Page 37 of Fear

Fang exhaled, “I had to, baby. But I’m back.”

She swallowed, tears in her eyes. “Not all of you are.”

The weight of Sofia’s absence slammed into them all at once. Goliath his heart pounding heads towards the forest searching for any sign of Sofia. The scent hit him first. Coppery, thick. Blood.

Goliath’s stomach twisted violently as his feet moved on their own. It was there—dark against the dirt. A smear leading away from the house. His breath left him.

The ground beneath him might as well have cracked apart. His mate’s blood. His wolf roared inside him, a feral, mindless thing, snapping at his insides.

“NO!” His voice was ragged, full of raw, consuming agony. He dropped to his knees, his fingers brushing against the stain, his own hands shaking. His beautiful, fierce, stubborn woman.

She had fought, and they had hurt her for it. Something inside him shattered. A growl vibrated in his throat, low and deadly.

Frost stepped forward, his cold, emotionless gaze locking onto Goliath.

“Use your wolf.”

Goliath barely heard him, barely registered anything except the pounding of his own fury. Frost grabbed him by the collar, shoving him. “Shift, Goliath.” His voice was sharp, commanding. “Track her.”

The logic was there, his mate, his scent. The primal bond between them. He should be able to find her, but nothing was coming through. Nothing but the rage, the devastation, the soul-crushing failure of letting her be taken in the first place.

His head tilted back, his body shaking violently. A roar tore from his chest, a sound so primal it made the hair on every man’s arm stand on end. His mate was out there. Hurt. Alone. Afraid.

And Goliath would burn the entire fucking world down to get her back.Frost’s voice was steady, unshaken, but beneath it was an edge even he couldn’t mask. “Shift. Now.”

Goliath’s vision was still swimming with rage, with grief, with the scent of his mate’s blood in his nostrils. His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked. His entire body was a live wire, humming with the barely restrained violence he was ready to unleash.

“I can’t—” His voice was raw, guttural.

Frost didn’t let him finish. “You don’t have a choice.”

Goliath snapped his head toward him, his breathing ragged. Frost stood stiff and cold, but there was something in his eyes—an understanding.

“I get it, brother.” Frost’s voice was low, almost too calm. “I know what it feels like to want to rip the world apart. But that won’t find her.” The words hit him like a punch to the ribs. Find her. That was the only thing that mattered.

His wolf was raging, clawing at his insides, desperate to be let loose. His body snapped forward before he could think. With a deep, gut-wrenching snarl, he let the shift take over.

His bones cracked, muscles stretched and tore, his body twisting and reshaping as his wolf took control. His vision exploded, colours sharpening, scents slamming into him like a tidal wave.

And beneath the stench of blood and fear and dirt—Her. His Sofia.

The instant he caught it, his paws were already digging into the earth, his massive frame lunging forward. Frost was right behind him.

The other man’s shift was just as fast, just as seamless—another beast ripping into the night. Frost’s wolf was leaner than Goliath’s, silver-gray and eerily silent as it moved.

But Goliath?

He was the storm. A force of nature, barrelling forward, hunting.

Their wolves moved like ghosts through the night, tearing into the woods, noses to the ground, tracking every scent, every disturbance in the earth.

They followed the blood first. It wasn’t much, just a few smears. A trail leading south, away from the house, deeper into the woods. She had fought. She had tried to run.

And whoever had taken her—they had dragged her from this place against her will. Goliath’s snarl rumbled low in his chest. His vision tunnelled; his wolf locked onto the trail like a starved predator.

Frost kept pace, his wolf moving with calculated precision, his ears flicking as he listened for anything—a heartbeat, a footstep, a whisper of movement in the trees, but it was quiet. Too quiet.

The bastards had covered their tracks well. No tire marks. No fresh footprints. Just the faintest scent of old oil, gasoline, and sweat. Still, Goliath pushed forward, every fibre of his being screaming for his mate.

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