Page 47 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

“Positive,” I say, meeting his stare. “Everything else seems to be here. The equipment, the medicines and other supplies—it’s all untouched.”

He exhales sharply, his hands resting on his hips as he surveys the destruction. “Damn it. You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Pack your things. You’ll be staying at the lodge.”

“I can take care of myself,” I say, crossing my arms.

His jaw tightens, and I think he’s going to argue. But instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Not against this, Bella. Not when they’re clearly targeting you now. We’ll help, but right now, I need you to listen to me.”

His words hang between us, their meaning not lost on me. I nod, knowing he’s right. For now.

“We’ll figure this out,” Lucas says, stepping between us with his usual easy charm. “But first, we need to make sure the clinic is secure. Whoever did this might come back.”

Ryder nods, turning to Lucas. “You stay here and lock things down. I’ll take Bella out to the estate.”

I bristle at the implication that I can’t secure the clinic, but before I can argue, Ryder’s hand brushes against mine, “Trust me,” he says quietly, his eyes searching mine.

And for reasons I can’t explain, I do.

I go back into the office, where I’ve been sleeping and keeping my things. It looks like a bomb went off. Papers litter the floor, drawers hang open at awkward angles, and the air carries the faint, acrid scent of the presence of strangers. I crouch near Arthur’s overturned desk, picking up what scraps of paper remain. Nothing here makes sense—just incomplete notes about animal migration patterns and vague references to forest activity.

The files that were stolen were the ones Arthur was most protective of, the ones that hinted at something far biggerthan routine veterinary work. The Crimson Claw. The declining birthrates. Illegal poaching. Arthur knew something that got him killed, and now I feel like the pieces to solving this puzzle are slipping through my fingers.

Ryder is across the room, barking orders into his phone. His voice is low, commanding, a tone that sends a shiver through me for reasons I can’t entirely untangle. He’s not just some brooding small-town local; he’s an alpha. And right now, he’s wielding that authority like a weapon.

“Fan out,” he snarls into the phone. “I want every inch of the forest combed. Whoever did this isn’t far. I want their scent. I want tracks. Now.”

He ends the call and turns back to the room, his gaze scanning the wreckage with sharp intensity. There’s something magnetic about the way he moves, the sheer force of his presence. In that instant, I forget to be angry.

“Whoever did this knew what they were looking for,” I say. “I wasn’t gone all that long. They didn’t waste time.”

His jaw tightens, and I catch the flicker of frustration in his eyes. “They were looking for Arthur’s files.”

“I know,” I say, “and they took everything that had to do with the mutants and the poaching.”

Ryder nods, his expression grim. “Those files were dangerous. If they fall into the wrong hands...”

“They already have. Arthur was killed because of this, wasn’t he? And now they have the evidence he’d been compiling.”

I turn back to the desk, my hands moving over the splintered wood, searching for something—anything—that the intruders might have missed. My fingers brush against an uneven edge near the bottom drawer, and my heart skips a beat. There’s a faint seam in the wood, almost imperceptible. Arthur was a sucker for desks with hidden compartments.

“Bella,” Ryder says, his tone cautious. “What are you doing?”

I ignore him, focusing on the task at hand. My fingers scrape against the seam until I find a hidden latch. With a soft click, a small compartment pops open, revealing a single flash drive nestled inside.

My breath catches as I stare at it, the discovery settling over me. This is classic Arthur. Sure he’d have his hand-written notes, but I had been surprised when I didn’t find anything on the computer system. This has to be where Arthur was hiding it—what the intruders didn’t find.

“Bella?” Ryder steps closer, his voice sharper now. “What did you find?”

I close the compartment quickly, slipping the flash drive into my pocket before he can see. My pulse races as I straighten, forcing a calm expression onto my face.

“Nothing,” I say, brushing past him. “Just... checking for damage.”

He watches me closely, his eyes narrowing. I can tell he doesn’t necessarily believe me, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Stay close,” he says, his tone clipped. “Until we know who did this, you’re not safe.”

“I’m not a child, Ryder,” I say, spinning to face him. “I don’t need you hovering.”

His eyes flash, and he steps closer, his towering frame impossible to ignore. “This isn’t hovering, it’s making sure you don’t end up like Arthur.”

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