For the next hour, Morgan decided to use her time to search each of the victims’ rooms. As she expected, they had been cleaned. Unfortunately, they had also been magically wiped. Primordial magic saturated the rooms, leaving behind no traces of the girls or their murderer. She touched the furniture at random, hoping to pick up on the horror that had taken place, but everything seemed so normal it gave her the heebie-jeebies.

The next two rooms were the same.

All personal effects were gone.

The students very existences were wiped clean.

Leaving her exactly nowhere.

For the first time, she began to doubt she would find the killer on her own before he struck again.

The bastard was good.

It galled her to ask Kincade and his team for help, but her pride wasn’t worth the cost of another life. She would just have to approach him the right way. From what she’d seen of him and his team, they wouldn’t refuse her plea if it meant catching a killer.

Thinking about them reminded her of today’s test.

So far, she managed to elude her team members as they systematically eliminated the other fighters one by one, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the entire team began hunting her in earnest.

The same way the primordial magic saturated every nook and cranny of the Academy, the runes on her back had spread and infected every cell of her body, the change somehow allowing her to tap into the magic of the Academy.

To test her theory, she decided to cheat and find the guys before they found her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on their distinct scents. Much to her surprise, Morgan was led down the twists and turns of the hallways, then up a set of stairs…directly toward a suite of rooms.

Instead of being lead toward the guys as she expected, she ended up in their dorm—or more aptly, their barracks. A number of rooms were spread out around her like spokes on a wheel, and the main area, which was more of a gathering place, was decorated with the bare minimum of a table and chairs and a couch. Natural lighting from the large bay windows filled the large space. No knickknacks, no pictures, nothing to give it any kind of personality.

Morgan hesitated in the doorway, her heart fluttering madly as she surveyed their domain. Everything up to this point could be explained away, but if she dared to step over the threshold, she would be knowingly violating their privacy.

Then she remembered the way they ruthlessly tore apart her own room.

Turnabout was fair play.

She boldly crossed into their domain, promising herself just a quick peek to satisfy her curiosity. If she didn’t touch anything, it wasn’t really snooping, right?

There were ten doors leading off from the main living area. The first room was neat as a pin, the bed made with tight corners, and nothing but weapon after weapon on display. The room had Atlas’s name all over it. The next two rooms were empty. The last room was a bit more cluttered, weapons and a surprising number of books scattered throughout. Even without his scent everywhere, she would have known it was Kincade’s room. The bedspread was haphazardly thrown on the bed, as if he left in a rush. A large, cloudy mirror stood against the wall, near the foot of his bed.

The room directly across from him was bare as well. She almost moved on when she recognized Ryder’s clean, fresh scent, and she half expected to find an open window. There were no pictures, no books, the room so stripped of personality, her throat ached at the lack of possessions.

This was supposed to be his home.

As she moved to the room next door, she began to question the wisdom of invading their privacy. Draven’s room was exactly as she imagined. His covers were thrown on the floor, piles of clothes everywhere, not one surface clean.

Each room was much like the men.

But there were so few personal artifacts, it was like they didn’t exist outside their life as a hunter, and she was suddenly incredibly sad.

They deserved more.

They all deserved more.

Morgan couldn’t bring herself to finish snooping and hurried out of the room, struggling with an unexpected dilemma. Not only did she feel bad for sneaking around behind their backs, but what she found only made them more human.

Drat them.

Over the next hour, Morgan spotted each of the four guys spying on her at one time or another, but she didn’t linger long enough for them to catch up. With each new spotting, the men grew progressively more serious about their hunt.

Atlas frowned every time he searched a room and didn’t find her, more perplexed then upset. She caught him almost smiling at one point, then he really put his whole attention into the hunt. The intensity in his eyes, a glint of something predatory, sent a shiver of dread down her spine, and she knew she didn’t want him to be the one who caught her.

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

And Morgan was more determined than ever to evade them.

She could see Draven found the experience amusing, but after the first hour boredom took over. Thanks to his heritage, she wondered if hunting people hit a little too close to home.

