The closer Camden got to the house, the more he agreed with Farrell’s assessment that it was currently empty. There should have been some sound—even if only that of a TV. But the only things to be heard were the rustling of grass and the bird calls coming from the forest.
Tate led the way as they clambered up the rickety porch. The front door wasn’t locked, so it was easy to slip inside and close it behind them. They paused, listening for signs of life, but there was none. Many scents laced the air—wood, ash, coffee, polar bear. And not just any polar bear.
“Wayland,” said Aspen, her nostrils flaring.
Bailey nodded. “I smell him.”
“Then we were right to come here,” said Tate. “Havana and I will scope out the left side of the building. You three do a tour of the right side.” With that, the Alphas disappeared.
Camden stayed in front as he, Aspen, and Bailey wandered through the living area. It was plain to see that the place was occupied. Muddy boots were near the wall. A jacket had been slung on a chair. A half-empty mug sat on the coffee table.
In the dining room, they found a laptop on the circular table. Bailey immediately took a seat. “Let’s see if I can log into this baby.”
Leaving the mamba to it, Camden and Aspen continued exploring the house. Walking into one room, they both came to a halt.
“Oh, hell,” said Aspen. “It’s like a damn shrine.”
Camden was just thinking the same thing. Pictures of LaToya were tacked to the wall from floor to ceiling, making it look like a collage of sorts. A dresser stood in front of it, and dozens of items littered the surface. Perfumes. A hairbrush. Cosmetics. A set of keys. Romance books. An empty vase. They were no doubt LaToya’s old things, and Camden deeply suspected he’d find more of her belongings if he was to search the drawers.
Crossing to the wall, Camden saw that some of the photos featured both LaToya and Wayland. The polar was never smiling, no matter how tightly he was snuggled against his mate, but his brown eyes were warm. There was such peace there.
On that fateful night she died, there had been nothing in Wayland’s eyes—they’d remained empty even when he later hissed accusations at Camden, blaming him for her death. Maybe that was how the polar felt without her. Empty.
Camden glanced down at Aspen, the only thing that brought him any contentment, and knew he’d be the walking dead if he lost her. Lines of sorrow creased her face as she stared at the wall. She pitied the polar. Maybe even felt a hint of compassion—Camden couldn’t quite tell. It wasn’t an emotion he could recall ever experiencing. He couldn’t find any within him now either.
“There’s not a single picture that doesn’t feature LaToya,” said Aspen. “I thought there might be a few of the mate he lost when he was a boy.”
Camden shrugged. “Maybe he has a whole other wall dedicated to her.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “Let’s go see how Bailey’s getting along.”
Camden turned toward the door. And his entire body went still. “Well, well, well.”
Aspen spun, and he heard her gasp.
More photos were tacked to the wall they now faced. None were of LaToya or Wayland. Nor were they of a child who might have been the guy’s true mate.
“Most are of you,” said Aspen as they crossed to the wall. “They’re fairly recent. He’s been watching you for months now. Noting your habits and routines, I’m guessing.”
Camden ground his teeth when his gaze landed on a group of pictures. His tiger rumbled a deep growl. “The son of a bitch printed out some of your social media photos.”
Tracking his gaze, Aspen squinted. “They’re from the accounts I closed. You think maybe he was my internet troll?”
Camden felt a muscle in his cheek flex. “Yeah, I do. It didn’t fit with Julius’s character. But Wayland? He wouldn’t need to see your reaction in order to get a kick out of what he was doing.”
“So you think it is Wayland who’s been doing all these things? He’s out for revenge.”
“It would seem so.”
Hearing the murmur of the Alpha pair’s voices, she and Camden returned to the dining room. The couple stood behind Bailey, whose fingers were flying over the laptop keys.
Tate looked from Aspen to Camden. “The other side of the house is empty.”
“There’s no one here other than us, then,” said Aspen. “And it’s looking seriously likely that Wayland’s our guy.” She told them about the shrine and pictures, which pulled a string of curses out of Havana. Aspen turned to Bailey. “Anything interesting on the laptop?”
The mamba spared her a quick look. “I checked out his internet search history. It seemed that he paid visits to the SHFT website. He also did a lot of research on Camden’s old pride, checking out those websites that humans have dedicated to shifters. He did try searching for stuff on the Olympus Pride, too, but there’s nothing to find. As far as humans know, pallas cat shifters don’t exist.”