Wolf Marked (Magic Side: Wolf Bound Book 1)

Jaxson

The loading cranes whirred and ground as they lifted the containers off the ship and onto the dock.

I shouted at my brother-in-law, Billy, over the noise. “Everything accounted for?”

He held up the manifest. “So far. Still waiting on that last batch of parts.”

We’d have to unload those discreetly. They’d been procured by the lower Michigan pack, and we had to make them disappear. Thankfully, Magic Side had a number of vendors that were happy to overlook a few details for a better deal.

“Good.”

He stepped close. “I’ve been watching what’s going on here. You’ve been distracted by that LaSalle woman. Unfocused.”

I gave a warning growl. “Thankfully, I know I can rely on you.”

“Always have. But people are beginning to talk, Jaxson. You should distance yourself from her.”

“Not until I can clear the pack’s name. Getting tied to these abductions and murders affects our business, not just our pride.”

“I know. But you should get that girl out of town. None of us like having her around.”

I’d told my inner circle who Savannah was related to, thinking they could handle it. Clearly not.

I gave a laugh that was a half growl. “That might be difficult. The woman isn’t compliant.”

“Then get her to comply and get rid of her.”

My wolf snarled in my chest. I kept it in check, but I let myself partially shift—slowly and deliberately. Hair slowly covered the backs of my hands as my claws and canines emerged, millimeter by millimeter. A slow shift demonstrated control, power, and mastery of the beast within, and not many could manage it.

Billy inched back but froze under my glare.

I stepped closer, looming over him. He was big. I was bigger. “Savannah Caine is mine. No one touches her. She’s staying here, and there will be no further discussion until the pack’s name is clear. Then we can figure out what to do with her.”

He bared his teeth but nodded. He ran the docks. I ran the pack.

I retracted my claws and headed to the on-site manager’s office. Halfway there, my phone vibrated.

Savannah. Speak of the devil. I’d called a half-dozen times, and my irritation flared.

The moment she’d left her motel room, she’d gone off script, ditched our meeting, and headed south, presumably to meet with her family—though my people couldn’t follow her all the way into LaSalle territory. It was the one thing I’d implored her not to do.

What was it that compelled the woman to do the exact opposite of everything I asked?

I stepped into the dock manager’s office, pulled off my safety hat, and picked up. “Ms. Caine. You were supposed to meet with the sketch artist. Instead, you headed to the Indies after I explicitly warned you against it. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Avoiding werewolves. How is it that you conveniently forgot to mention you were the damned alpha when you were scaring me out of my mind last night?” Her voice was terse and bitter.

Wasn’t it obvious? “Can you blame me? You would have run screaming out of the building. You were barely holding on as it was.”

She exhaled noisily. “I deserved to know what I was walking into. You’re playing games with information, Jaxson. Like, for instance, you failed to mention that the only thing my car needed was a magic regulator, and it would run just fine. The funny thing is, I’m over at Savage Body, and your goons won’t release my vehicle.”

“It needs repairs. You can have it back once you’ve finished helping me.”

At least she was in pack territory again. I just had to find a way to keep her there, which was unlikely, considering her current mood.

“Why do I have a feeling one sketch isn’t going to be enough? What else are you expecting?”

“It’s a start.”

“Here’s the deal: I’ll make the sketch, but you get your ass over here and give my car back.”

She hung up, and I tried to call her. No response.

I jammed my phone in my pocket and cursed violently enough that the clerk in the back corner of the office whimpered.

Storming out of the dockyard, I jumped into my ride, and five minutes later, I pulled up outside Savage Body. I slammed the door of the truck and grabbed the nearest mechanic. “Where is she?”

“In the office,” he said, wide-eyed, “drawing something.”

I pushed through the door and waved the manager out. There sat the obstinate LaSalle woman, bent over a sheet of paper on a table, sketching furiously with a stubby pencil. I could almost feel her anger with each stroke. Her energy was vibrant and alive. Something about her called to me—her fierce focus, or maybe her reckless resistance. I couldn’t stand her stubbornness, couldn’t stand the reminder of what had happened to my sister, but being around her was like a drug.

Then she broke the spell by speaking.

