Page 272 of Heart of Frost and Scars

Everything is different.

The stench of death swamps the air, buzzing with the memories that haunt this place.

This is where I grew up. Where I was abused by a madman. Where I met Frankie.

It’s changed since then.

I’ve changed…on the surface.

But my understructure remains the same. A feral animal still lives inside me. It helped me survive these hills, and those instincts guide me now.

As I follow Rhett’s voice to the kitchen, heat trickles from the vents. He fixed the generator, repaired the floors, and cleared away the dust.

The cabin may look brighter and cleaner than we left it, but I see the shadows of what used to be here. I see the bloodstains of my childhood on the floor, the scars on the walls, the bones in the fire pit, and the danger lurking in Denver’s bedroom down the hall.

And I see her.

Frankie, lying on the table, her robed body stock-still and her hair spread like a halo around her.

My heart stops, but I force myself to keep walking.

She’s not restrained.

She’s not moving, either.

An IV fluid bag sits on the table beside her hip. I follow the line to the opening in the sleeve of her robe, where her arm hangs on Wolf’s lap.

Wolf.

He’s here. Dead. And Frankie’s drugged.

Horror cleaves through me.

Rhett sits at the head of the table, like a king on his throne. He holds a gun to Frankie’s head, his finger resting on the trigger.

My blood turns to ice, my rage a cold, hard knot in my chest.

I’m going to eviscerate him. Remove his entrails with claws and teeth. But not yet. He has her, and as long as he holds that gun, I must wear my human skin and maintain my domesticated mask, the face I show in the civilized world.

No sudden moves. No growling or tensing. Nothing that might startle him into squeezing that trigger.

Beside me, Leo and Monty fight their own inner battles. They’ll get their pound of flesh. But only if we remain calm, stall as long as we can, and give our plan time to play out.

A plan we never discussed. Not with words. That alone is goddamn unnerving.

Entering the kitchen, I stumble as my eyes dart from one corpse to the next. The two bodies I don’t recognize must be Alvis Duncan and his wife. That would explain why they went missing.

Numb. I’m numb and frozen with rage at the sight of Frankie lying at the center of all this blood-chilling carnage.

Then my gaze lands on Wolf.

His lifeless body slumps against the rope that holds him in the chair. I knew this was a possibility. I knew I might see the remains of the man I loved, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.

My brother.

Monty’s son.

I can’t look at Monty and Leo. My own pain stabs too sharply, threatening to double me over as the knife of grief twists in my gut. I absorb it, bury the sorrow, and let it fuel my fury.

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