Page 37 of Kidnapped By the Wolf

Quietly, I let myself back inside, hoping Cassie’s still asleep. My girl was so tired after our lovemaking. I get the feeling she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a very long time.

But instead of returning to my mate snuggled under the covers, all I find is an empty bed.

“Cassie?”

I glance around the cabin, hoping to find her curled up by the fire strumming her new ukulele. But the A-frame is deserted.

“Cassie?” I call again, striding across the house and peeking into the bathroom.

Empty.

Concerned, I go to the back door and step out onto the deck. I catch a whiff of Cassie’s scent, but it’s gone before I can home in on a direction.

Taking the steps two at a time, I walk to the edge of the forest and lift my nose, but I’m immediately overwhelmed by the scent of pine trees and prey.

My wolf gives a nervous whine. Something doesn’t feel right.

My skin prickles with the urge to shift, but I don’t want to overreact. Maybe she felt like taking a walk.

Trying to ignore my sense of unease, I go back inside and pour myself some coffee. Cassie’s ukulele is still right where I left it, but her freshly laundered clothes are gone.

Glancing toward the front door, my heart turns over in my chest. Cassie’s flannel is also missing — along with the keys to her bus.

“Fuck!”

I slosh coffee all down my front in my haste to get back to her trail. There’s only one reason Cassie would have taken her keys: She left, and she’s not coming back.

My wolf gives a forlorn howl as I leap down the stairs, shedding my clothes as I go.

Why would she leave without saying goodbye?

Iknowshe felt what I felt last night. The body doesn’t lie. But even if she was only into me for the sex, why not take her ukulele?

The only reason she would have left it was if she felt remorse. Or, worse, deep pain or hurt.

Racking my brain to come up with an answer, my heart drops to my knees.

She must have overheard my conversation with Sebastian.

My wolf whines at the thought, and I shift mid-step, desperate to reach my mate.

I land on four paws and shake out my fur. All my senses are sharper in wolf form, and my circular human thoughts are crowded out by one primal need: Find my mate.

I pick up Cassie’s scent the moment I enter the tree line, but then the wind begins to howl. I whine and lift my wet nose in the air, but her delicious smoky scent is faint.

I take off at a sprint, pushing my legs as hard as they will go. But the wind whips all around me, tossing the smell of four-day-old carrion into the air. It mixes with the scent of a rabbit, along with the musk of a passing buck. All the smells bombard me at once, making it hard to discern Cassie’s scent.

But then I catch a whiff of something that makes my fur stand on end: the iron tang of blood.

The blood is fresh, and it’s Cassie’s, smeared on the trunk of an aspen. I lick the spot and take off again, following the strong coppery scent.

I’m in such a frenzy that I circle back to the same damned tree before I catch another whiff near a deer trail.

The path becomes more pronounced the farther I get from my cabin. Human hikers visiting the national forest sometimes pick up this trail. I shouldn’t be running it in broad daylight, but my urgency is making me reckless.

Bounding over a fallen log, I chase the ghost of Cassie’s scent until it’s swallowed up by the stench of exhaust.

My breath forms a cloud around me, and my tongue lolls out as I pant. As I stare out at the hard-packed dirt, a mournful howl rips from my throat.

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