2

I pop the bottle open and take a mouthful, forcing the nausea down. The taste is vile—bitter and acrid, like spoiled chemicals—and I fight the urge to spit it out across the room. My face contorts as the liquid burns down my throat, igniting a fire in my chest that spreads like lightning through my veins.

The moment it settles, a pulse of raw energy ripples through me. Every nerve lights up. The lights seem brighter, the sounds sharper. I can hear the faint hum of the overhead bulbs and smell the citrus in the cleaning spray used hours ago. Even the juice in the bottle is pungent now, as if someone peeled oranges in the next room.

Layla gasps, her presence slamming forward in my mind. We both shudder as the power courses through us.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what the fuck did you just drink?” she snaps, lifting our hand and wiggling the fingers. “I can see everything—every pore, every hair… heavens, do you ever shave?”

“Excuse me?” I glare at her, appalled. “Don’t act like you’re Miss Hygiene. You roll in dirt for fun.”

“Dude, I’m a wolf. Dirt sticks to fur!” she protests, voice rising in my head. I flip her off, smirking.

“And why were you in the muck?”

She lunges forward, snarling back, but Drake’s low growl slices through the air, silencing both of us.

“What?” we answer in sync, eyes narrowing.

He sighs dramatically. “You two are worse than Baylee and May. Enough about body hair—we don’t have time for this.”

Dain, his wolf, echoes his frustration. “Mates should not bicker. It’s not polite.”

I sigh, giving Layla a sideways glance. “Sorry. Wanna help me read the next group of pack members? See if we find our killer?”

“Yeah, sure. But after that, we’re shaving.”

I roll my eyes. Drake shakes his head, a long-suffering smirk tugging at his lips. He’s used to refereeing us by now. Most of the time, it’s harmless banter—but when we do fall out, he’s always the one pulling us back together.

A knock at the door brings us back to the moment. I sit up straighter in Drake’s lap.

“Come in,” he calls, pressing a kiss to my temple. His warmth grounds me, melting the leftover tension from the magic juice.

Matt walks in, a man in his forties trailing behind him. The stranger looks nervous but tries to smile as he nods our way. I gesture to the seat behind Vincent, and he shuffles into it while I rise and approach.

Before I even touch him, I feel it—Matt’s emotions flooding the space like a gas leak. Layla frowns inside my head.

“We’ll deal with that later,” she mutters, focused on the task at hand.

I turn to the man. “I know you don’t know why you’re here. It’s confidential and stays between everyone in this room,” I explain. “We believe a killer lives among our pack. We’ve narrowed it to 300 possible suspects.”

Drake leans forward, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, watching the man carefully.

“This isn’t personal,” I continue, scanning the man’s face. “But I need to read your thoughts to rule you out. When we’re done, the Alpha will command you to stay quiet about this—so the killer doesn’t get wind of it.”

The man nods, calm, his heart rate steady. His energy reads clean.

“I understand. Anything to help.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lenny.”

I nod and walk behind him, placing my hands on his shoulders. Even before I dive into his thoughts, I know it isn’t him. Still, I have to go through the motions.

I glance at Drake and give a small nod.

“Are you the killer?” he asks.

Lenny’s mind flashes back to a forest. Trees. Blood. A girl—no older than seventeen—shattered across the ground. His stomach twists with the memory, his heart breaking for her parents. He’d been there with Drake’s father, helpless, furious, devastated.

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head to shake off the memory.

“Have you ever killed someone in this pack before?”

His mind snaps to another day. He’s behind the wheel, driving slow, careful—his wolf alert. Kids are playing nearby. Then—bam—a blur of motion. A child chasing a football darts into the road. Lenny slams on the brakes but it’s too late. The boy hits the bonnet, blood spilling from his mouth and nose. Lifeless.

Lenny screams, scrambling from the car. He cradles the child, sobbing, pleading. But the boy is gone.

A crowd gathers. Drake appears, dropping to his knees beside Lenny. “Give him space. I saw it happen,” he says, voice firm.

Back in the present, Lenny breaks down again, years later. His pain is raw, still stitched deep in his chest. Without hesitation, I reach into that hurt—not to take the memory or the growth it gave him, but to ease the unbearable weight of the grief.

I mouth to Drake, holy fuck, stunned. I’d never heard this story. His expression sinks as realization dawns.

“I forgot,” he says, voice low. “Lenny, I’m so sorry.”

I nod, confirming he’s clear. “He’s good, babe.”

I look back at Lenny, my throat tightening. “Just sit still for a second—I need to heal you.”

He catches my arm. “Please… don’t take the memory. It hurts like hell, but it made me who I am. That boy deserves to be remembered. I can’t forget him.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, and close my eyes. I heal only the pain—not the memory. As I work, I feel his heartbeat slow, his sorrow easing into peace. His loyalty surges in its place.

When I pull away, Lenny gasps. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I don’t know what you are… but thank you.”

He hugs me before I can stop him.

A chill races down my spine. Drake’s growl rumbles deep in his chest.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER. NOW.”

Lenny freezes. His body stiffens, realizing too late the mistake.

“I—I didn’t mean—” he stammers, stepping back.

Drake slams his pen on the desk. “Go.”

Lenny bolts. I reach for Drake as he yanks off my hoodie, tossing it in the trash.

“Drake!” I protest. “That was my favorite hoodie!”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he mutters, pulling me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me like a possessive bear. His head buries into my neck.

“Mine,” he growls.

I link my fingers with his, nuzzling closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Everyone out. Luna needs to change. She still smells like him.”

I gape. “Drake!”

“Close that mouth before I put something in it and we really won’t get any work done today.”

I snap my mouth shut, blushing. In the bathroom, I strip quickly. Drake snatches my clothes before I can toss them in the laundry and throws them in the trash.

“Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Like you’d let anyone but the kids touch me.”

Layla growls. “And we smell better anyway.”

He tosses me one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that hang off me like rags.

“Drake, I look like a hobo.”

“That’s the point.”

I scowl. “It was just a hug.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

I mutter, “Fine, Alpha. But I want that hoodie replaced. And if a she-wolf sniffs in your direction, Layla’s gonna have a snack.”

Back in the office, he’s sitting in my chair. I growl, annoyed.

“Who says I want to sit with you right now?”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Layla bristles. “We’re not cute. We’re deadly.”

Drake kisses my nose. “You’re both.”

Despite myself, I relax against him.

What can we do? He’s dumb, but he’s nice to look at, Layla mutters.

I grin just as the next group walks in.

“Come in,” Drake calls, eyes scanning the newcomers.

One by one, we get through a hundred more warriors. Fifty to go.

Not a single one was the killer.