The Hunted

Thirteen

Red

"How the hell did we miss this?" Monroe snarled from behind Red's desk.

She stared at him with near-luminous eyes. Before her was a spread of papers and photographs – images taken from the crime scenes of all of the deceased humans his Mate had informed him about.

Red didn't want to know how Lehna had gotten her hands on them. He'd asked and the faerie had only assured him that she'd get him copies before disconnecting the call. A day later, they'd met in Denver and she'd had the file – and a troublesome grin on her face.

From there, he'd gone to each of the crime scenes but found no pattern between where the humans were killed. For some, it happened in broad daylight in the middle of a park near a school. For others, dark alleyways smelling of cigarette smoke and vomit next to dingy bars.

But each human had been torn apart. Their features were hardly distinguishable. Flesh ripped into ribbons, throats torn out, hearts missing.

Gruesome.

And if his Mate had thought that his pack had a hand in it – that he had a hand in it – no wonder she hated them. No surprise at all that she had come here with her band of hunters to try and kill them all.

"I don't know," Red said to Monroe. He was sitting in an armchair, flipping through the photos of the most recent victim who was a young man by the name of Gregory Bosco. He'd been only been twenty years old when he was mauled to death in the woods outside of pack territory.

No one had reported anything. Not one wolf had come to him or Henry or Monroe to say that something had happened. Whoever was doing this was operating on their own and they didn't want to be found.

This place, your pack, isn't safe for a human. And one day, Red, you're not going to be able to protect me.

Red added, "Henry has reported it to the Wolfswächter for guidance. They might send a representative."

"His parents?"

"Maybe." It would be a good reason for Adrian and Elizabeth to return for a visit. Even if it might be less than a joyous occasion.

"What about these people in Denver?" Monroe asked.

"There hasn't been a murder since before the hunters attacked us so it's possible that one of our deceased pack members was doing it, but I don't feel comfortable raking a dead wolf across the coals for something we can't prove. At this point, we can only follow the trail and see where it leads us."

Monroe's fingers rapping against the desk. "Are you going to spearhead the investigation or shall I?"

"I'll do it. I need to coordinate with some of our allies in Denver – the fae, warlocks, vamps. I've got the most contacts there and I go to the city frequently enough to speak with them about all sorts of matters that the pack won't get suspicious. If you could help me by keeping a close eye on people here – noting if anyone seems out of sorts..."

Monroe nodded, blonde hair swaying. "I can do that. And Toby and I can keep an eye on your Mate whenever you have to leave. We won't let anything happen to her, Red. We'll keep her safe."

This place, your pack, isn't safe for a human. And one day, Red, you're not going to be able to protect me.

"Thank you," Red said earnestly.