Page 82 of Fae Devoted
“I’ll take what’s behind door number three, Monty.” Johnnie prayed it wasn’t a goat.
The farther north they traveled, and the more turns he made, the fewer cars available to hide behind. She was forced to drop even farther back to avoid being seen, passing fewer and fewer signs of civilization until there were only trees and more trees. The clock read 11:19.
Where are you going, Jeremiah?
Johnnie was so far behind now that the SUV was a mere speck on the horizon, and then it was gone.
She stepped on the gas but came to a stop short of the only road he could have taken. It was little more than a wide dirt trail. Waiting an interminable five minutes, she looked straight ahead and passed the entrance at a normal speed. Driving around the next bend, she pulled over, jammed the truck into park, and held the lever to push the seat back.
“Come on, come on.” Hand scrambling between her knees, she finally snagged the little bugger. “Got ya,” she said, lifting it to check for service.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Johnnie groaned and dropped her forehead to the leather-covered steering wheel.
She didn’t know what to do, her mind and heart torn, both racing. Was Jeremiah staying in a cabin in the woods, and now that they knew where to start looking Jacob could easily find him? Or was he out there hunting the witchling right this second?
Her breath hitched. “What if he’s already found her?”
Johnnie didn’t want to believe Jeremiah was still under the Fae’s control, but she had to accept it was a possibility. He might be holding Charlotte hostage somewhere nearby. No sane Ferwyn male would ever hurt a child. But if Jeremiah’s sanity had been grossly compromised after all he’d been through, maybe…
Johnnie couldn’t leave if Charlotte were in danger. She just couldn’t.
Her mind made up; she hurried to undo her seatbelt and shove aside the groceries on the floorboard in the back. She retrieved her handgun from the hidden storage bin beneath the carpet, making sure it was locked and loaded before shoving it into her waistband. After pocketing an extra magazine, Johnnie grabbed her hunting rifle and arranged the cartridges inside her corduroy jacket so they wouldn’t clank when she moved.
Hopping down from the truck, she debated bringing her phone. There wasn’t any service, but did that mean it couldn’t be tracked? She had no idea.
Biting her cheek, she decided to take it with her. If things went horribly wrong, the truck had a satellite locator. If her phone didn’t work, they could still pinpoint the pickup and get close enough for Samuel or Jacob to trace her with either the pack or the mating bond. Between the two males, they would find her.
Placing her cell on silent to be safe and leaving the car keys—aka noisemakers—in the glove box, Johnnie donned her jacket and headed into the forest, picking her way back to the dirt turnoff. She stayed in the thickets, keeping the winding path on her left until she spied Jeremiah’s vehicle. Crouching low, she waited and watched.
No engine, no movement, no Jeremiah.
She slipped up to the driver’s side of the car and found his boot prints leading west into the woods. She followed them until they turned into giant paws. Tracking a wolf was hard.
Tracking a shifted Ferwyn without getting caught? Harder.
Johnnie learned to shoot hunting deer. Determined the beautiful creatures wouldn’t suffer, she became skilled enough with a gun to hit her target accurately and humanely every single time. She learned to track by hunting her older brothers. They believed shifting into wolf form could ditch an annoying kid sister who trailed them everywhere they went. It only slowed her down.
Johnnie crept forward. Without a sling, she held her rifle close to the chest with one hand positioned with her fingers near the trigger and the other underneath the forestock to keep the muzzle pointed up. Relying on every trick learned during her hero-worship phase of the twins, she lifted her ballet slippers high then lowered the ball of her foot to the forest floor. She avoided stepping on dry leaves and twigs that could crackle, snap, and be heard from miles away by an elite predator.
Her outfit choice for the day could have been worse. Although she would have preferred running shoes, the flats were better than a heel or heavy boots; wearing either would have forced her to stalk in her socks or bare feet to remain undetected. Her jeans were practically leggings and didn’t stir the undergrowth, and once her rust-colored blazer was buttoned to hide her yellow t-shirt and prevent it from swishing against her sides, she blended with the fall trees better than expected.
Keeping downwind of her quarry, she trekked through the dense brush as if it were covered in eggshells while identifying the subtle signs and occasional print of a large beast prowling in its natural environment. It was tedious work, and her nerves were racked by the time she heard male voices in the distance.
Freezing mid-step, she listened. Her heightened senses attuned to the surroundings. A nearby waterfall muted the conversation but Johnnie didn’t think either speaker was Jeremiah, assuming he would sound similar to his brother. Albert’s and Oscar’s voices were almost identical. But there was no way to be sure, and his trail led in the same direction as the murmurs.
The trees began to thin as if approaching a clearing, but she didn’t see any buildings ahead and hadn’t heard anything but the sounds of the forest for several minutes. Maybe the males were a couple of off-trail hikers who already moved on.
Remaining cautious, she lowered the rifle’s barrel to the ready position, moving forward at a virtual snail’s pace for a she-wolf. Each slow step was a test of patience. So far, Jeremiah’s chosen path kept them walking into the wind, and she occasionally caught his scent as it drifted back to her. But there hadn’t been a whiff of the outcasted shifter in the last mile. Had he circled around to his car or gotten too far ahead for her less sensitive nose to detect?
Johnnie hesitated. Continue on or head back? She pulled her phone from her jean pocket and checked the time. 12:54 pm. Jacob and Samuel would be out of the meeting with the king by now. Both males would have listened to her frenzied messages and tried to connect to her.
Centering herself, Johnnie searched for the mating bond. Being intimately in tune with another person was amazing and a tiny bit scary. It was a connection even an unmated Ferwyn couldn’t grasp, despite being linked to a pack Alpha. In short—it was magical. But its magic only stretched so far.
Johnnie hadn’t sensed when it reopened. She hadn’t felt the bond at all until she was able to concentrate on it; the connection weakened by the lack of a third Mark and the miles separating them. Only extreme levels of emotions, like pain or fear, couldreach her mate from this distance. But her emotional state had mellowed since spotting Jeremiah hours ago, swinging from distraught to cautious and apprehensive.
Johnnie wished she knew what Jacob was feeling. Was he calm and determined, or scared and panicked? Her lips lifted in a small smile. He was probably a combination of all those things along with a heavy dose of exasperation. But Jacob couldn’t be too worried, or she’d feel somethingmore. Wouldn’t she? Either way, he’d be looking for the truck by now.
With a silent sigh, Johnnie scanned the area in front of her and spotted a tuft of gray fur stuck to the rough bark of an old oak. The ex-Alpha was an experienced warrior; he wouldn’t leave evidence of his passage behind on accident. Jeremiah scent-rubbed that tree for a specific reason. A warning to stay away or a marking to remember where he’d been? Her gut told her it had something to do with the missing witchling. But what?
