Till we meet again, Rowan

Chapter 2

The cool air of Moonridge, heavy with the scent of pine and earth, wrapped around the Lunarclaw Pack’s forensic tent like a shroud. Inside, they were still working on me—or what was left of me. Five or six wolves were pulling all-nighters, patching together the mess I’d become.

My mangled body lay on the table, surrounded by scattered remains. The sight was enough to turn anyone's stomach, even a seasoned wolf. Caden, ever calm and calculating, pointed to my torn-apart body.

"Look at this," he muttered, his brow furrowed. "The head’s missing, fingers too, and there’s a chunk gone from the ankle. Someone wanted to make sure she couldn't be recognized."

Rowan stood nearby, silent, his sharp gaze fixed on the chaos but betraying little emotion. He was probably turning it over in his mind—what made those parts different from the rest? His instincts, always razor-sharp, were likely sensing something deeper, something more sinister.

After what felt like an eternity, Rowan finally spoke. "So, who’s our unlucky guest?" His voice was calm, almost detached.

Caden shook his head. "We’ll have to wait for DNA results. No one’s filed a missing wolf report yet, but once they do, we’ll have a lead."

Rowan gave a brief nod, not sparing me more than a quick glance. Was it disgust that kept him from looking too closely? Or maybe it was guilt, buried deep beneath his stoic exterior. After all, this whole nightmare was tied to him, in more ways than one.

~

Later, at a strategy meeting with the pack enforcers, Rowan laid out his latest theory. His eyes gleamed as he connected the dots, his mind working faster than the others could follow.

"I’ve been tracking some patterns," he said, his voice low but commanding the room’s attention. "Similar killings have been popping up in Shadowhollow, just north of our borders. They’ve got their claws in some dark business—gutting wolves, draining them dry, and chopping them to bits. It’s like someone’s making a statement, trying to send a message."

Caden’s ears perked up, his face twisting in disbelief. "Shadowhollow... The rogue packs up there? You think this is their doing?" His voice had a slight edge, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Rowan nodded, the calm certainty in his voice cutting through the room. "It matches their MO—brutality for the sake of power. They’re trying to make a name for themselves, climbing the ranks by terrorizing packs across the region."

Caden wasted no time. "We need to reach out to the Shadowhollow Enforcers. Maybe they can give us some insight, or at least some backup."

After the meeting, a young omega practically bounced beside Rowan, eyes wide with admiration. "Alpha Rowan, you’re amazing! You figured out the next move in, like, no time! No wonder everyone says you’re the best tracker in the pack."

I watched from the shadows, biting back a laugh. If only this kid knew the truth—that Rowan’s sharp mind was only part of the story. Still, his praises rang hollow. Rowan barely acknowledged the compliment with a curt nod. He’d had wolves fawning over him since childhood. It was a game he’d long since tired of.

But just as Rowan was about to walk away, the young omega reached out, plucking something off his jacket.

"Hey, Alpha, wait a sec," the boy said, holding up a long, curly strand of hair, his grin wide and teasing. "Everything good with your mate?"

Rowan’s reaction was immediate, his voice dropping to an icy tone. "None of your business." He snatched the hair from the boy’s hand and shoved it deep into his pocket before stalking off into the night.

The omega stood there, rubbing his nose awkwardly as the Alpha disappeared. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him not to worry about Rowan’s frostiness, but my hand passed right through him.

Besides, that strand of hair wasn’t mine. If the kid had seen my head—wherever it was now—he’d know my hair was short and straight, nothing like that long, curly piece. No, that one belonged to Selene, Rowan’s new flame. The night I died, she’d been curled up next to him, leaving behind a little reminder on his coat.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Even in death, I was haunted by the remnants of their betrayal.