Kincade, of course, became progressively more pissed, narrowing his eyes at her when he caught a glimpse from across a room, clearly suspecting she was cheating somehow, but couldn’t figure it out how…yet.

It was Ryder whom, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t elude. He left her alone, observing her as she traveled from room to room, but every time she looked up, he was slightly closer.

He wasn’t stalking her…not exactly.

It was more like he couldn’t help himself.

Morgan didn’t feel a qualm of remorse for using the Academy’s sentience to maintain her distance. Half the day was gone, but she didn’t dare stop for food. The men had teamed up, systematically clearing floors and rooms, trying to corner her.

As she darted around the corner, seconds ahead of Atlas, she nearly tripped over a large brown wolf. As soon as she spotted him, she planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “No fair. No one can outrun a shifter.”

He huffed out a snort, much like a laugh, then turned tail and disappeared down the hall. He returned less than a minute, pulling on a shirt.

Her eyes dropped to his exposed chest, helpless to resist all that tantalizing skin.

They both froze.

“Where’d you get the clothes?” Her face heated at the way it almost sounded like an accusation. Her brain short-circuited at the sight of such delectable skin and muscle, and she sure as hell didn’t know why. She’d seen dozens of men naked during her training. Then why did the men on the team affect her so deeply?

She didn’t like it.

“There are dressers and cabinets throughout the Academy, placed there especially for shifters in case of emergencies.” Ryder was calm as he very slowly dragged down the rest of his shirt. “You should be careful the way you look at us. Wolves will see your attention as a sign of interest, and they will show off in hopes that you might be receptive to them.”

Morgan jerked her eyes up to meet his gaze. “What?”

“They will think you’re interested in their services.”

Morgan didn’t think he was talking about being a guard, and it appalled her. “Have you…” She broke off at the inappropriateness of her question. “Never mind. Not my business.”

Mortification burned in her chest.

“No.” He flung his tangled hair back, scratching his scalp as he ran his fingers through the shaggy, streaked strands, and she curled her fingers into fists to curb the irresistible impulse to help him, almost missing what he said next. “I always knew I wanted to be a hunter.”

She fell silent and hurried down the hall, scooting around him, afraid to open her mouth.

She didn’t do small talk.

She didn’t have friends.

Who knew carrying on a conversation would be so hard?

Ryder easily kept pace. “You have good instincts. You kept ahead of us for hours by placing your scent all over the school and clouding your trail. You seemed to know the moment we were closing in on you.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but curiosity was alive in his eyes.

Morgan snorted. “Kinda hard to miss a big wolf following you.”

His expression turned serious. “Most never see me.”

Her face heated at the intensity of his statement, sensing a larger meaning behind it, then tightened her lips, annoyed she’d given so much away.

“You haven’t run across many shifters.”

She shook her head, grateful for the change of subject. “There were no shifters at the coven.”

“You’ve never heard of us?”

At his persistence, Morgan looked at him curiously. “I wasn’t exactly included in…well, anything…at the coven.” She grimaced in distaste and turned away. “Their idea of fun and games wasn’t something I wanted any part of. And there was very little about shifters in the books I was given to study. They were listed as the ultimate guards, and described as being vicious to hunt down if they needed to be eliminated.”

“Never hunt one.” She flinched at his harsh tone, and he rubbed a tired hand down his face, softening his voice. “They are too dangerous. Even the best hunters are no match for them. We hunt our own when they go feral. It’s too dangerous for others. One bite, and the hunter could die or, even worse, turn.”

“What do you mean—feral?” More than curiosity made her ask. Maybe if he knew of a way to stop from going feral, she might be able to stop her own darkness from taking over.

“It’s when our animal takes complete control and refuses to turn back into a human.” There was such sorrow in his tone, her throat closed, her own problems forgotten.

“Who?”

“My father.” His voice was hoarse, his head bowed low.

Based on what she remembered from her readings, werewolves were raised by their fathers. Morgan got the feeling that Ryder was the one who put his father out of his misery. His honor wouldn’t allow him to leave the job for anyone else. “I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t mean to bite me, but he was too far gone by then. Those of us who don’t have packs don’t survive long on our own. Which is why we pledge ourselves to the school and go out on some of the more difficult hunts.” A touch of pride brightened his eyes.

