Free Jacks, Marcy - Handcuffed to the Werewolf [DeWitt's Pack 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) by Marcy Jacks

into to greet them.
    James and Isaac were met with  kisses and gentle, inquiring  touches to their bruises, and Mick felt a longing inside of him for his  mate, no matter how pissed off he would be when Mick let him out of  the room.
    Before he could go back to the main house, Tristan tensed up and started looking around. “Does anyone smell that?”
    Mick frowned, as did James and the other alphas. All they smelled was blood and fresh corpses, but that’s what tended to happen when there were three dead bodies within feet of you.
    The thing that had him and James back on alert was how scared  Tristan looked.
    Isaac pulled his gun out, unable to scent what his mate had picked up on. “What do you smell, baby?”
    Tristan was still searching around, his eyes wide and panicked.  Unconsciously, he reached up and touched he bite  mark on his neck.  “Deacon. He was here. I can smell him. He was here.”
    The omegas looked amongst themselves and also cast their eyes about, as though they were trying to decide whether or not an enemy alpha who may or may not still be on the land was worth their running back into the houses to hide.
    Old Maggie, the pack’s wise woman, was the one to decide for them as she shooed them away and back to their rooms. She was barely half the size of some of the wolves here, but no one would ever dare to argue with her.
    Mick dropped the body he’d been holding, which landed with a smack and a crunch, but he didn’t care. He searched around, using his eyes, ears, and nose, hoping to pick up on any scent that was lurking beneath the rank of the bodies to tell him what  that fucker was up to
    now.
    When he caught Jason’s scent, fresh and outside, too fresh to be from when they first arrived back on pack territory, Mick’s insides froze up.

    72                            Marcy Jacks
    “Mick?” He heard James call to him as he ran to the main house,  but he didn’t stop. He had an idea of what he would find, and please,  please, God, let it be wrong.
    Mick ran to the side of the house. It was faster than just going  inside and upstairs to see for himself.
    Besides, Deacon’s scent was strong over this way.
    He stopped, fisted his  hands into his hair, and nearly fell down to  his knees with the scream he released.
    The bars on the top floor windows were all the same as they had been left save for one. Those bars had been warped, and in the case of some, torn out altogether.
    He felt a  hand touch his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and jumped clean onto the porch roof, then walked to the window.
    The faint scent of blood became stronger as he approached. He had to remind himself that it was not strong enough to mean a dead body, nor did  the scent of a corpse radiate from the space.
    But neither did Jason's scent.
    He stepped inside his bedroom. It was a wreck. The bed was shredded, clothes all over the floor. There was a spot of blood in the middle of the hardwood. Mick bent down to sniff it. Definitely
    Jason’s.
    He growled. That spineless fucking—
    “He’s not dead. We can still find them,” James said.
    Mick rounded on him. “He distracted us! He distracted us and
    came and took him!”
    “I know.” James’s words were comforting and striking at the same  time, reminding Mick who exactly was the alpha in charge in this  room. “He took him, but he hasn’t been gone long. We can still catch  them.”
    Mick recalled the way James had been when that hunter had taken  Corey, how James had feared Corey would have been tortured so badly that he would be required to kill his mate just to put him out of his misery.

    Handcuffed to the Werewolf                      73

    It must have taken some killer bravery to even contemplate thoughts like that. Mick couldn’t even stomach the idea of what  Deacon might be doing to Jason at that very minute.
    “Let’s find them then.”

    * * * *

    Jason had no idea where he