9. Ryan

Chapter nine

Ryan

B rock's property was nestled in a secluded section of forest, hidden from prying eyes. I had taken Derek, Mason, Sam, Rafael and Ava with me. Ava was decisive, cool under pressure and didn't stand any crap from others. Rafael was the joker of the Renegades, always quick to laugh and tease, but when needed, he proved to be serious and deadly. Both her and Rafael were werewolves we could trust.

Despite Sam's scouting report, asserting the area appeared deserted, I knew better than to lower our guard. In dealing with Brock, complacency was not an option.

As we neared the clearing that housed Brock's property, I signaled for a halt. The tree line provided a natural cover, allowing us a moment to check it out. Mist clung to the ground, creating a ghostly veil that partially obscured the house and barn. Their shapes loomed, spectral and foreboding, as if emerging from a dream.

"Perimeter's clear," Sam whispered, his gaze sweeping the dense tree line, ears straining for any sound out of place .

Mason, standing a step behind, only had eyes for the target. "Two main buildings—the house and the barn. We'll need to be thorough, check every possible hiding spot." His voice was a low murmur, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

"Derek," I turned to face them, "you're with me. We'll take the house."

Derek's response was a simple jerk of his chin.

"Mason, Sam, cover the barn." I glanced at them, noting the subtle shift in their stance, ready for action.

"Ava, Rafael, guard our backs. Make sure no-one sneaks up on us while we're inside." I looked at each of them in turn. "And remember, stay sharp. Brock's never been one to leave things to chance."

Splitting up was risky, but it doubled our speed while minimizing our exposure. We'd sweep each building simultaneously, converge on any discoveries, and get the hell out. A clean, surgical strike.

Rafael and Ava vanished into the ghostly mist, their silhouettes quickly swallowed by the morning fog. Mason and Sam were next, their footsteps muffled, as they moved towards the barn, a fusion of stealth and strength.

Derek and I approached the house, our boots crunching softly on the gravel pathway, the sound jarring in the predawn stillness. The house loomed before us, an unassuming structure cloaked in the morning fog. It had a wooden exterior, once painted in what must have been a bright blue but now faded by the elements. Vines crept up one side, nature's fingers trying to reclaim what man had placed here.

My hand reached for the door, cool against my skin. I slipped into that dark place in my mind I went to on missions, my senses sharpened, and my movements controlled, deliberate. Derek gave a curt nod; he was ready.

Inside, the house was a canvas of minimalism and neglect. The living room, small and confined, melded seamlessly into a cramped kitchen. The air was stale, the scent of disuse heavy. A faint, underlying odor of mold lingered. I inhaled deeply, sifting through the layers of smells for anything out of place, any hint of Jem.

Sparse furnishings dotted the space—a threadbare sofa, a coffee table marred with rings from forgotten cups, a small box television.

Derek and I moved in sync, our footsteps silent on the wooden floor. My eyes scanned every inch, every corner.

We moved to the kitchen. Its counters were clear, save for a few utensils and a lone, dusty kettle. My eyes lingered on a small kitchen knife, its blade catching the dim light.

Derek, a few steps behind, paused to examine the countertop, running his finger along the surface.

"Too clean," he muttered, almost to himself. His observation was spot on; the kettle was dusty, but the countertop was immaculate, hinting at a deliberate attempt to erase some traces. But of what?

Room by room, we continued our search. The bedrooms were unremarkable, their beds empty and disused. Closets stood bare, a few hangers swaying slightly as we passed by. The air here was cooler, the scent sterile and controlled, as if someone had gone to great lengths to leave no trace behind.

"Nothing," Derek said, his voice echoing my own frustration. We moved back through the house in silence, each step heavier than the last .

Outside, the early morning light had begun to chase away the shadows, revealing the reality of our situation. The property, once a beacon of hope in our search for Jem, now felt like a barren wasteland of disappointment.

Sam and Mason appeared from the direction of the barn. Their expressions were grim, and it was clear they had no better news than we did.

"The barn's clear," Sam reported. "No sign of Brock or Jem. No traces, no scents. I don't know if either of them have ever even been here."

Mason, usually the stoic one, allowed a rare flicker of annoyance to cross his features. "We checked every stall, every loft, every nook and cranny. Nothing. If Jem was here, there's no evidence left. No scent either."

Fuck! I was going to have to break the news to Mai. I knew I told her not to get her hopes up, but our bond told me she was desperate that we would find Jem.