“You have some explaining to do, Laurent.” She didn’t even look up. “I was attacked by werewolves, and the very first thing you did when you brought me into the city was take me to the damn werewolf den.”

I growled. “Because it was safe. You were safe with us. Yet the first thing you did this morning was prance over to the LaSalles. I made it clear that they’re extremely dangerous, and I warned you to stay away.”

“Yeah, so did others. The thing is, the LaSalles didn’t spend all evening playing mind games and lying to me.”

So she had gone to them.

I put my hands on the table. “If the LaSalles are talking, they’re lying. You don’t know them or this city. Like sugar, they’ll rot you from the inside out.”

“Funny. They said similar things about you. So who am I to believe? My own family, or one of these?”

She flipped the paper around and shoved it across the small table so I could see.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Fates, could she draw.

Savannah’s illustration depicted a rough, tattooed woman, partially shifted. Her muscles were tensed, and her arm had retracted as if she was going to rip free of the page with her long, savage claws. Her lips were pulled back in a contemptuous snarl, revealing her erupting canines.

I let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. I didn’t recognize the she-wolf, so she wasn’t from our pack.

Picking up the paper, I studied the details. Somehow, working with just pencil, Savannah had even captured the glow of the she-wolf’s eyes and the rage in the contours of her face. It was so lifelike—and filled with hate.

“It’s extraordinary.” I met Savannah’s eyes. “This is far better than the sketch artist could have done.”

“It’s what I saw.” She scowled, but I could smell her pride simmering beneath the surface.

My wolf shoved against my chest, excited by the scent. I glared at the drawing. Was this how Savannah saw us? Saw me? Neither human nor monster, but a savage half-beast, forged from violence and hatred?

I laid the extraordinary illustration back down. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. This is not what or how we are.”

“I figured that much, or I would’ve been dead already. You didn’t need to lure me to a bar. If you wanted to take me, you could have done it anytime.”

Heat shot through me, and my wolf shifted. “Is that so?”

The words left my mouth without thinking and carried a tone that I hadn’t intended. I could sense her surprise, and beneath that, the sweet scent of her arousal. It began to do inappropriate things to me.

Her cheeks flushed, and she put her hand on her mouth. “That came out wrong, I mean that if—’

“You never mentioned this tattoo,” I said, and pointed to the woman’s neck, trying to cover for the both of us. I shouldn’t have said that sort of thing to a LaSalle, nor felt this way. It was wrong and dangerous.

The tattoo was a two-headed wolf, small, and just above the collar bone.

Savannah grabbed the page and inspected it. “I didn’t really notice it much while they were trying to murder me. But I saw her in the bar earlier. The tat kind of came back to me. Does it mean something?”

“I’m not sure. Did the other man have one, too?”

Dane hadn’t had a tattoo like that when I’d kicked him out of the pack, so maybe it was a sign he’d joined a gang or something. The problem was that Dane was wolfborn and turned into a wolf at death. There was no way to inspect his human form for tattoos. They didn’t transfer.

Savannah bit her lip. “I can’t remember if he had one. Let me draw.”

The flowing lines of her sketch pulled me in: quick bursts of pencil, jagged marks, the scratch of shading. Soon, I found myself standing next to her, breathing in the heady aroma of her tangerine signature. It was like standing in warm sunlight.

There was something about this woman beneath the fire and anger and stubbornness.

She leaned slightly against my side, and then froze. Her cheeks reddened, and her pencil quivered. “You’re breathing on me, wolf man.”

I stiffened, chagrined, while my inner wolf howled with humiliating laughter.

“Do you have to draw it all? It’s taking forever,” I snapped.

Her partially completed illustration revealed a huge, tattooed man lunging forward in the high beams of a car.

“Yes.” Savannah pointed with her pencil. “Sit. Over there. I don’t need you looming over my shoulder. He’s got a lot of tattoos. They’re hard to remember.”

Sit? Did she just command me like a dog?

My jaw ticked, and I leaned against the wall, staring out the window.

Her talent was remarkable. She could find work as an illustrator in the city, even without magic. I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Pencil in hand, she seemed calm for the first time since I’d met her, as if the images provided catharsis, or the sketching was meditation.

