Page 53 of Draven

Stan mentioned the exact same thing, and I wondered if Belladonna used her illusions to make herself appear unforgettable to the locals.

That way, if I came looking for Doyle, I would have breadcrumbs to find. My phone buzzed insistently in my pocket as soon I exited the bar.

Tobias's name flashed on the screen.

Part of me yearned to answer, to hear his reassuring voice, but I knew I couldn't afford to be swayed by the comfort of his presence.

Tobias was my anchor, but right now, I needed to stay focused, to keep my wits about me.

With a heavy heart, I let the call slide to voicemail. It wasn't easy, but I did it anyway. Tobias would understand, I thought.

I pocketed my phone. I had a fellow packmate to find before Belladonna wrapped him around her little finger.

I couldn't afford to be distracted by anything – or anyone – else.

I pulled into the parking lot of the local cemetery, and a sense of foreboding settled over me.

The waitress had mentioned it was on the outskirts of town, but the journey seemed to stretch on longer than anticipated, the road winding its way through dense forest and eerie silence.

Half an hour later, I arrived at my destination. The cemetery loomed before me, its crumbling headstones casting long shadows in the fading light.

I parked my motorcycle and scanned the area, my senses on high alert. Then, relief flooded through me as I spotted Doyle's familiar dark blue truck.

Without hesitation, I dismounted and hurried over to examine it.

My heart sank as I saw that the two front doors of the truck were wide open, swinging eerily in the breeze.

As I approached, a metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the familiar tang of blood.

My instincts screamed at me to proceed with caution, but I couldn't afford to hesitate.

With a deep breath, I steeled myself. I followed the trail of blood, occasional drops disappearing into the earth, I couldn't shake the sickening feeling in my gut.

Alongside the metallic scent of blood, a cloying aroma lingered in the air, unmistakably Belladonna's perfume—a sickening blend of floral notes that turned my stomach.

With each step, the scent grew stronger, mingling with the damp earth and decay of the cemetery.

I found myself entering an older section, where the tombstones were weathered and worn by time. The mark on my chest began to ache.

As I walked among the graves, I couldn't help but clutch the protective necklace in my hand, the cool metal offering a small comfort against the overwhelming sense of dread.

It was absurd, really—I was an alpha dragon shifter, yet here I was, feeling like a frightened child in the dark.

But the memories of my encounter with Belladonna were still fresh in my mind, a reminder of just how powerless I had been in her grasp when her binding curse wrapped itself around my entire body.

And now, faced with the possibility of confronting her again, fear gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

As the pain in my chest intensified, I knew I was drawing closer to Belladonna. My inner beast stirred within me, pissed-off and demanding retribution.

This time, I welcomed the anger, because I knew I might need it for the fight to be come.

The path ahead began to ascend, leading me up a small hill crowned with ancient mausoleums.

My senses sharpened, searching for any sign of Doyle among the silent tombs.

Would Belladonna keep him here, hidden among the dead?

A dangerous thought flickered in my mind—to shift into my dragon form and catch Belladonna off guard.