Greyson The text comes from Melanieâs phone, but immediately my gut freezes when I realize whoever is writing is not her.
Congratulations. You won.
I text back, And you are?
Melanie forgot her phone in the plane. This is Pandora. You won, I hope youâre happy. Sheâs on her way back to you. Sheâs blindly, hopelessly in love with fucking ole you.
The words wrap around me like some sort of blanket, heating me. At the same time, an oddly primitive warning sounds in my brain. I punch Derekâs number. âWhere the fuck are you?â
âOn my way back from dropping your queen. Why?â
âGet your ass to the airport and bring her back to me. Bring her back to me RIGHT FUCKING NOW!â
All my protective instincts have kick-started with a vengeance, mingled with the wild, primal excitement of what I just read on my phone.
Sheâs coming to me.
Sheâs coming back to me.
Twenty minutes of pacing later, I get Derekâs call.
âSheâs gone. Taxi dispatcher saw her leave with a guy in a checkered shirt and boots.â
My stomach roils, and suddenly it all clicks, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.
Wyatt.
Ericâs familiar voice rings behind me. âSon, your father wants you . . .â
Iâd been waiting outside his hospital room, waiting to talk to him, my checkbook handy, ready to settle things for Melanie, now I glance at Eric and grind my molars in rage.
âTell him Iâm gone. Tell him Iâll be back!â I run down the hall and pull out the keys to my rental, punching C.C.âs number. âWyattâs got her. Go to the south of the city, Iâll take the north, spread Derek on the east, get the rest of the team on it. FIND WYATT, HELP ME FUCKING FIND HER!â
Thirteen years Iâve looked for my mother.
Thirteen.
If Melanie disappears for longer than a day, Iâm going to become a monster, a full-on monster on a rampage with one mission and one mission only.
Find her, protect her, keep her, mate her. NEVER LET HER GO AGAIN.
Iâve never prayed but I throw myself up to a god Iâve never believed in and yell at him to take anything, anything of mine he wants, but not her.