Lynx Northern Shifters 3

Trey for abandoning him.
If, indeed, that had happened. There was, in the end, one thing Jonah needed to discover—and dreaded to discover—whether or not Trey was dead.
For either Trey had died, or Trey had broken faith with him.
    Going in, Trey had known Kingley would be his handler, and he’d wanted it no other way. Because Kingley would let certain things slide, would trade on ignorance in one area for knowledge in another, would sometimes trade unpalatable favors—for Trey was an excellent assassin and Kingley depended on him. It wasn’t ethical, but Trey couldn’t risk working with an ethical handler who might have kept a closer eye on what he was actually doing. Kingley didn’t care, he just wanted results.
    And Trey got them, the results. It didn’t take all that long to infiltrate and become trusted by them— be trusted by Horton the asshole who ran the whole shitty anti-psychic agency. After all, Trey was a wellrespected FBI agent. It didn’t take all that long for Trey to locate a Minder who would eventually bring about the downfall of the agency. But despite his good work, reporting to Kingley in the year that followed became a dangerous dance.
    Because Kingley had become interested in, as he called it, Trey’s venture up north. While he’d been impassive, hadn’t revealed a thing, it had actually been hard to breathe, thinking that Kingley could somehow know about Jonah.
    He didn’t, not really. But Kingley had known that Trey’d been in the general vicinity of a few odd reports. A few deaths by wolves, something Trey feared was due to his brother’s violent activities. And a few reports of strange animal sightings in a city where Trey’s nephew lived.
    The upshot was that Kingley remained on high alert about Trey’s true nature. So instead of returning to Jonah that first summer as he’d wanted, Trey stayed put. He could not risk piquing Kingley’s interest, pointing him towards Jonah’s safe harbor. Trey’s heart ached, it was a strangely physical pain, and Trey didn’t know quite what to do with it except throw himself into work. As time passed and events within the agency became more interesting—an escaped Minder for one—Kingley’s interest in Trey’s other nature, and in his trip up into the Canadian Shield, seemed to abate.
    So two years later, again in the dead of winter, though this time without a snowstorm, Trey managed to disappear off Kingley’s radar and he felt safe enough to turn himself wolf and head north towards Jonah’s. There was exhilaration in him, he couldn’t deny it, but it was accompanied by a minor chord of dread. A two years’ absence was going to be hard to explain, and harder to forgive.
    For quite a while, Trey turned over the possibilities in his mind, trying to describe to Jonah what had happened to keep him away. That Kingley was a threat, that Horton his faux-boss was also someone who kept too close an eye on him. Trey had been protecting Jonah, that was clear to Trey, but it would be harder to convince a hermit lynx who had little to do with humans. Over two years Jonah’s trust would have eroded, especially when Trey had asked him to wait for a year and not much more. He’d never dreamed he’d be away this long.
He should have known better.
    Distracted by his thoughts and fears, Trey didn’t immediately realize he had reached the huge rock face that sheltered Jonah’s home.
In part because he was surprised to find no hint of Jonah’s existence—no scent, no sound, no snowshoe paw prints.
Trey’s heart beat harder, in distress, though perhaps he was overreacting and Jonah had simply avoided venturing south of his cave. It was possible, but odd, and Trey’s dread rose as he pushed himself into a run, despite the fact he’d almost reached the limit of his endurance.
He broke into the clearing only to see the cave filled with snow, a small drift having accumulated in its doorway, with no evidence of anyone traversing it to enter the house.
Trey stumbled then, his front legs collapsing for a moment before he forced himself to rise, his human panicking as his wolf took over completely.
He climbed over the mound of snow, noted its accumulation in the cave, noted the untouched wood stockpiled for winter, even as he kept moving for the inner door, lifting his paw to push down on the door handle’s lever.
For five seconds he paused, opened his mouth and breathed in as deeply as possible. Smelled nothing. The scent of death didn’t