“I would love to go out with your group sometime.” He stiffened, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out she’d said something wrong.

“Hunting with a shifter is a skill. A strong bond must exist between hunter and shifter.” He nervously ran his palms along his pants. “Never run from a shifter. They enjoy the hunt, and might mistake you for prey.”

Morgan laughed, then choked when she realized he was serious. “You would never hurt me.”

She knew it with quiet certainty.

Warmth shone from his eyes, but before he could speak, a group of witches entered the hallway. The change in him was instantaneous. He bowed his head and stepped out of the way—like some kind of damn servant.

Static filled the air, waking the markings on her back, a clear sign that the witches were using magic, which never boded well.

She recognized one of them as Harper’s friend. They sauntered past Morgan like she didn’t exist, and headed straight for Ryder. They circled him, touching him, and he flinched away from their stroking hands.

Something was wrong.

Bile rose in her throat when she realized Ryder was unable to move away, and her mood changed from bitchy to downright black. Morgan reached through them, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him away, protectively shoving him behind her. “I think we’re late for training.”

The witch scowled at having her fun ruined, shooting Ryder a covetous look. Then a smirk curled her lips, the static in the air crackling. “Why don’t you let him decide?”

They were trying to influence him, and Morgan’s hand unconsciously tightened around his wrist.

Not going to happen.

Ryder gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and she half expected him to shove her out of the way. “You’re right. We should go.”

The witch’s mouth dropped open in shock. Morgan took advantage of their distraction, pushing Ryder ahead of her. He twisted around in her grip until he was hauling her along behind him.

When they were clear, Morgan jerked away. “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?”

A snarl twisted his mouth, either because of what she asked, or possibly the loss of her touch, she wasn’t sure. He fisted his hands, as if to stop himself from reaching for her. “You don’t think we try? She can control animals. I have enough wolf blood flowing in my veins that I must obey.”

“That’s barbaric.” Horror took the starch out of her spine. “What can you do to fight it?”

“Only a collar showing ownership, or a mate, can protect any of us.” Ryder deflated, unconsciously inching closer until his arm brushed against her with each step. While the touch made her uncomfortable, it eased the urge she had to go back and use her fists on the witch who took such cruel advantage of him.

The thought of him being owned like some dog snatched the breath from her lungs. “Why haven’t you chosen a mate? I mean, your life would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

Ryder nearly tripped over his own feet at her blunt question. “Despite what you saw, it’s usually not so bad. Most wolves would welcome the attention.”

“But not you.”

“I’m a hunter to my core. I know myself. I would go feral if I was trapped under someone else’s control.”

Morgan shifted a little uncomfortably at his intense expression, nodding at his not-so-subtle warning to not get attached. A burning sensation spread through her chest at his answer, but she couldn’t blame him.

“I should go.” He took two steps away from her, then paused, keeping his back to her, those incredibly broad shoulders like a wall. “Witches don’t mate with wolves.”

Morgan stepped back, the words hurting more than if he’d shoved her away. “I understand.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows lowered, his eyes incredibly sad. “Our wolves choose who we mate. Much like witches, we have little choice in who is selected.”

Before she could process his cryptic reply, he was gone.

That was the second time someone mentioned not having a choice about who they mated, and Morgan couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Lost in thought, Morgan wasn’t watching where she was going. The sensation of ants crawling over her skin stopped her on the spot. Her head snapped up, her hand falling to her blade as she scanned the area.

Kincade met her gaze boldly from across the room.

He made no pretense of spying on her, slicing through the crowd toward her like a predator on the hunt.

And she was his target.

Morgan spun, intent on heading back the way she came, only to see Atlas striding down the hall, his intense gaze locked on her in grim determination.

Yikes!

Morgan bolted toward the nearest door, cursing her luck when it turned out to be a women’s bathroom. While Atlas might hesitate to enter, Kincade would not. If anything, it would grant her no more than a few seconds before he stormed into the room.

The door barely shut when she dashed across the room and dragged the metal garbage can behind her. She tipped it over and wedged it between the door and the wall.

