Chapter 463
The moon hung low in the sky, cloaked in thin veils of mist that made everything below shimmer and blur.
The forest was still, too still. Even the leaves dared not whisper as the search party moved cautiously through the underbrush.
Erik and his group of men were still in the forest, now
Erik paused, crouching near the base of a slanted tree, fingers pressed to the damp earth. Kire paced beside him, his silver-gray coat bristling with unease, his nose twitching.
Nothing.
No sounds. No tracks. Just the same maddening quiet that had haunted them for the past day.
Erik rose slowly, running a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
Behind him, the group of wolves—seven in total—stood in a loose semicircle. Eyes weary. Boots muddied. All of them worn to the bone, and it showed.
“We’ve swept every inch of the ravine,” Marro said, stepping up beside him. His face was pale, but his voice was determined. “No signs. Not even blood. Are you sure this is where the battle ended?”
“This was where we lost them,” Erik murmured. “There was blood, drag marks, signs of wolves… then nothing. Whoever took them knew how to cover a trail.”
“I say we split up again,” muttered Ronan, one of the warriors. “Go northwest and sweep along the ridge. If we wait too long—”
“No,” Erik snapped. “No more splitting. That’s how we miss them again. That’s how they stay lost.”
Kire gave a low growl, stepping forward suddenly, head jerking to the left. Then—he froze.
Erik followed his gaze.
A breeze had just drifted through, soft but clear. And on it—faint, buried under days of weather and forest—was a scent.
Familiar.
Musky. Warm. Metallic.
Xaden.
Erik inhaled sharply, turning in the direction of the wind. His heart clenched.
He wasn’t alone in sensing it. One by one, the others began sniffing, their expressions shifting from exhaustion to sharp focus.
“Wait,” whispered Marro, stepping forward. “That’s not just him.”
His eyes widened.
“That’s Jasmine.”
Everyone stilled.
The scent was faint, aged—perhaps a day old—but it was unmistakable. Jasmine’s floral undertone laced with Xaden’s deeper musk, both trailing in the same direction.
Erik felt a strange thrum in his chest. Not just hope—but confusion.
“They were here?” Ronan asked. “Then why didn’t we find them?”
Erik narrowed his eyes. “No. They passed through here, but they were moving. Not staying.”
He dropped to his knees, examining the ground again. This time, something else appeared to him. Footprints—bare, faint. One heavier than the other. Dragging.
“He was injured,” Erik muttered. “Probably barely walking.”
“And Jasmine?” Marro asked quietly, his voice a knot of guilt and fear.
“Not carried,” Erik said. “But she was close. And moving slowly too.”
Kire gave a short, sharp bark and took off down the path, tail high.
“They’re headed back,” Erik said. “To the pack.”
A pause.
Then Erik turned to his team, eyes sharp. “Move. Now.”
They didn’t question him. The tension broke into motion, everyone shifting seamlessly into formation. Kire led the way, nose to the earth, his pace urgent but steady. Erik ran just behind him, heart pounding.
As they moved, Erik’s thoughts raced.
If they had escaped… why hadn’t there been any signal?
Why hadn’t Jasmine sent someone?
And what if the scent was a trap—some cruel game laid by whoever had taken them?
But none of that mattered now. The scent was real. And it led home.
⸻
The forest blurred past them as they ran. Erik’s lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. The farther they went, the stronger the scent became. Jasmine’s was older—perhaps fading—but Xaden’s was fresher. There were streaks of blood on the trees now, and Erik knew.
He wasn’t well.
“He’s bleeding,” Marro said, panting beside him. “We’re close.”
“Faster,” Erik growled. “We’re not stopping until we see him.”
The trees began to thin. The dirt path beneath them turned into gravel. They were near the eastern border now—just beyond the rise of the southern hills that framed the back of the packhouse grounds.
Erik picked up speed, leaping over fallen logs, eyes scanning the distance—
And then he saw it.
A smear of blood.
Then another.
And then—
The gates.
High iron spires stood tall against the horizon, and at their base, the distant form of a pack warrior stood with a torch, waving frantically.
“He’s here!” the man shouted. “He’s here! The Alpha has returned!”
Erik skidded to a halt, chest heaving. The rest of the group stumbled to a stop behind him, panting in disbelief.
Kire howled, long and high, the sound piercing the still night like a call to the moon itself.
Erik stepped forward, blinking hard.
The scent was stronger now. Raw. Bloody. Alive.
“He made it,” Marro whispered, dropping to his knees in exhaustion. “He actually made it.”
They rushed the pack house in haste and then Erik was surrounded by the men.
“Is Xaden back?” Erik asked. “We traced his blood all the way here.”
Damian came through the crowd and then was facing Erik now.
“Gods Erik you look like hell. What happened to you?” Damian asked as he looked at Erik’s party.
“Is Xaden here?” Erik asked cutting in.
“Yes He is here.” Damian finally stated and then looked down over Marro sitting down on Kire’s back. “Erik I don’t remember you leaving with a little boy.”
“Take me to him.” Erik said ignoring Erik’s statement and heading up the stairs.
Damian followed after and led him towards his bedroom.
As they were a few inches away from the door, someone shut the door right behind him as he stepped out amidst the small crowd of people.
It was Loren.
“Erik.” Loren said raising a brow. “It seems everyone is back home.”
“How is he?” Erik asked peeping over Loren’s shoulder to try to get into the rooms
“Tired and asleep. No one is getting into that room until he is better.” Loren said.
Erik sighed.
Loren looked around. “Where is Jasmine?
Erik frowned. “Jasmine? Isn’t she with you? Didn’t she come with Xaden.”
“No she didn’t.” Damian said with his arms folded and there was cold silence.
Jasmine was missing.