Mate Bond

“We have to go out there,” Bowman said. As Kenzie opened her mouth to protest, he said, “My call was from Serena, I’m pretty sure.”

Kenzie looked at her message again. “Crap, you mean Uncle Cris is hunting her out there?”

“Something’s going on. I need to find out.”

Kenzie scrambled out of bed, beautiful and naked. The streetlight outside touched her breasts with a misty glow, and Bowman wished he could forget all about human pseudo-groupies, strange mythical monsters, and her pain-in-the-ass Uncle Cristian and take her back to bed.

Kenzie leaned over to retrieve her clothes, not cooling his distracted body. “I’ll call my grandmother to come watch Ryan. I hate to wake him.”

“He’s already awake and you know it,” Bowman said, watching her cover her beauty with drawstring sweatpants, a thin camisole and a sweatshirt. Clothes easy to remove for shifting. “But yeah, call her. If Cristian’s out rampaging, Afina will be up and worrying anyway.”

Kenzie settled her sweatshirt, shutting him out of her body again. Bowman realized he was holding his jeans in nerveless fingers while he stared at his mate.

She gave him a what-are-you-doing? look as she pushed past him, her phone already in her hand. Bowman hurriedly finished dressing and ran out to catch up to her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The drive back to the arena was dark and cold. Bowman rode his motorcycle, happy to be able to again, his back warmed by Kenzie clinging on behind.

The moon was still in the sky, rendering the world black-and-white. Snow had fallen all yesterday afternoon, but the clouds had cleared as Kenzie and Bowman slept. The ground glittered in radiant silver, the towering trees like cut black silhouettes. The wind was icy, the temperature in the teens. Weather like this was dry rather than damp, air burning inside the nostrils and lungs.

Kenzie had wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth, but Bowman rode with only his leather jacket zipped closed to keep out the winter. Cold never bothered him.

The road wound through tree-dense hills. They met no approaching headlights, overtook no one. On this January Sunday morning, humans were staying snug in bed before rising for church, or had just crawled home to sleep off their wild Saturday night.

Bowman cut down into the farms and then up another hill to the arena. He parked where they had when they’d found the griffin and dismounted the bike, sniffing the wind.

He smelled decaying monster, overlaid with cleansing fire, the woods at night, and Kenzie, who’d come up close behind him.

Faintly, from a distance, he caught a new scent—that of human death.

Bowman didn’t need to tell Kenzie to follow. The motorcycle would be safe enough here, hidden in shadows. He moved off into the darkness behind the arena, following the moonlit trail. Kenzie walked noiselessly behind him.

Bowman veered from the site where the pyre had been. Smoke hung in the air, but the fire was long gone. His Shifters would have made sure it was completely out before they left.

Down another hill, mud frozen beneath their feet. Kenzie gripped Bowman’s hand as they climbed down slippery rocks and found their quarry at the bottom.

Bowman wasn’t surprised to see Cristian Dimitru sitting in a crouch beside the body of Serena, the pseudo-groupie, possible-reporter. She had been shot twice, her chest black with blood, her eyes staring upward. She was very dead.

* * *

Kenzie took a step back and said a quick prayer to the Goddess. She never liked the smell of death—no Shifter did—whether the corpse was human, animal, or otherwise.

Bowman didn’t like it either, she could tell by the tightness of his shoulders, but he joined Uncle Cris on the ground, both of them looking over the body.

Bowman pinned Cristian with a hard gaze. “Did you do this?”

Cristian’s golden wolf eyes narrowed, the gray streaks in his hair pale patches in the darkness. He looked much like his wolf at that moment, a great black beast with yellow eyes.

“You think I would make this kill?” he asked. “With a gun?”

Shifters disliked guns. They were loud, smelled, and could damage innocent bystanders. Much better to go for a direct, silent kill with teeth and claws.

“You texted Kenzie about Serena,” Bowman said. “And now she’s dead.”

“She was being hunted.” Cristian’s accent had all but evaporated. “She came here to meet someone, but either that someone turned on her, or another followed her and chased her. She ran a long way, but in the end, the bullets found her.”

“Who was hunting her?” Kenzie leaned down, hands on her knees, to join the conversation. She avoided looking into the woman’s open eyes.

“I did not see,” Cristian said regretfully. “But I smelled. A man. With a gun—as you can see.”

“Where did he go?”

Cristian shrugged. “I lost him. He knows these woods, and I do not.”

“You’re a Lupine,” Bowman said impatiently. “One of the best, you keep telling me. You can track anything.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

“Did you track as wolf?” Kenzie asked. “If so, you’re neatly dressed again.”

Cristian gave her an irritated look. “I left my clothes here and came back for them. You know we must alert the human police as to the fate of this poor girl.”

Kenzie agreed, but she knew it would lead to awkward questions. “I can call Gil. He might be able to respond discreetly.”