Chapter Three
978 Words
Desmond
I woke up with the taste of something foul in my mouth. Grimacing, I yawned, only to flinch at the stench of my breath. It smelled like something had died in there.
I sat up, rubbing my face. My head throbbed, the kind of pounding that came from too much alcohol and too little sleep.
As my vision cleared, I took in my disaster of a room. The sheets were tangled on the floor, clothes piled haphazardly, and—were those chicken bones under a shirt?
"s**t," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "How much did I drink?"
My phone flashed relentlessly on the nightstand. I grabbed it, squinting at the screen—Dad. A dozen missed calls. A string of urgent texts.
I scrolled through them, my stomach sinking.
"Emergency!"
"You're needed now!"
I groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed. Whatever it was, it could wait until I scrubbed the taste of death from my mouth.
But the moment I stepped out of my room, the urgency hit me. The packhouse was buzzing with movement, wolves rushing through the halls, voices tight with worry.
I snagged the arm of a passing staff member.
"What's going on?"
"Attack on a vampire settlement," he blurted, barely pausing before hurrying off.
I stiffened. So that’s what Dad was calling about. I rushed back into my room, freshened up, and headed for the situation room.
***
Dad’s eyes snapped to me the second I stepped inside.
"Where the hell have you been, Desmond?" His voice thundered, the sheer dominance in it making my knees lock instinctively.
I lowered my head in submission. "My apologies, Alpha."
His glare burned into me for a moment before he jerked his chin toward the seat beside him. Wordlessly, he handed me a tablet.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
Destruction. Bloodstains. Streets littered with evidence of violence.
My breath hitched.
"Wolves did this?" I forced the words out, feeling the weight of them. "Has anyone claimed responsibility?"
"No. Not yet," Dad ground out, his knuckles white where he gripped the table. He was barely containing his rage.
"I need eyes I trust on the ground," he continued.
"Something is brewing, and I don’t like it. I want you to go to the site. Quietly. Gather intel before this turns into something worse."
I met his gaze. Underneath his hard exterior, I saw something unspoken—doubt. He wasn’t convinced this was a rogue act. He suspected someone from within.
"I understand," I said, standing.
As I reached the door, he called me back. "Be careful, son."
I nodded, sparing a glance at the framed photo on his desk. My mother’s smile beamed back at me, her golden hair bright like sunlight.
She’d tell me to trust my instincts.
***
The car ride to Crestwood was quiet. I brought two trusted pack members—Romeo, a seasoned fighter who knew this area like the back of his hand, and Malcolm, an expert tracker with a sharp mind.
"The terrain hasn’t changed much," Romeo mused, staring out at the crumbling outskirts. "Used to be more trees, though."
He glanced at the tablet between the seats, shaking his head. "No excuse for what they did.
Those people didn’t deserve that."
Malcolm, seated beside him, clenched his jaw. "Whoever’s responsible will pay."
I trusted these two more than most. My father had told me to go alone, but walking into vampire territory without backup? Stupid.
Another SUV approached on the narrow road.
Romeo maneuvered carefully, the vehicles barely missing each other.
Something pulled at me.
A face in the backseat, that of a woman.
Dark hair. Ivory skin.
Even before I fully processed it, my pulse slammed in my ears.
Emma.
It had been years, but I knew.
The moment passed too fast. The car was gone, its taillights fading into the distance.
"You good, man?" Malcolm asked, his sharp green eyes scanning me. "You looked like you saw a ghost."
I dragged a hand down my face. "Long story."
I didn’t elaborate. This wasn’t the time for reminiscing about what-ifs.
The car slowed as we reached the site.
Yellow tape cordoned off the area, but we stepped past it.
The place felt wrong.
The buildings bore marks of struggle and the air held the unmistakable scent of death. Though the bodies had been removed, the scene still reeked of what had happened.
I pulled up the images on the tablet, matching them to the site.
"It wasn’t random," I murmured. "The attacks happened simultaneously. This wasn’t just one rogue."
Romeo and Malcolm tensed beside me as a scent hit us.
Werewolf. Fresh.
I turned, following the faint trace through a narrow alley. My footsteps halted when I saw it.
A still-warm cigarette butt on the ground.
Someone had just been here.
A shadow moved at the alley’s end. Malcolm reacted first, sprinting after the figure.
We watched as he vaulted over the wall with ease, disappearing into the night.
Romeo exhaled. "Think that was one of them?"
I crouched, picking up the cigarette with a gloved hand. Slipping it into a plastic bag, I sealed it shut.
"It’s possible," I muttered. "Returning to a crime scene? Classic behavior."
A few moments later, Malcolm reappeared, barely out of breath. His shirt clung damply at the collar, the only sign he’d exerted himself.
"He had a motorcycle waiting," he reported.
"Came alone. Like some kind of scout."
I narrowed my eyes. "Features?"
"Couldn’t see his face, but he was young. Male. Moved like a trained wolf."
I exhaled sharply.
Whoever he was, he hadn’t been careless.
This wasn’t random. It was calculated.
I looked around the eerily quiet town. The air was too still, the remnants of violence lingering too thick.
Something bigger was happening here. And we were already too late to stop it.
- Writer
