He could still remember her face, terrified, backing away from him.
Disgusted? Maybe. That was how he felt about himself.
He stamped a foot as he waited behind her counter. Why was it taking so long?
He looked over at Perky, who was resting in her bed and watching him nervously.
“Should I go get her?” he asked, knowing the dog wouldn’t answer. But he’d come to love the little animal, and he definitely loved her owner, and he couldn’t imagine life without them.
He decided he couldn’t wait any longer and got in his car and drove to the garage, cursing himself for not insisting on going with her the whole way.
When he got out at the garage, he saw her car parked out in front, but no Lindy in or around it.
Hadn’t she said she was just going to sign something and come home? He hopped out of his car and jogged to the front door, relieved by the hope that maybe she’d just gotten caught up in something at work and stayed with Mike.
She should have called him, but…
As he entered the garage, he saw her phone on a nearby counter and no Mike. He took a few more steps in, scenting something odd and unfamiliar, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind one of the cars he and Mike had been working on, and Magnus’s heart hardened to iron as he rushed forward and knelt beside his fallen co-worker.
He lifted Mike’s head and checked for a pulse, then sighed in relief when he found one.
Mike groggily opened his eyes and ran a hand over a bump on his head. “I’m fine. We gotta find Lindy.”
“What happened?” Magnus asked.
“They ambushed us. One second they were waiting for us to sign for the order, and then when Lindy came in…” He squinted. “Dammit, I should have seen it coming.”
“It’s not your fault,” Magnus said. It was his, for letting her come here, even for a moment, without him. When he knew as mates they should always be together.
He was never going to leave her side again, no matter what she said about it. No matter how she felt about his failure the night the storm had sunk his boat.
He ran to Lindy’s phone, looking for clues. It dinged and lit up as he got there, and he grabbed it, glad it wasn’t locked.
Come to the junkyard at Riverstone and Dyson. That is if you want to see Lindy again.
An icy chill shot through Magnus like a blizzard. He hadn’t felt this cold, this panicked, since the night he’d almost died.
But he wasn’t helpless this time. No wave, no matter how big or crushing, was going to take his mate from him.
A second set of dings went off, and he looked at the phone again.
Come alone, or your mate is done for.
The word mate struck him instantly. Whoever this was, they knew he was a shifter. They knew about mating. Shit. That meant it couldn’t be Roscoe. Shit. Who was it?
Still, Magnus didn’t care what he was headed into. When it came to his mate, he’d face hell itself for a chance with her. He ran to his car, jumping in and making the engine roar to life as he floored the gas and sped off toward the location he’d mapped on his own phone while running.
It wasn’t that far, and he could get there in half the time if he was reckless. Which, right now, he was.
As he palmed the wheel, taking a turn at breakneck speed, he called out to Titus in his mind, apprising him of the situation.
Titus, it’s Lindy. They have her.
Who has her? he responded.
I don’t know. I’m headed there now. Can you get Citrine? I asked him for some info on some guys at Roscoe’s shop, but whoever took Lindy knows I’m a shifter. They know she’s my mate.
Shit, Titus responded. One second. I’ll get Citrine.
A stop sign was up ahead. Magnus looked both ways and ran it completely, not even slowing. His mate was in danger. Human road laws were less important right now.
Citrine says he did some digging. It seems the head of the operation, Roscoe, is a smalltime drug dealer that operated out of this suburb’s largest auto dealership and scrapyard.
The one on Riverstone?
Exactly.
Is he a shifter? Does he know about them?
Let me ask, Titus said, going quiet.
There was silence for a few tense seconds, and the pervasiveness of it was frustrating as Magnus ran through a yellow light with abandon.
I spoke with Citrine. He doesn’t think it’s likely that Roscoe would have any knowledge about us.
He said he has my mate, dammit. What’s going on? Magnus demanded.
Citrine just says be careful if you’re going there now, which I can only assume you are because I’d be doing the same. We’ll be right behind you.
Keep your distance for now. He says I need to come alone.
There was a prolonged pause. Then Titus spoke. All right, brother. Be safe. Go get your mate. We will stay where they can’t hear us until you call us in.
Then there was silence in his mind, just as his phone chimed that he was nearing the destination.
Magnus screeched to a halt as he stopped in front of the place, kicking up dust and smoke as he did. In front of him was a large, almost warehouse-sized building, with rows of auto repair bays off to one side and a sprawling, fenced-off junkyard on the other that appeared to stretch out far behind the property. Behind the fence, piles of cars and scrap metal were heaped in rows, adding to the forlorn, dilapidated look of the place.
The gray sky overhead didn’t help.
Magnus hopped out and ran for the front door, made of reinforced glass and hanging slightly open, as if inviting him in. To the right, he noted what appeared like a normal delivery truck with several letters on its side.
As he stepped inside, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The lights were off, leaving the hallway he’d entered full of shadows. It was only then that he realized he was standing in stark silence. No sounds of car repair or pneumatic tools. No men talking. No keyboards clicking.
Everything was oddly, alarmingly still.
Regardless, Magnus could vaguely scent that Lindy had been through here not too long ago. Wherever she was, she was nearby, and rage bubbled beneath his skin, the dragon inside him roaring for vengeance and to find its mate posthaste.
Following the scent, he ran down the hallway, glancing through glass doors that led into offices and workplaces but ignoring them as he went to the very end of the corridor. At the end, there was a door with the name “Roscoe” on it, hanging slightly ajar. Just seeing the name now made him livid, and without caring what was behind it, he pulled the door entirely off its hinges, throwing it into the hall as he stepped into the room.
Inside was a large desk with a leather office chair behind it. The room itself was in poor repair, with cracks in the tiles on the floor and chipped paint that revealed broken drywall around and above him.
There was a man in the chair, fingers crossed in front of him. He had pale skin with ruddy cheeks, short brown hair, and a well-trimmed beard, which didn’t obscure the smuggest smile Magnus had ever seen.