Malachi’s pov Gerald, I recognized that cursive, the impatience of some of the crooked letters, I clenched my fist, driving it into the car bonnet as frustration coursed through me, Gerald was a snake and he sued to be my most trusted foot soldier, he had left the territory abruptly after our last physical altercation regarding sharing powers, he wanted us to split the control of sharing powers but over my ded body would I allow anyone to share in my sovereign powers.
“Soldiers assemble ” I called out to the foot soldiers rummaging the bushes.
Gerald.
I recognized that cursive, the impatience of some of the crooked letters.
I clenched my fist, driving it into the car bonnet as frustration coursed through me.
Gerald was a snake and he used to be my most trusted foot soldier.
He had left the territory abruptly after our last physical altercation regarding sharing powers.
He wanted us to split the control of the pack but over my dead body would I allow anyone to share in my sovereign powers.
“Soldiers assemble!” I called out to the foot soldiers rummaging the bushes.
They came running, boots pounding against the asphalt, eyes wide and waiting for orders.
The sky was still pale with early light.
My shoulder throbbed where Lucian had raked me and the gash along my ribs pulled every time I breathed, but the pain only sharpened my focus.
Gerald had taken what belonged to me.
He had left that note like a taunt, like he still thought he could challenge me and walk away breathing.
“Gerald has her,” I said, voice flat and cold.
“He was once one of us.
He knows how we move, how we track, how we think.
That ends today.
I want every able-bodied soldier ready within the hour.
Full gear.
No excuses.
We move on the old eastern outpost first.
If he is not there we burn every hiding place he ever used until we flush him out.” One of the captains hesitated.
“My king, the Eastern Reach is already restless.
If we pull too many men—” “I did not ask for your assessment,” I cut in.
“I gave an order.
Carry it out or join Gerald in the ground.
Choose quickly.” He lowered his eyes and moved.
The others scattered.
Engines started.
Orders were shouted down the line.
I stood by the car a moment longer, staring at the crumpled note in my hand.
She’s with me.
Four words.
That was all he needed to drag me out here like some desperate husband.
The thought irritated me.
Lauretta was not a wife in any real sense.
She was a treaty.
A weapon.
A southern girl I had bound to me for the sake of the pack and for the long revenge I still intended to collect.
Her soft looks and stubborn silences and the way she had stared at Lucian with something almost like delight meant nothing.
She was useful.
That was all.
And yet Gerald had taken her.
The insult burned hotter than the wounds on my body.
Lucian lingered near the trees, still bloodied, watching me with that same unreadable expression he always wore.
I ignored him.
He had done enough damage for one night.
If he wanted to help he could stay out of my way.
Within the hour the convoy was ready.
I climbed into the lead vehicle and we tore down the empty roads toward the eastern outpost.
The land grew rougher the farther we went, trees crowding close, the air colder.
My wolf paced under my skin the entire ride, restless and angry, but I kept him leashed.
This was not the time for another uncontrolled shift.
This was the time for precision.
The outpost came into view just as the sun cleared the horizon.
It was an old stone building half-swallowed by vines, used years ago for border watches before the territory lines shifted.
Smoke did not rise from the chimney.
No guards stood at the entrance.
The place looked abandoned.
I stepped out first.
“Surround it.
No one leaves.
If Gerald is inside I want him alive long enough to regret every choice that brought him here.” The soldiers fanned out.
I walked straight to the main door and kicked it open.
The wood splintered.
Dust and cold air spilled out.
Inside the main room was empty except for a overturned chair and a table scarred with old knife marks.
I moved deeper, senses stretched wide, searching for any trace of him.
His scent lingered faintly, chemical, but the trail was already fading.
He had been here.
He was not here now.
“Clear the upper floors,” I ordered.
“Check the cellar.
Every closet.
Every crawl space.
He does not get to disappear again.” Boots thundered up the stairs.
I continued through the lower rooms, jaw tight, anger coiling hotter with every empty corner.
Gerald had always been clever in the worst ways.
He knew when to strike and when to vanish.
Taking Lauretta had been a message.
Leaving before I arrived was another.
He wanted me chasing shadows while he prepared whatever came next.
A soldier called from the back of the building.
“My king.
In here.” I followed the voice into a smaller side room that had once been used for storage.
The air was colder here.
The single window was boarded.
And on the floor, near the far wall, lay Lauretta.
She was crumpled on her side, dark hair spilled across the dirty boards, one arm stretched out as if she had tried to crawl.
Her wool dress was torn at the sleeve.
Her bare feet were still cut and dirty from the night before.
She was on the floor,her hair swirled around her hands… the skin on her arms had rope marks that had turned a deep, ugly purple, blood pouring out of some wounds.
She did not move.
I stared down at her for a long moment.
The wolf inside me surged forward, snarling at the sight of the marks on her wrists, but I forced it back.
She was breathing.
Shallow, but steady.
Passed out cold.
Whatever Gerald had done, he had not finished the job.
Or he had left her here on purpose, another message for me to find.
I crouched beside her and checked the pulse at her throat.
Present.
Weak but present.
I stood and looked around the empty room again.
No sign of Gerald.
No second note.
No further trail strong enough to follow in the immediate area.
He had brought her here, left her like discarded cargo, and vanished.
The insult landed deeper than I wanted to admit.
“Search the surrounding woods,” I ordered.
“He cannot have gone far on foot.
Take the dogs.
If you find any trace of him you bring it to me before you act.
I want him alive.” The men moved.
I remained in the doorway of the small room, staring down at the southern girl on the floor.
She looked smaller like this.
Fragile.
Nothing like the woman who had stood in Mira’s chambers with her chin lifted or the one who had stared at Lucian with that soft, delighted expression that still scraped against my nerves.
“Get her up,” I said once the medic finished the initial check.
“Wrap the hands.
Keep her warm.
We return to the keep immediately.
Double the guard on every entrance when we arrive.
Gerald will not get a second chance to walk into my territory and leave a note on my car.” The soldiers lifted her carefully.
Her head lolled against one man’s shoulder.
The purple in her hands had begun to fade into angry red, but the marks from the rope would linger.
Good.
Let them linger.
Let her wake up and remember what happened when she ran.
Let her understand that the world outside my control was not kinder than the one inside it.
A sudden shout cut through the morning air, breaking into my train of thought.
“My king—something’s wrong!” I turned.
The soldier carrying her had stopped near the lead car.
Lauretta’s body jerked hard in his arms.
Her back arched.
Her limbs stiffened, then started convulsing in sharp, violent waves.
Foam gathered at the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes rolled back.
The man nearly dropped her.
“Put her down,” I ordered, already moving.
“Medic.
Now.” They laid her on the cold ground beside the vehicle.
Her body kept seizing, heels scraping against the dirt, wrists still raw and purple flailing uselessly.
The medic dropped to his knees beside her, trying to hold her head steady, barking for space.
I stood over them both, jaw locked, watching her thrash like something caught In a trap.
The convulsions just as suddenly as they started, they stopped.
Her body went slack.
Completely still.
The medic leaned in, fingers pressing hard against her neck, then her wrist, then her neck again.
His face changed.
“She’s not—” He swallowed.
“My king, she’s gone into a coma.
I can’t—I can’t find a stable rhythm.” I crouched down and shoved his hand aside.
My fingers pressed against the side of her throat, searching for the pulse I had felt earlier.
Nothing.
I moved to her wrist, pressing harder against the raw, marked skin.
Still nothing.
The skin under my fingers was cooling already.
No flutter.
No beat.
Nothing at all.