GREY’S FOOTPRINTS SMELLED like nothing.
They weren’t even footprints, really. Just scuff marks in the shallow snow where the enforcer had dragged a branch or other object behind him to throw us off the trail.
And, in the darkness, the ploy had worked. Now, though, the watery sunshine stretching over the nearby hillside revealed signs that even Wolfie’s keen eyes had missed by moonlight.
“No scent,” my former alpha noted, brow furrowed as he knelt beside the one clear footprint that remained of Grey’s nearly invisible trail.
No scent. The words echoed ominously in my mind, reminding me of the crime scenes I’d recently visited with Robert. Crime scenes that I’d determined to be of human origin due to the distinct lack of shifter aromas. Had my gut been right all along when it suggested a
