Page 47 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

His gaze jerks to me, but I can only see the black swirling.

“Clinton, it’s Asha. Remember?” My breathing catches as I try not to think about my last pack mate, who I failed to save.I need to try things differently this time. Keep him focused on something louder and more powerful than the voices and the dark magic. “Do you remember… the Fall Festival? How we’d decorate the streets, and everyone would dress up in costumes? You loved the Fall Festival more than anyone I ever met.” Something changes, the swirling in his eyes slows. “You would always come up with the most elaborate, most colorful costumes I’d ever seen. Even when you were little. I’ll never forget when you dressed up as a fall leaf. You wore that stretchy suit behind the leaf, but it ripped halfway through the parade. Remember? Everyone laughed, and I was worried you’d be embarrassed, but you just tore off that material and wore the leaf in your underwear. People applauded you. Your dad kissed your cheek, laughing.”

His eyes fade, slowly returning to normal. “I remember.”

And two words have never made my heart soar the way those do. “And you loved cutting hair. You said you’d be the town’s first professional hairstylist, remember? You’d watch all those videos and practice on all those dolls. Kids would bring you their dolls from every house to style.”

Clinton smiles, but a tear rolls down his cheek. “That was another life.”

One of the women at his feet sobs louder.

“It was, but this life can be good too.”

He shakes his head, and more tears rain down. “I just want to be that person again. The one who loved art, and makeup, and clothes, and doing hair. The one who was different… but no one ever cared.”

“You can be,” I say. “Maybe not exactly the same, but you can be all those things.”

“Asha.” His gaze locks with mine. “Tell me honestly.Honestly. I need to hear it. Is it too late? Has the darknessdestroyed too much of me?” I open my mouth, and he lifts a hand. “Don’t answer quickly, or I won’t know if it’s true.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t know what I’m doing. Telling him everything he wants to hear right now is probably the smartest thing, but with everything he’s been through, I can’t lie to him. “It won’t be the same. We’ve lost a lot of the people we’ve loved. And the darkness is something we’ll always have to fight. But I believe we can be happy again. I believe we can be… good again.”

His eyes are wide, filled with unshed tears. “You think I can be good again? That it isn’t too late?”

I eagerly nod. “That boy, the Clinton I knew, he’s still part of you. It’s not too late. I know that deep in my heart.”

He stands there for a painfully long second before he releases the women. They’re sobbing as they race back into the building, but now they’re out of danger at least. Clinton takes several steps forward, lifts his hands, and brings the dark magic surrounding us down.

His gaze meets mine. “At least I’m not alone anymore. At least I have you. And I don’t think you’ll let the darkness take me again.”

I smile and hurry toward him, trying to find the words to tell him I feel the same way. That I need him as much as he needs me.

And then, he explodes.Explodes, his flesh raining down on me. Covering the sidewalk. Hitting my face and dripping in my hair.

I turn slowly around, in shock, my arms wide at my side as more flesh falls off of me. Behind me, Grim and his men stand. Grim slowly lowers his hand, and I can feel the power radiating off of him from the spell he’d used to kill Clinton.

Screaming, I dive toward him. Max is there in an instant, catching me and stopping my attack. But I don’t stop screaming,swearing, promising that I’ll kill Grim for this. Braxton and Max manage to pin me down onto the ground, where I lie, panting and crying.

“He turned himself in,” I sob. “He was going with us, willingly. Grim didn’t need to… he didn’t need to.” And I sound lost, heartbroken even to my own ears.

Braxton whispers, “I know, I know,” as he strokes my hair.

But at that moment, I don’t know if I’m any better than Clinton. Because if anyone other than Max and Braxton were stopping me, I’d kill everyone here.

I’d kill them all, just the way they killed Clinton. A boy. A child who was tortured. Who was lost.

A boy who deserved better than me, a person that basically turned him over for death.

I will never forgive myself for this.

Never.

SEVENTEEN

Braxton

It’s been two days. Two days of doing paperwork and learning that being an Enforcer isn’t all that different from being a cop, and two days of watching Asha battle her inner demons. It’s been painful, to say the least, because I know that look. I understand the way she doesn’t eat unless we tell her to, doesn’t shower unless we remind her to, and doesn’t lay down until we suggest it. The one good thing is that Trouble has been all over her, sensing that she needs him more than I do. So, I took advantage of the connection.

I asked Asha to take him out when he needs to go. I’ve had her come with me to walk him, and even found a nice dog park for her to throw the ball back and forth with him. She doesn’t seem happy when she does it, still looking like a lost child, but at least she seems to come back to us a little. And when Trouble lays with us at night, because she’s still sharing my bed, she often buries her face in his fur and cries.

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