[[OLD]] A Handful of Daffodils (Forgotten Series, #7)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

A week later

I couldn't help myself as I glanced across the training field. Jason was standing off to the edge, his eyes narrowed as he looked over the other males. It was the first time I had actually seen the male out at the training field since everything had happened. I didn't know what to think about that. It felt like he had been avoiding me and I didn't like that thought. I didn't take the male for being a coward but if he was avoiding me then I wouldn't hesitate to call him one.

Perhaps he didn't want to be confronted on his lies, the things he was telling the other males of the pack about Menza, about the rogue hurting her, about the others chasing her. I could see that. I didn't know the male to act cowardly like that but then again I hadn't thought Menza was the type of female she turned out to be. So perhaps I wasn't the best judge of character.

I had a hangover, which wasn't the first time but I knew I had drank far too much last night. I had been drinking myself into unconsciousness every night since I had found myself in the grave yard. I didn't want to deal with the unwanted emotions that had welled that night. Drinking myself until I passed out had seemed a better idea. Except now I was experiencing hangovers and I intensely disliked it. My wolf was hunkered down, ignoring me, and I couldn't even blame him. Every sound grated against my brain like it was tearing it apart and my muscles and joints ached. I hated the feeling but honestly not enough to stop.

My talk with Getts had been enlightening, he told me he hadn't lied. He looked me in the eyes and said he didn't. I had been close to him in rank for years, he wouldn't just lie to my face. Everyone else had theories and thoughts, Getts was the only person who corroborated the rogue's story, he matched it, he validated it. Everyone else had theories with no fucking proof. They could believe what they wanted but when we found her, and we would, we would be proven right.

My eyes flicked across to the larger group of males that was hanging around. I curled up my lip in disgust. The whelp was out again. His expression was dark and he looked more haggard than he had prior, his form had sharp enough edges that most of the pack who hadn't picked a side, avoided him like the plague. I didn't care how he felt, or how he was dealing with everything. He said he had tried to get her to run away before she came under my roof, that made him just as suspect at the fucking rogues in my eyes.

"What?" He snapped it out and I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes as I glanced at the group. "What did you say?" Something seemed to thrum in his form as his eyes narrowed in on one of the patrol members. It wasn't agitation, I knew that it wasn't anger. I couldn't hear the male's reply but it was enough the whelped leaned toward shim, grabbing his shoulder. "What are you telling me? Speak plain!" He gave the male a shake and I closed my eyes, trying to pick up what he was being told.

"-some old blood sunk into the sand at the river merge. I had to dig to find it so it's been there a while." The male's voice was low but clear and I worked my jaw. They were grasping at straws and the moment I felt that tugging and internally drowned it out, not wanting to hear a damned thing it said.

"Did you see any other sign? A sign of predation or a struggle?" The whelp's tone was strained and I slowly shook my head before closing my eyes tighter to hear what they were saying. The conversation was kept low but that was understandable, a patrol member had worked around the Command Stenton had given to leave it alone. Probably by rationalizing that checking down by the river merge was technically still patrolling. If Stenton heard someone would be lashed or thrown in the cages like a disobedient dog. I had half a mind to tell him myself.

"I'm sorry, Simon, there were some scuff marks but they weren't distinctive but it's been so long. I wouldn't have noticed it at all except I rubbed at the sand and noticed it about half an inch down." There was regret in the male's voice and I fought the urge to scoff. They were talking about a blood spot, who knew how old, near the river, where predators and prey went to get water. It could have a been anything. Even a spot of rust. They didn't know it was blood or who it came from.