JACKSON’S LONG LEGS devoured the ground as he strode across the encampment. Although his duties were more for protection, there must have been a hunting Guard somewhere in his family tree because he had the large, strong muscles of the personal protection Guard along with the speed and height of the hunting Guard. He was fiercely loyal and protective. Unfortunately, those qualities were lost on his master, Benedictine.

The cold wind blew, ruffling his short dark hair and biting into his cheeks which were covered by a day’s growth of stubble. The Producers huddled in small groups, whispering about the previous night’s attacks. They quickly scattered out of his way. He glared at their retreating forms, pissed at all of them.

This was a disaster. Instead of doing his job and finding the Producer, he’d spent half the time covering his, Casper and Carla’s scent that was scattered throughout the woods. Now, he had to report what he’d found, which was nothing. Just like last time, there’d been a clear trail and then it’d vanished, although this time there wasn’t the odor of pine and herb, just musky soil. Then the Producer’s scent would appear again miles away. She was traveling with someone. She had to be.

He nodded at Casper who stood before the opening to a Lead Producer’s hut where Benedictine waited for news. The Guard had been left behind to protect their master. At least, that was the story that he’d told the old Guard. The truth was that Casper had caught a cold the last time they were in the forest and would have slowed him and Carla down.

“Any luck?” Casper asked eagerly.

“No.” He tipped his head in a slight nod to let Casper know that their trail was covered as he entered the hut. It was time to inform Benedictine of his failure.

Benedictine Remore sat on a wooden stool at the back of the room. The red and black ceremonial cape of the Almighty was draped over his shoulders almost touching the dirt floor. His brown hair was cut mercilessly short and his white skin gleamed like it had never seen the sun. He stopped chatting with the Lead Producers who surrounded him.

“Jackson, tell me you’ve found the poor thing safe and sound,” said Benedictine, a look of false concern on his face.

The Lead Producers, all adult males, nodded and bobbed their heads like giant pigeons.

He took a deep breath. His punishment would come later when there were no witnesses. “No, sir. We lost her scent.”

“How can that be?” Benedictine’s eyes narrowed.

The Lead Producers murmured their concern.

“I’m not sure, sir. We were hot on her trail and then, nothing. Her scent vanished.”

Benedictine rose.

“I’ve sent out another pack of Guards.” He mentally braced himself. The Almighty might not care if the Lead Producers witnessed his wrath.

“But meanwhile, we have an escaped Producer who is our only witness to the senseless slaughter of five Producers.” Benedictine quickly softened his tone. “We need to find her. Send out additional Guards. Hire or borrow some, but find that Producer immediately.”

“Of course. I’ll go back out with another team.” Relief flooded his body. Benedictine was going to keep up his friendly façade.

“No. You are to escort the parents to my facility where they can wait for news in comfort, away from all this nastiness.”

He bowed and stepped outside, nodding at Casper. Even old, the Guard would have heard the conversation inside the hut so there was no reason to repeat it.

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“Carla, come with me,” he said, as he passed a group of Guards.

A middle-aged female with the long legs typical of the hunting Guards trotted over to him. They headed toward a small shack on the outskirts of the encampment.

“How did it go?” asked Carla.

“His wrath has been diverted for the moment. I don’t expect the reprieve to last long once we leave the camp.”

“Oh,” she said, solemnly.

“It’ll be okay.” He patted her on the shoulder.

“We’ll be okay, but what about you?”

He’d survive. He always did. “What did they discover here?”

“The escapee’s scent and tracks were at every killing but no one believes she was involved. No one thinks her capable. She was very small.” She hesitated. “Troy was also at every location.”

He glanced at her. She shrugged.

“Another Lead Producer, Bell, the sire of the young female who was killed, appears to have been drugged. A medic is checking him over. Bell suspects Troy was behind everything.”

Oddly, he wasn’t surprised. The only question left was who or what killed Troy? “What kind of drug was he given?”

“Sleeping. It was his area where Troy and the female escaped.”

“And Bell’s still alive?”

“Apparently, he’s one of Benedictine’s favorites, although it was a close call. Benedictine was furious about the deaths,” she said.

It must be nice. He’d never been spared by the Almighty and he wouldn’t be this time either. The likelihood of them finding the female was slim. Well, they would find her, but probably not before Benedictine punished him for his failure. He should have run away a long time ago, before the tracking device was implanted, before he had responsibilities to the other Guards, before Kim. Who was he kidding? There really never was a before Kim. From the moment he’d met her he’d been lost.

“We’re to escort the parents to Benedictine’s facility,” he muttered as they stepped up to the hut. “I don’t expect any trouble but be prepared just in case.

A small crowd of Producers had trailed behind them and were now gathered several yards away.

“Benedictine’s Guards here to speak with…Trinity’s parents.” He called out, his voice firm, commanding.

A giant of a Producer opened the door. All Producers were large, but this one stood well over nine feet tall and was at least three times his width. It was all muscle too, not an ounce of flab. He glanced at Carla. Her eyes were wide. Producers were generally obedient and docile, but they could do damage if provoked. It was best to forge ahead with authority and not hesitate.

“I need you and your mate to come with us.”

The Producer stared over his head. The whispers of the crowd behind them carried to his ears. So far, the murmurs were concerned and gossipy, not angry. A small female Producer squeezed into the doorway, the male moving aside to give her room.

“Where do you want to take us?” she asked.

This female was not frightened. He sniffed. Well, perhaps a little. “Benedictine has ordered that you wait for the recovery of your offspring at one of his facilities”—he nodded at the crowd—“away from the prying eyes of your neighbors.”

“My caring neighbors are my greatest source of comfort.” She clasped the large male’s hand.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said. She was not going to make this easy. Nothing was ever easy anymore.

She glared at him. He almost stepped back from the hatred in her eyes. She’d helped her offspring escape. It was stamped on her features as clear as the trees behind her hut.

“Millie, we should go,” said the male, glancing over Jackson’s head again.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. The crowd’s whispers were harsher now, more hurried. Some of the other Guards were approaching.

“Remy, we need to stay here.” Millie softened her tone. “What if Trinity manages to escape her captor and finds her way back home?”

They were sticking with the offspring-was-forced-to-leave story, but it wasn’t going to work. There were no other scents leaving the camp besides Trinity and Troy’s and only her scent going into the forest.

“She does have a point,” said Remy nervously.

He was already in trouble with Benedictine; he didn’t need any more issues. He stepped closer and whispered, “Before you continue to resist, think about this. I’m the Guard in charge of finding your offspring and we will find her. There is a slight chance that she’ll be alive when we capture her, a young female alone in the woods with no one around but a group of Guards. Male Guards.”

Remy covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening. Millie’s small frame trembled with anger.

“If you cooperate, I can assure you that no harm will come to her by me or any of my Guards.”

Millie pushed past him and Carla, walking toward the Lead Producer’s hut, shoulders squared and head high. Remy quickly followed.

“Nice move,” said Carla. “No wonder you win when we play poker.”

He frowned. It’d worked but even the threat of such an act turned his stomach. He was becoming more like his master every day.