Page 32 of Thrown to the Wolves

But as I collapse onto the hard, narrow cot, I compare my spartan quarters to the opulence of Grandmother’s penthouse. The thick, soft carpets, the crystal chandeliers, the art on the walls…

The doubts grow stronger. If Grandmother truly believes everything she says in training, why does she surround herself with extravagance while denying her trainees the smallest comforts? Of all of us, shouldn’t she be the most focused, the least distracted?

Shouldn’t she have the emptiest damn room of all?

But even if it’s true, if Grandmother’s motives are not what they seem…does it matter? As long as I get vengeance for Adam, as long as I make his killer—Lyssa—or whoever it is—pay, does it really matter who’s pulling my strings?

I knew this journey only ended one of two ways. With me in a coffin, or with me walking away. I said as much to Grandmother when she recruited me, warning her that I would stay under her tutelage only as long as needed to learn what I needed to learn.

To become what I needed to become.

And she’s smiled when I said it. She’d smiled as though she knew something I didn’t…

I turn over and close my eyes again, trying to shut out the swirling chaos of my thoughts. Sleep, when it comes, is fitful and haunted by dreams of water and blood.

Several days pass in a blur of training and preparation. Lyssa’s tracker visits open places, public places, and waits there, tantalizing, a constant reminder of the unfinished business between us.

But I have more to do before I meet her again.

I push myself harder than ever, determined to prove my worth, to silence the doubts that plague me. Ariadne’s sparring sessions are different, now. She taunts less, concentrates more. It helps level me up, because she’s finally putting everything into it. We’re as bruised and beaten as each other, and I seem to have won a little respect from her at last.

Or perhaps it’s just wariness.

We don’t talk. We just fight. Any word exchanged are only about technique.

And she doesn’t call me weak or pathetic anymore.

Finally, on a rain-soaked night, I follow the tracker’s signal to a motel on the outskirts of town, the kind of place where people pay by the hour and ask no questions.

The perfect meeting spot. I’ll take the video and show her, and when I see that spark of recognition in her eye…

I’ll kill her.

The clerk at the front desk, safely ensconced behind thick glass, barely glances at me as I enter. He slides a key across the counter without a word, his eyes already back on the small TV in the corner.

I’m expected, obviously.

I take the key and make my way to the room, my heart pounding in my chest as I get closer. I breathe slowly, try to lower the adrenaline already threatening to spike. When I open the door, Lyssa is there, sprawled on the bed with an impatient look on her face.

I stop and stare at her. Every time I see her, I forget just how—how sexy she is, the messy blonde hair pulled back in her customary ponytail, her long legs bare as she sits there in only a pair of white cotton briefs and a tank top.

I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a bra.

“God, you took ages,” she says, swinging around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Where the hell have you been?” She looks more closely at me. “And what the fuck happened to y?—”

“I brought the video,” I say, cutting her off.

She stares hard at me for a moment, and then shrugs. “Come on, then. Show me.”

I take out a burner phone, hands shaking slightly as I pull up the footage, the only item on this phone. I had a hell of a job getting it on there and then keeping it secret. It’s not that I’m expressly forbidden to share this footage with anyone. I think Grandmother just knew I never would.

And I never have. Until now.

The grainy image of Lyssa in her wolf mask, the brutal efficiency of her movements as she cuts down my brother. It’s as painful to watch as ever, a raw wound that refuses to heal.

I walk away as Lyssa watches and rewatches, unable to bear the sight of it again. The familiar rage rises in my chest, a searing heat that threatens to consume me.

After what feels like an eternity, Lyssa speaks. “It’s similar to a mask I wear sometimes, I’ll give you that. And the woman moves like me. But I have no memory of this kill.”

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