve never known takes over my body. There’s a fucking fist around my lungs, and it’s squeezing and squeezing as I search for a clue that will tell me what happened next. My breaths stutter and slow until every inhale is a chore, and my mind floods with what-ifs.

I don’t even know what to hope for. I don’t even know if she was running toward someone, or away. Do I hope she made it, or pray she didn’t?

The air around me buzzes until all I can hear is static and all I can see is the room where my Mate was possibly kidnapped or caught or tortured or—or⁠—

“SON!”

My senses latch onto my dad’s voice like a lifeline. Following the sound of his voice, my eyes snap down to my fist, clutched so tight around my cell that my knuckles are white. Dad’s tinny baritone explodes from the speakers, reeling me back from my panic attack and grounding me in reality.

I fumble to bring the device back to my ear. My fingers feel too big—too clumsy— all of a sudden.

“Sorry, Dad. I’m here.”

“What’s going on, Soren? Are you alright? Did you find any leads on Saline?” Three questions in a row without a pause for an answer. Apparently I really spooked the usually patient male.

I take a deep breath. Exhale.

“No, nothing about Saline. I'm still following a lead.”

“Then what’s going on?”

He’s softened his voice purposely, almost like he knows I’m walking a tightrope and am seconds away from falling to my death.

“I found my Mate.”

I choke on the words, barely able to believe I’m saying them at all. They’re words I’ve spent my whole adult life imagining saying to my parents.

Dad, who’s been Mated to Ma for over two centuries. Ma, the light of his life. The star he orbits unfailingly and unrepentantly. They’re not only Scent-Matches, but Moon Mates—the Bond of our Species. Blessed twice, not just by Fate but the Mother as well.

The chances of Fate blessing a wolven with a Moon Mate in addition to their Scent-Match are so rare it’s considered to be a near improbability nowadays. It’s always been rare, but over the last hundred years the chances of a Species-specific Bond have dropped to less than eight percent.

I’ve spent eighty years dreaming of having a love like theirs with my own Mate. I’ve imagined over and over again what it would be like to find my Mate and share in the joy of my discovery with the two people who taught me what true love really is—the only two people in the world who could understand my happiness.

In my dreams, I’d bring her home, introduce her to my pack and my family, and that night we would go running together under the light of the Mother. My family would join with hers, and we would Mate right away, sealing the Bond and promising to love each other for eternity. If we were lucky, we’d have pups right away. A house full of pups. Little ones to teach and spoil and cherish, and a house full of laughter and loud voices and chaos and⁠—

And now that day has come. And it's nothing like I imagined.

Rather than breaking the news to my dad with my Mate safely wrapped in my arms, I’m alone.

Alone in a house, covered in blood, with nothing to hold onto but hope that I’ll find her. Find her and love her enough to make up for this fucking nightmare I wasn’t here to save her from.

“Oh, son!” Dad laughs. It’s a booming, boisterous laugh that’s full of love and excitement and pride. It’s so full of life, it clashes jarringly with all the death surrounding me.

I scrape my fingers through my hair and lean against one of the banisters, eyes still locked on the bloody footprints of my Mate. The only thing I have that proves she’s real, other than the golden thread in my soul.

Whose blood is that? Is it hers? Was she hurt? Did she escape? Who was she running to?