I smiled, pleased.

Finally, she slid the paper across the table and jabbed her finger down. “There, on his neck. I hadn’t really noticed it. There are so many other tattoos, it blended in.”

I rubbed the stubble of my chin. The double-headed wolf, same design, same location. Savannah’s recall was amazing. “They both had one. It must be important, but I don’t know exactly what it might indicate.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “But you know something?”

I shifted the paper in my hands, uncertain how much to say. “There are dark legends in werewolf lore and religion of a twin-headed wolf—stories that were told to haunt the moonless nights. Maybe it’s a reference to that.”

Savannah tensed. I could smell the dread creeping across her.

I took both illustrations. “This is excellent work. I’ll circulate it to all the packs around the Great Lakes and see if we get a hit. Also, I’ll have someone look into those tattoos.”

She stood. “Right. You’ve got what you wanted. Now give me my car back. I’ll pay for the magic regulator, but I didn’t authorize any other work.”

I shook my head. “Not a chance. Your car needs help. It’s on the verge of death and not safe to drive. I can’t believe it made it here. It’s like a zombie, shambling down the road.”

She tensed and looked up. “Wait. Are zombies real?”

“Yes.”

“I want my car back.”

“When this is over, I’ll return it to you better than new.”

Her eyes flashed. “You’re holding my car hostage, just so I’ll cooperate?”

Why was this even a discussion? The jalopy barely ran.

I glared, temper rising. “So far, you haven’t cooperated much, even when it’s in your best interest. Think of it as payment for you, insurance for me.”

Savannah jutted out a hip and crossed her arms. “Why are you investigating if you’re the werewolf king? To cover things up? Also, why am I talking to you instead of the magic cops, or whatever it is they have around here?”

Werewolf king? I wanted to ram my claws into the wall. Why did she have to make everything so difficult?

Our pack’s position was perilous. Just because a few exiled dockside wolves might be involved, the Order was tightening the screws. If I couldn’t stop these abductions, they were going to invalidate our extra-legal status. We’d lose the right to practice pack law and prosecute crimes on our lands. The shame would be too much to bear.

But I sure as hell wasn’t going to share any of that information with a LaSalle.

I steadied my breathing and fixed her with an impassive stare. “It’s not a cover-up. Werewolves were involved. I have jurisdiction to pursue and punish them under the laws of our pack. Who better to hunt wolves than other wolves?”

“But why you? Shouldn’t you be sitting on some kind of throne, getting your claws manicured?”

I snarled. “Because I’m the best. Because I’ll see it done right. Or would you prefer your highly competent sheriff to handle the investigation going forward?”

She glared, clearly untrusting, but at least she seemed partially mollified. “Fine. So you’re a natural bloodhound. What more do you want from me, Jaxson? I did your sketch.”

I shrugged. “The sketch is just a start. Even if someone recognizes her, that doesn’t mean we’ll be able to track her down. At this point, we need to consider other ways of moving forward.”

“Like?” she snapped. The fire in her eyes matched her hair.

I glanced through the window into the garage bays to make sure no wolves were eavesdropping. “I’d like you to drink a scrying potion to help us locate her.”

Savannah gave me a You’ve got to be shitting me stare. “What the hell is a scrying potion? I’m not drinking any crazy concoction from a damned werewolf, that’s for sure.”

“Hear me out. Magica drink potions all the time to boost their abilities, heal, or give themselves temporary powers. If we don’t get a match for the sketch, it may be our best shot.” I nonchalantly leafed through the illustrations, trying to act unconcerned, as if this were an everyday request. I hoped no one was listening.

Curiosity got the better of her. “What does it do?”

I gestured to the security cameras. “Drinking a scrying potion gives you clairvoyance for a short time—remote seeing. You take a sip of the potion, close your eyes, and concentrate on the person you need to find. Then you see a hazy picture of them, like you’re an old video camera, floating in the air.”

She looked into the lens of the security cam. “It’s like spying on them with a drone?”

I leaned back against the office desk. “Pretty much. Scrying can give you details of their location or clues to what they’re doing.”

Savannah pointed to her illustration. “Can’t you just do it, then, using the sketch? Why me?”

