DaCosta.
Fucking bastards just wouldn’t go away.
His fingers gripped the pages and he felt a fire begin in his gut as he read on. There were several words and phrases highlighted. Caracol. Ritual. Cave of the Sun. But one word grabbed at him hard and he hissed when he saw it.
Libby.
He inhaled deeply as his thoughts turned to his brother Jaxon and the woman he loved. What the hell had happened after the sky had opened up and fire had rained down upon them, that night at the DaCosta compound? Did they make it out alive?
Fear of the unknown began to eat at him and Jagger jumped to his feet, suddenly filled with nervous energy and the need to act. Something at the bottom of the bag caught his eye, and he withdrew a small object carved from soft limestone.
It was an eagle, wings spread as if in flight, and there were markings on the bottom of it. The piece looked extremely old and well used, maybe a small toy for a child. He put it back along with the mess of papers and clipped the bag shut.
He stood there, lost in thought for several long moments, and then turned abruptly, bag in hand. His body reacted to what his mind was commanding and the cat purred with joy. He exited the cave once more and leapt over the water, making his way down the ledge that led to the second waterfall below. Before he’d cleared the bottom, mist had enveloped his body, and it was no longer that of a human male but a large black jaguar that swam across the water and emerged on the other side.
Jagger clutched the satchel in his mouth, turning his head to the sky, trying to catch a whiff of her scent. It was elusive, and he shook his head, clearly puzzled. His powerful paws made quick work of the muddy banks and he made it to higher ground before the smallest touch of her grabbed him.
He began following the trail and felt excitement pound through his body. Her essence was tantalizing and the cat growled from deep in his chest before he disappeared into the thick stand of trees that lined the water.
The next four hours proved to be somewhat of a chore for Jagger; he wasn’t used to hunting something that he couldn’t seem to find. Her scent kept disappearing and then reappearing as the wind picked up. It was confusing, but carefully he tracked her, wandering miles from what had become his territory, and the ridge changed as he left the thick pine forests far behind him and traveled lower, down into the heart of the jungle.
Here, he picked a path through the thick, lush underbelly, his heavy paws silent as his body slid through dense greenery. The jungle was so much a part of who and what he was, he felt his spirit soar.
He knew he wasn’t far from the massive Mayan ruins in Caracol and he swung east as her scent continued to tease. It lingered just out of reach and drove him mad with the desire to find her.
What the hell he was going to do when he eventually did get his paws on her was another story, but he’d invested too much time and energy to just let it go at this point.
The sun was high in the azure blue sky, and he felt the heat of her rays filtering through the canopy high above him. He was just about to cross a small stream, when out of nowhere a new scent drifted over him, one that immediately brought to the surface the aggressive nature that was the jaguar.
He began to pant as it washed over him, his body quivering in anticipation. His mind recognized the testosterone-laden body signatures that were unique to his kind, and he stilled his trembling frame, trying to find its source.
It took only a few seconds, but he knew he was in close proximity to a large gathering of jaguar shifters. He sensed another scent that was unusual and felt his heart speed up as he realized it was very close to the mystery woman’s signature.
Had she been taken?
Quickly he circled back, up a large hill, using the dense jungle for cover. He was downwind from their encampment, and as of yet sensed no other predators in the immediate vicinity.
Faint voices could be heard traveling up from below and Jagger homed in on them, but he realized that they could still be miles away. Quickly he started following them, and a half hour later he slowed to a crawl, his senses on high alert as his nose twitched impatiently.
He kept his body low to the ground and moved forward quietly, surprised that no guards had been posted so close to camp. As he nudged closer, he realized it was because there were at least twenty soldiers present, several bearing the tattoos that proclaimed their elite warrior status.
He settled in to listen and to observe, pushing the bolt of excitement to the back of his mind, knowing he needed to play it cool and smart, or else his life could be on the line.
A large male, clearly the one in charge, was pacing about, nervous energy clinging to his heavily muscled frame. He, too, bore the warrior tattoos, but they were unfamiliar to Jagger.
He grumbled softly as he continued to study the large man, not liking the fact that he was so outnumbered. To be discovered would mean certain death.
Abruptly the leader stopped, as a new player entered the camp from the opposite direction. He was panting heavily, his body dripping in sweat and trembling from exertion.
“Where are they?”
The newcomer took a few more seconds to catch his breath and the large male growled loudly, his stance aggressive as he quickly crossed over to where the panting warrior stood.
“They’re dead.”
The tall leader bellowed his rage, and his fists flew out into the chest of the bearer of such bad news, and both of them snarled as they began to shimmer, and mist fell upon their bodies. The rest of the pack stood back, most of them looking bored, as if the battle waged before them was an everyday occurrence.