Page 62 of Witch's Wolf

She flings Helena aside like some discarded, unworthy prey. There is no doubt who she is now. This is Roberta Connors, Erica’s mother. She steps back as her icy blue eyes flick to mine. She smiles, snaps her fingers, and she’s gone.

Only smoke and flames remain, a burning tree collapsing into the space where she was. Raul’s wolf steps beside me, his breath ragged. I glance at him and what I see shakes me.

Fear. Raw, unguarded fear. Not in some lesser warrior. Not in a frightened packmate. In my Alpha.

34

SAM

“We remember our brothers in arms. Honor the ones who gave their lives to defend our home,” Raul says, keeping his voice steady, but the grief lacing every word is palpable. “Shane Porter. Karen Locksmith. You will be missed. Fighting by your side was an honor and a privilege. May your souls find peace.”

A blessing and a farewell, but no words can soften the loss.

Shane and Karen lie atop cloth-draped pyres, their lifeless forms bathed in flickering torchlight. My stomach knots as Raul takes up one of the torches and touches it to the dry wood. The flames lick and then catch. Fire spreads, devouring the kindling. The sharp crackle of burning logs fills the silence, thick smoke curling into the night.

Their mates, Kelly Porter and Jonathan Locksmith cling to each other, grief etched into every trembling breath. My chest tightens, knowing the truth. They aren’t just mourning. They’re dying.

Mates who lose their bond don’t last long. Two, maybe three years. That’s all they have left before the grief claims them. Roberta hadn’t just taken two lives tonight, she’s responsible for four of them. I turn away, swallowing the bitter taste of helplessness.

“You’re strangely calm,” I murmur, my gaze locking onto Helena’s still face. Unlike the others, she doesn’t shed a tear. Doesn’t flinch at the crackling flames or the keening cries of the grieving. “Most people around here are crying their eyes out…”

I trail off, not wanting to own that I’m about to do the same, though I intend to be alone when it happens.

“Come with me,” Helena says, her fingers locking around my wrist with a firm, unyielding grip. She pulls me away from the gathering, dragging me along, heedless of the murmuring voices or the bodies pressing around.

I glance over my shoulder. The stench of burning wood and flesh is thick and acrid, hitting me hard. It clings to my throat, making me gag. Kelly Porter’s wails pierce through the crackling flames, raw and unrelenting.

“I really hope there’s a point to all this,” I mutter, wrenching my gaze away from the pyres.

Helena stops abruptly, spinning to face me.

“Okay, second son,” she says, her eyes narrow and sharp as glass. “You want to see me cry? Hand Raul, Ray, or Nora over to Roberta. Let her kill one of them in front of me. Then, maybe, you’ll get your tears.” A chill runs down my spine. She exhales sharply. “I feel your pain. The loss of two of your own hurts, but I don’t weep for strangers. Does that clear things up?”

“I noticed how unaffected you looked. Didn’t think you’d take it so personally,” I say with a half-shrug.

“I’m tired, Samuel. This whole situation is wearing,” Helena sighs, some of the fire in her gaze dimming.

“It’s wearing on all of us,” I agree, the edge slipping from my voice.

She nods, her shoulders dropping and something about her expression darkens. She shakes her head, her hand tightening around her staff.

“Why did she give you a choice? Why not order you to return Erica to the city if that is what she wants?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You’re asking me to get inside the mind of a psycho. That bitch walked away from her owndaughter, for God’s sake. Tonight, she killed two of my pack on a whim then set fire to the forest to get our attention. What the hell do I know about how she thinks?”

Helena shifts her weight then walks towards the trees, towards my grandfather’s sanctuary. I follow, needing answers.

“She is twisted,” Helena muses, “but understanding is power, Samuel. If I understand her motives, why she is doing what she does, that gives us an edge. An edge we need.”

“Why didn’t she just kill us all and be done with it?” I ask. “Once she had you in her grip, she had us.”

“I don’t have answers to your questions, Samuel,” Helena mutters, staring down at her feet like the dirt might spell them out for her. “I mentioned the possibility of a meeting with her mother to your girl. It didn’t go well.”

“Meaning?” I ask, a heaviness settling in my stomach.

“She yelled at me,” Helena says, lifting her gaze, but her expression is unreadable. “Erica is rightly furious at her mother for abandoning her and for a lifetime of deception and what now seems to be manipulation. I tried to get her to see it could help everyone in Dawson, but I couldn’t get through to her. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

The weight in my gut turns to lead. I know where this is going, and I don’t want to hear it.

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