Jax walks through the heavy oak doors of the Pack House, his boots caked with mud.
His clothes are damp with dew, his jaw tight and his eyes are dark with frustration.
The patrol had turned up with nothing.
Alpha Drake waits in the great hall, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
His golden eyes study his son's face, reading the anger and exhaustion written there.
"Did you find out who left?" Drake asks.
Jax shakes his head. He pulls off his leather gloves and tosses them onto the table.
"No," he says. "The trail was cold by the time we reached the boundary. Whoever it was, they are long gone. We need to do a pack-wide screening to find out who is missing among the werewolves."
Drake nods slowly. "I will have the elders organize it. We will know by tomorrow who is gone."
Befor