“Because I’m a wolf. The power to scry isn’t in my blood, but it might be in yours. Plus, scrying only works if you’ve met the person and had a really strong impression of them. That’s key. The stronger your impression, the clearer the picture, and the further the reach of the spell. You would have gotten a very strong impression of your abductors, even if you only saw them briefly.”

She bit her lip as she considered. Every time she did that, it lit an inexplicable heat within me.

The woman was wavering, so I pushed. “Think about it. Just one sip of a potion, and you could help us locate that she-wolf. She’d never know we were watching, and we’d be able to ambush her before she got to anyone else. You could have justice. For yourself, and for all the others.”

Savannah studied my face with a piercing gaze that was beyond her years. It made the hair on my neck stand on end. Those eyes, what was it about her eyes?

“What’s the catch?” she snapped.

She was shrewd. And smart.

“No catch.” I kept my expression steady. “Scrying potions are complicated to make, and each potion has to be attuned to its user. Therefore, it requires a little of your blood as a component.”

She grabbed her purse from the table. “Nuh-uh, mister. Are you insane? I’m not giving you my blood for crazy magic. Do you know what someone could do with that if it fell into the wrong hands?”

“Do you?” I retorted.

She blustered. She didn’t know what she was talking about, but it was clear that the LaSalles had gotten to her already.

I spoke calmly, trying to diffuse the situation and undo the damage, but my temper simmered. “Look, you don’t have to be afraid. We’ll use a potion maker with a stellar reputation—Alia, up in the Midway Dens. You can be there for the whole process. When she takes your blood and when she makes the potion.”

She bared her teeth. “No deal. It’s totally off the table. We’re done here.”

I grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going? This conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is. I’m going back to the LaSalles, you’re going to call me when my car is ready, and on no account am I giving you any of my blood.”

Her signature surged, and I could feel the heat of her anger like the rays of the sun, burning my skin. But my wolf liked her spirit.

“You shouldn’t go back there. It’s not safe.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, her dislike for me palpable. “Well, I feel safe there. Something tells me they have ways of keeping werewolves out.”

I growled. “I can put guards at the Magic Moon Motel. You’ll be safe. I’ll give you an escort.”

“Why are you so desperate to keep me in your territory?” she asked, regarding me closely.

The seer’s prophecy echoed in my mind: Without her at your side, you will not discover the answers you need. But be warned—your adversaries hunt her, too. If you do not stop them, she will be dead before the full moon rises, and with her, the future of your pack.

If I wanted answers, if I wanted to protect her, I had to keep her close and under control. They were coming for her. If I wasn’t there to stop them, we’d lose everything. I was tempted to tell Savannah what the seer had told me, the details of the cards she had turned. But the prophecy was for my ears only—that was the way of the magic. The fates gave you a glimpse of the future, then made you face it alone—and I wasn’t going to cross the fates.

“You’re an asset,” I said. “I’m going to protect you, but I can’t do that when you’re with them. I want you close.”

Her eyes dilated. Arousal? Definitely fury. An interesting cocktail.

Savannah stepped so close that I could feel her breath on my chest, then looked up to meet my eyes. “You want to put me in a box, Jaxson. To lock me in a hotel and strand me here without my car. You want control, but you’re not going to get it. I’m not going to be in some creepy werewolf witness protection program, sitting in a motel room with guards outside. I’m not going to be beholden to you.”

I could practically feel my wolf pacing back and forth in my soul. It liked the challenge. Wanted to fight. I, however, was tired of Savannah’s obstinance, her constant resistance to logical requests. She’d steer off a bridge just to prove to everyone that she didn’t have to drive straight.

I’d had it.

“Here’s the truth, Savannah: you are beholden to me. You want your car back? Then you’re working with me. You want any information about why those werewolves attacked you or what these tattoos mean? Then you’re working with me—and working with me means going back to your motel and staying on pack land so that I can keep these rogue wolves from ripping your entrails out, like they’ve already done to three others.”

I left her there, shaking in rage and fear, but turned back before I stepped out the door. “Tomorrow afternoon. One p.m. We go to meet the potion maker, and you’re going to figure out what these people are up to. Until then, motel.”

I slammed the door on the way out.