Chapter Eighty-Seven – The Hunt is on
The fire in Rowan’s hearth crackled softly, the scent of burning pine doing little to ease the tension knotting in his shoulders. He sat behind his desk, arms crossed, his jaw clenched as he watched the flames dance. Charlie sat in the armchair near the window, her legs tucked beneath her, sipping from a steaming mug of tea. Her golden hair was tied back in a loose braid, but the faint crease between her brows told him she was just as on edge as he was.
They were waiting.
The knock on the door finally came, sharp and deliberate. Rowan’s eyes flicked up. “Come in.”
Kalen stepped in first, his expression grim. Luther followed close behind, dark eyes scanning the room before the door shut quietly behind them.
“Well?” Rowan asked, straightening in his chair.
“We’ve swept the eastern quadrant again,” Kalen said, pulling a folded map from his jacket and laying it out on Rowan’s desk. “And nothing. No scent trail, no visual confirmation. If Rhea’s still anywhere near the pack lands, she’s covering her tracks well. Too well.”
Rowan growled low in his throat, pressing his fingers to his temple. “She couldn’t have just disappeared.”
“She didn’t,” Luther added. “But she’s smart—and she had help. We found traces of a second scent that overlapped with hers just beyond the perimeter. Faint, almost masked, but still there.”
Rowan leaned forward, narrowing his gaze at the map. “One of ours?”
“No,” Kalen replied, shaking his head. “Whoever it was, they didn’t stay long. The trail loops into neutral territory and disappears near a creek bed. But while tracking her, we stumbled on something else.”
Charlie perked up in her chair. “Something to do with Elia?”
Luther nodded, sliding another folded paper from his jacket. It was a sketched layout of an old outpost that had long been abandoned. “There were signs someone’s been staying here. Fresh bedding, half-burnt herbs—magic-tinged herbs. They’re old, but not unfamiliar. Avella confirmed that one of the blends is commonly used for shielding spells.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “So Elia’s been hiding under protection.”
“Or someone is hiding her,” Luther corrected. “But we couldn’t find a direct trail from the outpost to her location. Whoever helped her covered their tracks carefully.”
Kalen added, “There was one thing, though. A piece of torn parchment, buried beneath some ash in the firepit.”
He pulled it from his pocket and unfolded it with care, revealing a corner of what looked to be a spell diagram. A circular rune, smudged by soot and time, but unmistakably of magical origin.
Rowan’s chest tightened. “Was it hers?”
“Avella thinks so,” Kalen confirmed. “It matches some of the script she’s seen Elia use before. And if she’s using defensive magic—”
“She’s afraid,” Charlie murmured, voice quiet but firm. “And not just of being found. She’s afraid of someone specific.”
Rowan stared at the diagram, a deep unease settling in his gut. “We need to find her before someone else does.”
“What about Elder Malric?” Kalen asked, glancing at Rowan. “Do you still think he’s involved?”
Rowan’s eyes darkened. “I’m not ruling anything out. Not until I hear the full story from Elia’s mouth.”
He stood then, pacing behind his desk. The shadows danced across his broad frame as he considered their next move. Giselle’s face flitted through his mind, the power he’d seen in her during the sparring match still fresh. If there was any hope of rebuilding the damage done—to his pack, to his people, to his own damn mind—they had to start with truth.
“Keep the search quiet,” Rowan ordered. “Only the four of us and Avella. If Elia’s in hiding, she’ll be watching. Listening. I want her to know we’re not hunting her—we’re protecting her.”
“And Rhea?” Luther asked, arms folded.
Rowan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice low and laced with barely restrained fury. “Rhea will pay for what she’s done. For nearly taking my mate from me. For twisting my mind. For threatening the safety of this pack. I will not rest until she’s been found and brought to justice.”
The firelight danced in his eyes, reflecting the seething determination within him.
Charlie stood from her seat, crossing her arms as she watched her brother. “Then we’ll stay. As long as you need us.”
Rowan’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at her—his sister, lost to him for so long, now standing strong by his side. “Thank you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.
A small smile tugged at Charlie’s lips, but her voice turned wistful. “I’ve missed Liam.”
Rowan’s brow rose slightly in surprise at the sudden shift in tone. “Has he been giving you a hard time?”
She laughed, brushing her braid over one shoulder. “Only because he’s stubborn and refuses to leave his pack’s borders without permission. But I miss him. And… I think it would help having him here.”
Rowan considered that for a long moment before giving a single nod. “Send word to him. Tell him he’s welcome here—and ask him to bring Sylah, Giselle’s mother, and her sister with him.”
Charlie blinked in surprise, her arms falling to her sides. “You’re sure?”
“They’ve all been in hiding long enough,” Rowan said, stepping away from his desk and standing tall in the middle of the room. “It’s time we bring our people home. All of them.”
Luther glanced between the siblings, his expression unreadable, but a small flicker of respect flashed in his eyes.
Rowan looked at Charlie again, his tone gentle this time. “Let them know we’re rebuilding. And they’re a part of that.”
A lump formed in Charlie’s throat as she nodded. “I’ll reach out to Liam tonight.”
“Good,” Rowan said, a breath easing from his chest. “We’ll need all the strength we can gather for what comes next.”
As the fire crackled quietly behind them, the weight of the moment settled over the room—one of reunion, of resolve, and the promise of a storm yet to come.
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