Free Web NovelChapter 379: Chapter 379 Tracks In The Pines
Jax POV
The forest always tells the truth first.
People lie, wards lie, even magic lies if you layer it carefully enough, but the ground remembers weight, and pine needles remember pressure, and scent never quite forgets intent, no matter how clever someone thinks they’ve been, and I move through it all without sound, following Lizzy the way I’ve been following her for days now.
Patient, unremarkable and invisible.
She moves like someone who believes she’s already won, not reckless, but careless in the way that comes from certainty, her path looping and doubling back just enough to feel clever without actually shaking anyone who knows how to listen to land instead of footsteps.
I let her think it’s working.
The courier meets her near a shallow ravine where the wards thin and the terrain breaks line of sight, and I settle into shadow without breaking stride, lens already rolling, aura capture active, sound dampened to a whisper that records everything without announcing itself.
They don’t greet each other. That’s the first tell.
Lizzy paces instead, tight circles, boots scuffing needles, her scent sharp and uneven even at this distance, frustration and fear bleeding through the arrogance she tries so hard to wear like armor.
"You said it would be done," she snaps, voice low but brittle. The courier stiffens, shoulders squaring reflexively.
"It is. Mostly." Mostly is never good.
He hands her a sealed packet instead of a data slate, and I narrow my focus, catching the sigil etched faintly into the wax, not one I recognize from Blue Ridge, older, sloppier, confident in its obscurity.
Interesting.
Lizzy’s fingers curl tight around it, knuckles whitening, and for a second she looks less like a would-be Luna and more like someone who knows she’s running out of room to maneuver.
They part quickly after that, no lingering, no reassurance exchanged, and I don’t follow the courier this time, because the packet tells me more than his route ever will, and my job isn’t to intervene, it’s to confirm.
I peel away and head for Blue Ridge at speed, letting the forest swallow me again.
The border recognizes me the moment I cross it, magic brushing my skin with familiarity instead of resistance, and I clock the change immediately, the way the wards hum tighter than they should, the low, coiled urgency threaded through the land itself.
Something already happened.
Then I feel her.
Abigail’s aura structure is unmistakable once you’ve encountered it up close, disciplined layers wrapped around lethal precision, sharp as a blade hidden in silk, and the moment it brushes my awareness I slow and open a channel.
’Abigail,’ I mindlink quietly. ’I don’t know what you are doing here, but I guess it must be because of main bitch Lizzy and her misfits. Can we help?’ ƒreewebɳovel.com
’Willow is here as well?’
"Maybe. I’m close enough to feel your aura, so..’
’Where.’
I link coordinates to our meeting point without commentary.
By the time I reach the meeting point, tension hangs so thick it tastes metallic, the kind of restraint that’s been forced into place because anything less would already be violence, and Abigail is there with Queen Kiara and the triplets, all of them braced, expressions carved into control rather than calm.
Abigail takes one look at me and arches an eyebrow.
"What the fuck are you doing here."
"Working," I reply easily, the smirk slipping out despite the mood. "Try to contain your excitement." Kiara snorts, sharp and humorless.
"Of course it’s you."
None of them waste time.
"Allison’s been taken," Ethan says flatly, and the way he says it tells me exactly how close he is to tearing the forest down to bedrock. "Lizzy and my father are implicated. We’ve noticed Councilmembers Harlan and Maren are missing and are suspicious."
I nod once, absorbing it, the pieces aligning cleanly with what I already saw.
"That tracks," I say. "Rogue movement patterns too organized for opportunists. There’s a camp within the deep forest, west-northwest. I clocked increased traffic two nights ago and flagged it as staging."
One triplet’s jaw tightens and another’s eyes go glacial.
"Lizzy’s courier handed her resources," I add. "Not instructions. Someone’s funding this, not directing it."
Kiara swears, vicious and unfiltered, the sound cutting through the air like a blade.
I don’t linger for debate, I promise to keep them updated on my findings and shift into my panther form.
The panther flows through me without resistance, bones realigning, muscle compressing into power and silence, senses sharpening until the world breaks into layers of scent, sound, and heat, and I drop low, paws barely disturbing the forest floor as I cut a wide arc toward the rogue camp.
’Willow,’ I mindlink as I move. ’Change of priorities. Fox Princess has been taken. I’m scouting.’
Her response comes back immediately, a deep, delighted laugh threading through the link.
’Finally. Something worth the effort.’
The camp sits in a shallow basin ringed by old growth, crude but effective, wards stitched together with more confidence than skill, fires banked low, guards rotating in patterns that tell me they believe they’re hidden rather than protected.
They aren’t.
I settle into shadow at the perimeter and let Meadow go still, becoming another absence among trees and rock, cataloging without urgency.
Guard count, rotation timing and blind spots where arrogance replaces coverage.
Then I feel it. A foreign aura.
New and threaded wrong.
Meadow stills completely, every instinct sharpening into focus, and a low purr vibrates through our chest, recognition lighting something predatory and pleased.
There, at the center of the camp, they’ve chained her.
I can feel it without seeing her yet, suppressive magic humming like a badly tuned instrument, crude restraints layered by people who understand force but not nuance, designed to block rather than bind properly.
Amateurs.
The aura wrapped around her isn’t frantic, it’s controlled. Contained and patient.
’They’ve underestimated her,’ Meadow links, satisfaction threading the words. ’Severely.’
If they think a fox like Allison Grey stays caged by something this sloppy, they deserve what’s coming.
We creep closer, careful not to test the wards yet, peering into the heart of the camp, and there she is, chained but upright, eyes open, posture composed in a way that tells me everything I need to know.
She’s awake, she’s aware, and she’s choosing not to burn the place down yet.
Smart girl.
I don’t intervene, not now.
Instead, I memorize.
The cellar entrance hidden beneath a false floor. The way guards avoid the chains, superstition threading their movements. The exact cadence of footsteps near her holding area and the subtle fluctuations in her aura as she probes the enchantments without triggering alarms.
She’s buying time, and buying time only works if someone spends it well.
’Abby,’ I mindlink quietly. ’I have eyes on the rogue camp. Location will come to you in a bit. Allison is alive. Restrained, but stable.’ The pause that follows is short but loaded.
Then her reply snaps back, tight and razor-edged.
’Her mates are not going to like waiting.’
’They shouldn’t,’ I answer. ’But tell them to stay back. For now she’s holding. If anything changes, you’ll know before they do.’
Another beat.
’Acknowledged,’ Abigail replies. ’They’re furious, they’ll comply. Fucking hotheaded Alpha’s’
’Reminds me of old times.’ I chuckle before closing the link. Her laugh echoes in my mind as I do so.
I settle deeper into shadow, eyes never leaving the camp, muscles loose and ready, because this isn’t just surveillance anymore, it’s the opening move of something far larger, and whether Lizzy realizes it or not, the moment she chained that fox, she turned a local power play into a multi-pack reckoning.
They think they’ve bought leverage.
What they’ve actually done is gather every dangerous player into a single, very flammable space.
And hunters like us don’t miss opportunities like that.
Not ever.
