Page 18 of Wolf’s Fated Bride

Aman dressed in a brown suit floats, face down, in the pool of natural hot water inside the cave. Steam rises from the surface of the water. The dim lighting adds to the horrifying atmosphere.

“He was like this when we got here, we swear!” the redhead cries. She’s the one who screamed. I recognized her voice.

Even though I’m certain I’m too late, I jump in and swim to reach the man, then flip him over. Death is clear in Peter’s blue-and-gray face and unfocused gaze. I pull down his eyelids.

I carry him out, then lay his body on the cave floor at the edge of the baths before I climb out. Judging by the look of him, he’s been deceased for hours.

“He’s dead.” I stand over him. Damn it.

“It looks like he drank and drowned,” the redheaded girl says. “That’s his stuff over there.” She points at the bench behind me.

I pick up Peter’s brown bag, the one he’s carried since I first met him, and sniff it. After a quick mental sort through the scents, I identify nothing unusual. Peter didn’t bring his bag with him last night to the celebration, or I’d have smelled anyone else who rubbed against the bag as they passed him.

An empty liquor bottle lies discarded next to his bag. I pick it up and sniff out whiskey along with Peter’s saliva. I shove the bottle into his bag. “Discreetly,” I say to the pair of females awaiting orders. “Find Blade and tell him to keep everyone away from here, including the guards. Then find Sören and tell him in private what happened. You are not to involve any humans. Understood?”

The females nod.

“I can’t hear you,” I say.

“Yes, Alpha.” They scurry out of the cave.

“You can go now too,” I tell Runa.

“I’m staying.”

“I need to investigate.”

“Under my supervision, wolf. This is a serious crime, and I need to be sure my pack is represented while you investigate.”

She thinks I’ll plant something or otherwise compromise the scene, which looks like either suicide or an accident.

“As you wish.” I reach behind me and pull off my shirt, toss it on the ground, then strip out of my jeans. Runa’s eyes flash hazel, telling me her biological response to me is strong.

Swallowing, she turns away. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I did. You insisted on staying.” My bones glide over each other as I re-form into a wolf so I can investigate, since my nose is far more sensitive in my animal form than in my bipedal one. First, I scent the air and sort out the different odors. Fresh water, subtle detergent from the towels, and death.

I stick my nose in the bag and come away with whiskey, herbs, metals, and potions. Ink from the letter in the enclosed envelope. I sniff Peter’s body, particularly his fingers, where he might’ve scratched something or someone who forced him into the pool, but nothing unusual returns.

I sniff around the pool, cataloging the footsteps and noticing only a few I already recognize. Since housekeeping arrived this morning, the cave had been scrubbed before they came. I’ll confirm with my men if any of them bathed here yesterday and scrubbed the floor, but that’s unlikely. Besides, I’d recognize their scents.

There’s something else. My front paw hurts. I walk over to Runa and lift my front paw. Look at my paw.

When Runa stares straight ahead with her shoulders pulled back and her posture rigid, I whine, hoping that will put her more at ease. I need her to see my paw. There’s something on it.

I growl when she does nothing.

Our eyes meet.

Hers are completely hazel.

An aroused omega signals her interest by displaying hazel eyes, a biological response reserved for an alpha male and an omega picked out as a possible mate. The omega first shows interest in an alpha male before the alpha pursues the female. In other packs, an alpha male could pursue a female regardless of the omega’s biological signals, such as the eye color change or the “inviting.”

But not in my pack.

In my territory, it is a crime punishable by harrowing to pursue an omega who shows no interest. The Harrow Law is designed to protect our most vulnerable wolves: omega females. The law came after my mother found my fourteen-year-old sister dead in a field without her pants on.

Growling, I shake my head.