"We'll search the house again," I ordered. "Look for anything—papers, receipts, phones, anything that could give us a clue to Brock's whereabouts."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I dragged it out. Unknown number. Okay, I'll play. I hit the answer button.

"Who is this?"

"Ryan Shaw, this is Kara Adelaide, Alpha of the Cocrane Pack."

I paused. I'd met Kara when I'd gone to the Cocrane Pack searching for Mai after Seth had kidnapped her. Kara and Ajak, the Alphas, had refused to help me find them, but after I left the meeting Kara had sent a girl after me who had given me an idea of where to look. The tip had been right, and I'd reached Mai just in time. I'd gotten the impression that Kara had been fond of Mai when Mai lived with the Cocrane Pack.

"Kara, this is a surprise."

"I wanted to congratulate you on becoming Alphas of the Three Rivers Pack. I trust Mai is well?"

"Mai is doing great, thank you."

"Please tell Mai that I am sorry about what happened with Seth."

"If you text me a number, I can give it to Mai and you can tell her yourself."

Mai had told me that she liked Kara. If she was ready to talk to her, it would be good for Mai to have more friends. Someone she could talk to about this whole Alpha thing.

"I would appreciate that. However, that is not the reason I'm calling."

"Oh?"

"The Cocrane Pack would like to enter into a no-hostilities pact with the Three Rivers Pack. We harbor no ill feelings about the death of our Packmate, Seth. It was a righteous kill."

Well, that was a surprise. A no-hostilities pact meant that both Packs would guarantee not to attack the other. Sometimes it was the first step toward a full alliance, where each Pack would support and aid each other, and pledge to defend the other Pack if it was attacked.

"That's an interesting offer, Kara. I will need to discuss it with my mate."

"Of course. That brings me to another piece of news. As I'm sure you are aware, Michael and Camille of the Bridgetown Pack sent Korrin home to us after he interfered in your challenge to be Alphas of the Three Rivers. As punishment, I am letting you know that Korrin, along with eight of our wolves that were with him, have been officially banished from our Pack. Their Pack bonds have been destroyed. His interference with your Alpha challenge went against all our Shifter laws."

Fuck! This call wasn't about offering a pact. This was about covering their own asses. Kara was telling me that Korrin was in the wind. I knew Kara and Ajak would punish Korrin, but I had thought that punishment would be within their Pack and they would keep a tight leash on him from now on. By banishing Korrin, he could do anything, be anywhere. And Kara wanted to make sure that there was no blowback on her Pack.

"Can we expect an attack?" I asked, my voice hard.

Kara paused. "Korrin is still…upset at the death of his son. He is passionate, should I say, about revenge."

Great. This was just what we needed right now.

"I appreciate you letting me know."

"Be careful, Ryan. And protect Mai."

She hung up before I could reply.

I pocketed the phone and walked into the house. I should have killed Korrin when we had the chance. He'd tried to ambush us on our way back from our first meeting with Ronnie Bishop. He'd managed to ram our car off the road and in the ensuring fight, Sam and Mason had been badly hurt. Thomas had had to put Sam into a coma for a few days while he healed. I'd fought Korrin and broken his leg. I should have killed him, but Mai didn't want to kill a man when he was defeated and couldn't fight back. Or maybe it was because she and I had killed Korrin's son. Did she feel guilty? She had nothing to feel guilty about. Seth was psychotic. He would have killed her.

"Ryan, check this out."

Derek's voice snapped me back to the present. He stood in the office, a neatly arranged room with a desk dominating the space. The desk was clear apart from a computer resting on top, its screen glowing softly in the dim room. Derek turned the screen so we could all see.

Brock's smug face was on it, his eyes gleaming with malice. Derek hit play and Brock's voice came out of the speakers. "Looking for something?"

His voice, dripping with condescension, sent a ripple of anger through me. He was taunting us, playing games with Mai's feelings and Jem's life as if they were nothing but pawns in his twisted agenda.

"You really thought it would be this easy?" Brock continued, his smirk widening. "You've got a lot to learn. If you want Jem, you know what you have to do. Time's ticking."

Mason's hand squeezed my shoulder. "We'll find him," he said firmly, though I could hear the doubt lurking beneath. "There's still time."

I wanted to believe him, to find solace in his assurance. But the reality was that Brock had outsmarted us. Again. And now Jem's life hung in the balance, if he was even alive. This could all be a ruse by Brock to fuck with us and keep us off-kilter. To fuck with Mai's emotions and draw out her grief. Brock had given Mai hope, and now I had to go home and crush it.