Moonlit Feathers by Sarah Makela Page B

stupid for believing that she was hoping to rekindle a lost love, when she'd been so warm and pliant in my arms. Why would she be there with me one moment and getting back with someone else the next minute? That made no sense.
    Of course, it would've been nice if she'd actually talked to me in the first place, but it wasn't her job to assuage my ego and soothe away my surprising jealousy. Now I was afraid I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. The closer I got, the less I heard, until the soft whine of an electric motor and tires squealing down the road ripped through my ears. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I bent at the waist and placed my hands on my hips, staring out at the expensive tan car tearing away. I kicked at the gravel in the driveway and watched several pieces go sailing through the air. I'd fucked up big time.
    How could I help her if I didn't know the first thing about why she’d been taken? I might have been able to follow the car if I'd already been in coyote form and it hadn't been going so damn fast, but by now it was pretty useless. I examined the tire tracks in the road, following them back to the house. Her front door was wide open, and I frowned, heading toward it. Maybe I could find out something if I went inside and looked around.
    The door had been broken open, but the lock was still intact, so she hadn't even locked the door when the attacker had come inside. I ran my hand through my hair, self-loathing washing over me like an ice bath. Inside, it looked like a bomb had gone off in the entryway and living room. She wasn't a big girl, so I couldn't imagine how she'd been able to fend off her kidnapper for so long.
    I found myself trying to get a whiff of her scent lingering in the air. A few strands of her hair, a small blood splatter, and an indentation on the wall told me that she’d defended herself despite everything. My coyote gave a small grin, which I let out to play on my lips. The trivial amount of blood meant that she was most likely alive. Arterial blood sprays were the same regardless of the prey, and they were rarely contained in small areas. No rich, deep bloody scents filled in the air. Instead it was awash with sweat and testosterone. My nose was assaulted by a barrage of unfamiliar smells, but I could pick out a few things that surprised me. One, whoever had been here had been afraid. Their anxiety was obvious in their sweat, which carried an acrid tinge of desperation. Secondly, there was the smell of someone who lingered around magic, and that slight sharpness of tin that older warehouses carried with them. I took a gander around the place and headed for the obvious target, her notes.
    People rarely got kidnapped 'just because.' There was always a reason. Usually, someone the victim once worked or socialized with was involved in some fashion. While I hated violating her workspace, it was one of the better clues I had right now. My coyote wasn’t too happy about it, either. His nose was turned away from the entire process, as if he was trying to avoid a future conflict. Suit yourself. I don't have that luxury . Her notes on the job at hand were the same as what she’d shared with me earlier, with a few details added in. None of it seemed a strong enough motive for kidnapping.
    Taking in my surroundings, I turned my gaze toward the next obvious target—her computer. I wasn't familiar with all the latest and greatest in software, but the basics were the same. My skills would do, because the other option was just unacceptable. I stopped myself in the moment and realized what I was feeling. My coyote had noticed it too. I wasn't just helping someone I was interested in anymore. Instead, my intentions were those of someone protecting a person they cared about.
    With a long shrug, I powered on the computer, ignoring the sense that I was violating yet another aspect of her privacy. If it would help me find her, it didn't matter. The