Clayton: Her Identity
CLAYTON
The hospital holds too many memories, and my wolf snarls and whines as it tries in desperation to sniff out any hint of Ava's scent when we arrive.
There's nothing, of course. Just the smell of the injured, the sickly, and disinfectant.
Ivy's room is in our family wing on the top floor, and I head straight there, unable to even look at the button for floor 12.
Ava's floor.
Mate, my wolf whines, and I wonder how much worse this would be if we had a fated connection instead of a chosen one. Lucas' single-minded determination has never made more sense to me than now, as we've spent over a week searching for any hint of the men who took Ava.
Someone had covered their tracks. Every airline, every taxi company, every rideshare, every car rental—their systems were hacked and wiped, so we can't even ascertain how she left.