Traded To The Lycan King



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I squat down next to the ash where a fire had been, placing my hand above it to feel for heat. With my good arm, I reach out, my fingers digging into the cold ash as I lift it and let it fall. I frown at the soot, my eyes scanning the rest of the area, what glimmer of excitement I had leaches from me. Could it be him? Was the bastard this fucking close, and we missed him?

"Do you think it was him?" Dean asks, coming up behind me, watching my every move as if he will be clued into what might be going through my head.

How the fuck should I know if it was truly Ezrah? Other than the weird ass little nest next to a body sized patch of pressed leaves, I can't definitively say that it was or wasn't him or not. Now, do I believe it was him? Yes. But again, that pesky little thing called proof seems to elude me more often than not.

"Hard to say." I mutter, exhaling my disappointment, only to breathe in curiosity when I see Kyra tilting her head in total silence and surveying the

area.

"Shouldn't she be the one sticking her hands in the dirt and shit? Trying to smell it or something?" Nisha asks. I shift my eyes toward her, watching her glare at Kyra, who does nothing but look like she is staring off into space.

"I don't need to stick my hand in dirt to know it's been four days since they were here." Kyra looks at us, her face unreadable as she saunters to the center of the small camp, her body coming within inches of mine before she turns and points at the grass.

"The leaves, though slightly pressed, are rising off the ground. New life is growing beneath them, meaning there has not been pressure on it in days. The ash isn't loose or easily disturbed, meaning it got wet. Not just a drizzling of a canteen on it, but a day or two worth of rain and then a day or two of solid dry weather." She pauses.

"There were storms ahead of our departure," Marcos says with a sly grin as he watches Kyra with ogling eyes I want to gouge out.

"What? Worried you can't track him with that much time between now and then?" Nisha goads.

Kyra remains calm, stepping up to the little nest before she kneels down and reaches in it, her hand touching everything and her fingers gently caressing the little bed. Then she lifts three different leaves to her nose, before she places two back.

After a second she turns to her left, searching the bedding for others, and repeats the process only to frown and sniff the one in her hand again. She sneezes and then her body shakes as she stands abruptly and takes three steps back. Kyra's eyes water, tears streaming down her cheeks as she groans and rubs her face with her hands, leaf still in her grip.

"I need water." She hisses, her arm extending out in search of help. "Now!"

My hand fumbles to find my canteen as I move to her side, trying like hell to get the cap off, but my fingers don't do what I tell them, my dumb nerves slowing me down as Marcos gently steps in with his water, open and ready to help her.

"Lean your head back," he says, cupping the back of her head with one hand. His voice too soft, too nice.

He never speaks to any of us like that. Hell majority of the time he is just as grumpy and scowl-y as the rest of us. But I know it's attraction to her, his inability to not seize any opportunity to be close to her no matter what. It is wildly inappropriate.

"Ezrah knows what he is doing," Kyra grits out, Marcos' hands cup her face next as his water jug falls to his waist on its string. His uniformed, unburned and unmangled thumbs brush her eyes gently, tenderly rubbing along her freckles and cheeks.

I swallow the rise of annoyance and anger in my throat, looking away, placing my hands on my hips. It is impossible to watch him treat her so gingerly when I can't. Not that I want to, but still. His overbearing attachment to her grates on my nerves.

"Can you open your eyes?" Marcos asks, and a tiny prickle of panic makes me look at her. Is she seriously injured?

"No, it burns,” she whispers, her voice croaking as she tries to mask the pain. Marcos looks down at her, his face mere inches from Kyra's, as he tries to glimpse her face up close. He purses his lips, gently blowing on her eyelids.

"What does blowing on her eyelids do?" I scoff, but he ignores me.

“I think he sprinkled the area with something to mask his scent.” Kyra says, wincing as she pulls away from Marcos.

"Oh, how convenient." Nisha gripes and I finally look at the jealous werewolf, tired of her constant shitty attitude toward Kyra.

"Nisha, shut the fuck up." I demand.

Her eyes go wide in surprise as I stare her down. A flicker of disappointment fades into embarrassment as she clears her throat and looks away. She finds Koda, and like a dog with its tail between its legs, she hurries to his side, tucking into him.

"I'm fine." Kyra says, the relief in her voice clear as she blinks, her eyes watering profusely. "It feels like I ran into a wall of pepper spray but, I don't think there is any real damage."

"What else do you need to do before we leave this site?" I ask her.

"Nothing." She shrugs.

My brows pull together in doubt and I can sense I am not the only one surprised by her statement.

"Forgive me for asking this but, don't you need to look around more?" Marcos asks, out of curiosity.

Kyra gives a halfhearted chuckle as she wipes at her tear covered cheeks, her eyes red and puffy and yet...yet I can't seem to bring myself to look away from her.

"He is covering his tracks well. Which means any other clues are gone. The fact that he has something and lays it over the areas he has been makes me inclined to think he assumes you have trackers." She explains.

"I mean, now we do." Koda says flatly. "But what good are you if he is able to thwart your so-called abilities?"

Nisha smiles up at him, rewarding Koda for his offensive words with a soft hum and a flirty gaze.

"A regular tracker would be useless." She says with a frown.

"Ah, but you aren't a regular tracker," Marcos says with a wink, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

"I hate to sound overconfident, but you are right. I am not your average tracker." She says, looking around. "Tyler was the best tracker, not because of his nose or his eyes. But his ability to feel the area.”

"And you are...feeling...the area?" Dean asks, his lips tilted down, and a brow popped in question.

She chuckles and then shrugs.

"I am assessing, Dean." She explains. "It's not about what I see but what I DON'T see that I am taking in,"

“And what is it you don't see?” I ask, curious enough to speak up.

l.n

"I don't see anything left behind, and he left a little gift for your tracker, which means we are far enough behind him that he is comfortable and not in a rush. But that also. means that he is beginning to feel some pressure as he is hiding his scent. So congratulations on selecting the correct path until now. Dumb luck is still luck, I suppose."

My lip twitches at the corners, the faintest of smiles emerging.

"How are you so sure it's Ezrah, though, and not someone else? And how do we know we are going in the right direction, moving forward?" Dean asks, curious.

Kyra holds up the leaf in her hand,

twisting its stem as it goes in quick circles between her fingers. A beautiful smile grows wider on her lips until she meets my eyes, a fire burning in them like I have never seen in her before.

"This leaf was missed. What ever he placed around, he missed this tiny little thing," she says brightly. "I can smell the scent of the egg. Whatever is inside of that egg is something I have never smelled before, not quite dragon, not quite something else."

"So she uses her nose too," Nisha mutters. I whip a glare at her and she turns away into Koda's chest.

“Ezrah doesn't realize that the egg already has a scent." Kyra says with a winning smile. "So we aren't tracking him anymore. We are tracking the

egg."

My mouth goes dry as I realize all those cries to the heavens, all those angered ranting sessions begging for reprieve or some direction, have just been answered.

All in the shape of a beautiful, fiery-haired ex-best friend. And I'm not sure if I should thank the heavens or curse them because as much as I want to die, I don't think I want her to be around when it happens.