Hopefully that would buy her a few precious seconds.

As she rounded the corner to survey her surroundings, she nearly cheered when she spotted a window.

Without a second’s hesitation, she hiked her foot up and hauled her ass up on the sink to peer outside. She was on the opposite side of the school from the garden, two stories aboveground.

Doable.

Popping the latch, she wrenched the window open, then jumped and hauled her torso through the small opening as the first bang clanged against the upended trash can behind her.

Time to move.

She wiggled until half of her body was free of the window, when her hips became wedged in the narrow frame.

“You got to be kidding me.” Morgan placed her hands against the stone, pushing and twisting until her hips finally slid free, earning her a series of bruises and scratches for her troubles.

Then she was falling head-first toward the ground.

She lashed out, kicking the wall, using the momentum to spin around.

And just in time.

The ground rushed up toward her.

She landed heavily on her feet, then rolled a couple times to slow her speed.

When she finally stopped and turned, she saw Kincade trying to wedge his body through the small opening, but his shoulders were too broad. He slammed his hand against the stone, glaring down at her in frustration.

She gave him a cheeky grin and waved.

His mouth twisted in a reluctant smile of appreciation for a second before he disappeared from view.

His smile held her immobile, and she blinked stupidly up at the now-empty window, craving another look.

From the first, she found his tough exterior attractive, if not downright mouthwatering, but when he smiled, her heart fluttered like a stupid pixie was caught in her chest.

While he wasn’t traditionally gorgeous—he was too lethal for that—his smile had the power to wreck the image she had of him of being untouchable.

And for the first time in her life, she wanted to touch back.

Which was a bad idea.

Really bad.

Morgan popped to her feet, knowing she only had a few minutes before he continued his pursuit. A thrill shot through her at having him so openly chasing her, but the thought of him actually catching her was both tempting and terrifying.

It reminded her that she wasn’t there to have fun.

She was supposed to be catching a killer.

The rooms gave her no clues, but she wondered about the bodies.

With that in mind, Morgan sneaked back into the Academy and whispered her request to the walls. Like a magnet, she was pulled deeper into the bowels of the building. Twenty minutes of twisting, winding passageways deposited her outside a door labelled ‘Morgue’.

Not thrilled at the idea of looking at a weeks-old decomposing body, she headed toward the file cabinets first. The reports gave the bare minimum of facts, the same reports she had been given. She was about to close the folder when she spotted handwritten notes.

Kincade was the one who found all three bodies.

That in and of itself did not alarm her. Of course he was the one who would be called to investigate. No, what confused her was he seemed more concerned about missing artifacts than the death of three Witches.

Unless he knew something she didn’t.

Something that wasn’t in the reports.

As she slowly closed the folder, memorizing the drawer numbers, she replaced the files and slammed the cabinet shut with a bang. Something nagged at the back of her mind, and she knew she was missing an important clue.

Walking down the cool room, she counted out the numbers, a little freaked to see the morgue was so huge. Thankfully, the three girls rested side by side. She inhaled deeply for courage, then pulled open the drawers.

Instead of decomposing corpses, the girls were perfectly preserved by magic, thank the heavens. But it wasn’t the sight of the dead girls that froze her blood. It was the sight of the runes. Unlike her clean marks, these were crude, carved into the vulnerable flesh of their backs. Even after weeks, the scent of scorched flesh lingered over their bodies, the sour stench of magic gone bad tarnishing the runes and making them unusable.

Whatever the murderer was trying to accomplish, he hadn’t succeeded.

Yet.

Then she saw something that wasn’t in the photos—there were additional runes on the bodies.

As the markings on her back crawled across her skin, Morgan realized it was her ability to null magic that allowed her to see what someone wanted hidden.

The newly revealed marks weren’t different from hers as she’d believed.

They were exactly the same.

The chill in her body spread to her soul.

The killer cast a spell to hide the real intent behind the ritual.

She needed to find out what the runes meant before someone discovered she had the same markings…and lived to tell the tale.

She had a sinking feeling she wouldn’t enjoy the outcome if it was discovered.