My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Tagged for life by drinking water on pack land. Graeme growled to himself. "What do we do about it?" he asked Penelope.

"Well, I suppose you could deactivate the map," she gave him a mischievous smile.

"It's as easy as that?"

"Probably not," she chuckled.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well your pack is where the server and everything is located, but even if it were deactivated, someone else would find a way to restart it again. That's all it would take. It's widespread. There are many invested in that project," she explained as she continued scouring the room and removing August's belongings.

"What is it for?" he asked.

"For tracking their witches," she laughed humorlessly, as if it were obvious.

"And then what? What do they do when they know where they are?" he asked seriously.

"It depends on the pack," she replied. "For some it means constant monitoring, increased suspicion, sometimes even imprisonment… things like that. For others it means more drastic measures." She went quiet at this and focused on her work.

"They kill them?" Graeme growled.

"Sometimes," she replied quietly.

"Who has access?" he asked.

"I don't know the answer to that. That boils down to pack politics. Those who are allied love the idea of having information that other packs don't, as they believe that gives them some kind of upper hand should they need it."

"What else do I need to know about this?" he stopped what he was doing and turned to her.

"You should know that your pack is the worst," she said with a straight face.

"The worst?" he repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"What do you think I mean by that?" she met his eyes, willing him to understand without her having to put it into words.

"We haven't had any alyko in the pack since they were all killed together with Maggie," he scrunched his face in confusion.

She didn't reply. Instead she returned to what she was doing stuffing things in boxes.

"Penelope," he called.

"You can call me Penny," she responded.

"Penny," he grabbed her arm to make her face him. "If there is something happening that I can stop, tell me, please. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."

"You'll stop it. You don't need me to tell you," she answered cryptically.

"Stop speaking in riddles. Just tell me what to do," he countered.

"Okay, let me ask you a question," she said, and he groaned.

"You can't just tell me?" he asked.

"Being given all the answers you seek is not always the best way for things to unfold," she tried to explain. "Are there disappearances of any kind in your pack? Disappearances can take many forms," she added.

The first thought that came to his mind was Marius disappearing, but he knew the cause of that.

"Runaways," he growled. "Fuck," he raked his hands through his hair before running them down his face.

He thought of how upset Greta had gotten at Sylvia's the other night. She was saying how the council wasn't taking Livvy's disappearance seriously and that they weren't helping to solve the mystery surrounding it. His eyes started burning with hot tears and he growled again.

"Goddess, I can't believe this," he started pacing the floor.

"Graeme?" Penelope called, trying to draw his attention. "Here is the problem. You have a glimpse. Have you ever tried to untie a really complicated bunch of knots that are all tangled together?" she hurried on in this explanation, because she could tell she was losing him to his anger.

"You can't just pull on that one knot. It's a mess. It's complicated, and you have to look at the larger ball of knots—try to figure out the larger picture—before you can untangle everything. Does that make sense?"

"I can't sit back and do nothing!" he roared.

"That's not what I'm saying. But before you accuse the elders or anyone in your council—before you take this to them in any form, you need to see the larger knot. This is all very delicate," she tried to explain.

"Your runaways are alive," she rushed, and he finally turned to listen. "They're alive. Andreas thinks he's tough and that he's in control, but he's a coward, Graeme," she said. "He's always been a coward."

"How do you know all of this?" he growled at her.

"I just do," she said apologetically. "I just do."

"Fuck," he repeated, turning around again. "I have to get out of here and get back to them."

His heart clenched realizing how he had left them—not just now, but all this time. He had left his pack all of this time in the hands of those old hateful men. What was the extent of the damage over the years? How many innocent lives had been ruined or lost?

Graeme grabbed August's belongings before leaving without another word.

"Remember what I said. Trust your mate, Graeme!" Penelope called down the stairs after him and groaned when he didn't respond.

Graeme didn't bother with the kitchen window. He walked right out the back door in August's sheet with a box under one arm and a pillow under the other. How could he have been so blind to all of this? And what else was he not seeing?

It would take hours to get back home to them. Once he was at the car, he tossed August's things in the back and reached for his phone. He needed to know that everyone was okay.

He dialed August first, but the call failed to connect. By the time he was dialing Greta, his heart was in his throat. The call to Greta was also failing to connect. Oh Goddess, please let them be all right, he prayed and started the car.

With his hand gripping the wheel, he closed his eyes and thought about what Penelope had said. He had to trust his mate. He took a deep breath. August was fae, and she was powerful. She hadn't developed that power yet, but she was capable and he had to trust her.

He had to focus and try to sense whether or not she needed him right now. Their mate bonds should tell him what he couldn't verify over the phone. He searched deep within those parts of himself that she had flooded with her own being for any indication that she was in trouble.

When he found what felt like a calm river running through his center, he reached out and stroked it with his thoughts—trying to pluck a string in their gentle rapids that would reach all the way to her. Almost instantly, he felt that same string reverberate back to him and stroke something inside his chest lovingly.

He sighed in relief and pinched his eyes with his fingers to keep from crying. "I love you, August," he sobbed into the air. "I'm coming home, my love."

He would board a fucking plane--to hell with worrying about what the elders thought.. But first he needed to take his anger out on someone, and he knew just what someones that would be.