The Hunted

Nine

Red

The jailhouse was hidden in the outskirts of pack territory, deep in the forest where it was impossible to find unless one knew exactly where it was. From the outside, it looked like nothing. A ramshackle one-story wooden building that had a terrible lean to it. Everything about the building screamed derelict – from the broken glass in the windows to the peeling paint on the door. What wasn't obvious from the exterior were the sophisticated cells and thick reinforcements that would keep anyone from breaking in or out.

Technically, Red's office was inside of the jailhouse. He'd never used it, instead setting up shop in a room down the hall from Henry's office in the pack house. As the Lead Warrior, he was responsible for any person who ended up inside of his jail, not that he'd had to deal with many inhabitants before. The odd rogue causing issues near to pack territory or a packmate who'd gotten too rowdy or drunk and needed a night alone to quiet down were about as lively as the cells got these days.

He'd flipped through the records once in boredom and during the era of Henry's great-grandfather, the cells had been home to more than a few vampires, a handful of warlocks, and one particularly nasty harpy that had come from Greece to America on a vacation and had been terrorizing hikers in the woods.

It had never housed a human before.

Not until now, anyways.

His Mate's scent, vanilla and bourbon and something spicy he couldn't put his finger on, had laced its way through the forest. The trail was two-days old and slightly less potent. To another wolf, it might not even be relevant enough to scent unless actively searching for it.

To Red it was like a drug. He was finely attuned to the scent of it, his instincts guiding him forward towards the person that waited on the other end of the trail.

He knew that he should have been at the jailhouse earlier. Every miniscule cell in his body had been straining to come to her from the moment she'd been led away. But there had been greater things at stake than wasting time fawning after her as his body and mind longed to do.

Instead, Red had left his warriors guarding the cell and allowed Henry the first opportunity to speak with her. Speak, Red had tried to remind himself. Not interrogate. Not torture. Speak.

Though from what Red had heard, the chat hadn't gone well. Henry had sent Red off to speak with Lehna in Denver to see if the fae had figured out a way to patch the hole yet. The fae still had no new updates on how to fix it but Lehna, having been updated on the attack, was putting renewed desperation into her search.

Red had even reached out to a few warlocks, hoping to implement some magical warding as a temporary solution until they figured out whatever shit was going down with the wall, but so far none had gotten back to him.

So Red had spent time thinking. Wracking his brain for an answer, any answer, that would explain how the humans had fractured the wall.

It was one of the answers that they'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to get from either of the hunters. The man had sworn that he didn't know how it had happened – that he'd just been told to arrive and join in on the hunt. No questions asked, no hesitations.

The woman hadn't even spoken. That was all Henry had said over the phone when Red had called from Denver to ask how the conversation had gone. There had been barely checked fury in the Alpha's voice, the tone so dark that Red had driven a little faster back to Sanguis Ridge from Denver. Just in case.

He'd ditched the car and now he was here, paused outside the door to the jail. Red took a deep breath, one meant to steady himself but only made the situation worse as he breathed in her scent again. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest in nervous anticipation.