Page 24 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

A female on her back in the middle of the room, staring at me. Her eyes were dark and wide. They didn’t blink.

It was Orla Sullivan.

I’d never really spoken to her. She was grown. I was only eight.

She was old enough to be mated, but she wasn’t, and now she never would be.

I’d never spoken to her, but I’d heard her scream.

She rested in a pool of blood, her sightless blue eyes staring at me, her mouth twisted in a frozen scream. Red marks blossomed on her skin like roses.

We looked at each other, but she wasn’t there, and neither was I. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Iona Ryan used her good hand to cover Orla’s body with someone’s torn dress. Blood soaked through the homespun linen. More roses.

“They didn’t get her,” the females whispered to each other as they circled Orla Sullivan’s body, drifting into each other’s arms, holding each other up.

“Where is she?”

“Under the couch.”

“She alive?”

“Yes. She’s safe. She’s fine.”

“Did she see?”

“No, no, Nola blocked her view.”

“She’s not hurt?”

“She’s fine. They didn’t see her.”

The females murmured and wept—softly into their hands or with their faces pressed into each other’s bare shoulders—until a sharp step sounded on the stair. They tensed and then exhaled as one when Old Noreen’s raspy voice called down, “It’s clear. I have the crone.”

I couldn’t see what happened then. Nola and a few others moved and blocked my view, but I heard Abertha’s quiet orders, and I smelled the smoke that clung to her skirts.

“You, get her shoulders. You two, get her sides. You and you, get her knees. Wait. Hold a second. Let me cover her back up. Take her out through the kitchens. There’s a wheelbarrow bythe woodbin. Take her to my cottage. We’ll clean her up there. Don’t let her mother see. Keep your ears open and your eyes peeled. Go quickly.”

There were murmurs and grunts and a thump, and then Aunt Nola and the others drifted apart, and Orla was gone. The green and white checkered vinyl tile where she had been lying was empty, except for the blood. The white tiles were smeared with bright red. The blood was so dark against the green that it looked black.

Aunt Nola bent over and offered me a trembling hand. “It’s safe now, Annie. You can come out.”

No, it’s not,a strange, new, blade-sharp voice had said in my head.It’s a lie. She knows she’s lying. Look at her shake. It’s a trap.

I tried to scrunch myself farther back, but I was lodged in tight, my cheek pressed to the slat holding up the sagging leather cushions.

“Come on, Annie,” Aunt Nola begged. “We’ve got to get out of here.” She darted a glance over her shoulder.

They’re out there,the voice said.She knows they’re out there, and she’s afraid.

Aunt Nola knelt and reached for me. Somehow, I curled my fingers around a slat, puffing my body so she couldn’t budge me.

“Annie, you’ve got to come now. What if they come back?”

See, she lied. It isn’t safe. Don’t let her take you.

Tears rolled down Aunt Nola’s cheek. “Please, Annie. Please.”

---