Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
They must have teleported. But why wait until now? They should have done it from the start.
Vester’s question is a valid one as we trot back to the end point of the trail.
Magic has rules, just like anything else. There must be limitations to their skill. Energy cost. Distance. Number of people they can transport. Sister Miriam was able to appear over large distances, but from what we have learned, she is an old vampire with unique skills.
So they had to wait until they reached a specific point? one of my scouts asks. Or maybe until they recovered enough power?
Or both. There could be other limitations. Thinking of how their numbers seemed to shrink, and how we assumed it was from them covering their tracks more wisely, I add, They started it a while ago. This was just the last of them.
They waited to transport Jericho until the end. Why? That seems strange, if he was one of their targets.
More questions. Always more questions without answers; I’m convinced these damn bloodsuckers are trying to drive us mad.
There’s always Ryder’s trail, Vester points out privately, not broadcasting the option to the other wolves.
We should follow Ryder’s trail.
Aurum’s certainty pulses through our bond.
It’s a trap.
Of course it’s a trap. Aurum’s mental voice carries a hint of amusement. But traps work both ways.
Our enemies want to split our forces—which means they’re counting on us doing exactly that. They expected me to choose between Jericho and Ryder. At least, that’s the theory.
And if we’re wrong?
But Aurum just radiates with readiness, bloodthirsty for battle.
And I am, too.
Alpha? Vester’s question hangs in the air.
Broadcasting to all of them, I announce, We backtrack. It’s time to follow Ryder’s trail.
Vester’s ears perk forward. You’re sure?
They want us divided, so we stay together and spring their trap on our terms.
My wolves spread out in defensive formation as we backtrack the mile back. The crisp scent of Ryder remains where we found it, too fresh to be real, with his presence absent in my head.
The trail leads west, away from the direction Jericho was taken.
Aurum’s certainty floods our bond again. Whatever awaits us, he’s ready to face it. And so am I.
Stay alert.
We press forward, our formation tightening. It’s an easy trail to follow, and our pace is fast. The tracks in the snow fade suddenly after half a mile, but the scent remains.
The scent of Ryder saturates the air, so thick it coats my tongue. No wolf’s scent should be this strong, not even if they rolled in the snow and marked every tree.
Something’s wrong. Aurum’s ears flatten against our skull. This isn’t natural.
Keep moving. My paws sink into the deep snow as we crest another hill. The landscape stretches before us, white and pristine save for scattered patches of brush and lonely trees.
The wind shifts, bringing another wave of Ryder’s scent. My nose burns from its intensity. Aurum’s hackles rise, his aggression bleeding into our shared consciousness.
Slow down. I signal the formation to tighten. Check every angle.
My wolves spread in a defensive circle, scanning the terrain. The snow-covered hills offer too many places to hide. Each dip and rise could conceal enemies lying in wait.
Alpha. One of my scouts motions toward a cluster of snow-laden bushes. The scent is strongest there.
We approach with measured steps. The overwhelming smell of Ryder emanates from that spot like a beacon, drowning out any other scents that might warn us of danger.
This is wrong. Aurum’s thoughts mirror my own. His scent shouldn’t be this concentrated.
Another gust of wind brings not just Ryder’s scent, but an underlying note I hadn’t caught before. Something chemical. Artificial.
Stop. I halt our advance. They’re using his scent to mask something else. Or they’re too idiotic to place a trap correctly.
Vester’s nose twitches. Like a scent bomb? How is that possible?
The memory of that sickly green circle and its preserved bodies flashes through my mind. We need to be ready for anything. Fall back. Ten yards.
My pack retreats in perfect synchronization, maintaining their defensive positions. The wind whips across the open ground, stirring loose snow into small flurries. Ryder’s scent continues to pour from those bushes, becoming more artificial with each passing second.
But outside of the artifical nature of his scent, there’s nothing there. Not even a whisper or zing of magic to sting the nose.
Move with caution. My command ripples through the pack link as I edge forward. Aurum grumbles in my head, our nose burning. Watch the perimeter. They want us focused on this spot.
My wolves maintain their positions, alert and ready. Vester’s silver form prowls to my right, his muscles coiled tight beneath his fur. The rest of my pack spreads in a protective circle, their eyes scanning the terrain.
Snow crunches beneath my paws as I push through the first branches. The bush’s needles scratch against my fur, releasing a sharp, fresh scent that cuts through the fake Ryder smell. Nothing appears disturbed inside the branches. No footprints. No broken twigs. No sign anyone’s been here.
There’s nothing here, Aurum notes, his frustration matching mine.
I press deeper into the bush, sweeping my nose low across the ground. The snow feels different here, packed harder, as if—
Click.
My paw sinks into something solid beneath the snow. Metal scrapes against metal.
Every muscle in my body locks. My pack freezes in place, their breath held.
One second passes.
Two.
Five.
Eight.
Ten.
Nothing happens.
Alpha? Vester’s question carries an edge of tension.
Stay in position.
I lift my paw with deliberate slowness, backing away from whatever mechanism lies hidden beneath the snow.
LUCAS
If there’s a button in the snow, there’s a reason for it.
But there’s still no hint of oncoming attack, leaving us all on edge. Is this another sick prank of the vampires? Lead us on a merry chase with nothing at the end, time and time again, until we become complacent and lazy?
Months of chasing empty leads has proven we won’t fall for that tactic.
Fall back. I send out the command just as the air shimmers in front of me and a young girl falls about five feet to the ground with a curse.
“Dammit, they can at least calculate the coordinates properly,” she mutters, pushing herself to stand.
She’s a tiny thing, with short purple hair, wearing black jeans, a tight black shirt, and a lot of chains. There’s one from her belt loop into her pocket, another from her shoulder to her belt, one from her wrist to her elbow—it’s a strange aesthetic.
The growls of my pack echo. Vester takes point, hackles raised and teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he approaches the strange girl. Her scent carries traces of magic, but nothing like what we tracked here.
The girl’s head snaps up from where she’s been brushing snow off her black jeans. Her eyes widen, and the color drains from her face.
“Oh, Royal King, I’m so fucked.”