Page 69 of Witch's Wolf

Ray and Nora have already finished with their foe. His severed arm lies inches from his torso, his mangled head barely recognizable. Blood soaks the tiles beneath him, pooling like ink on a page. All three siblings race down the stairs after Jenkins, their heavy bodies thudding on the stairs.

A sting burns behind my eyes. My throat tightens. I drop my head into my hands, fingers pressing against damp cheeks.

So much hate.

So much malice directed at me. For what? For trying to rise above anonymity? For daring to chase a dream? I have never intentionally hurt a soul. And yet, tonight, I stand mere feet from the butchering of monsters who sought to steal my freedom, my life.

A gentle nudge at my forearm breaks through my spiraling thoughts. I part my fingers just enough to see Sam’s wolf. He’s finished what he set out to do.

The fur around his muzzle is no longer white. Dark crimson drips from his jowls, thick and glistening. His chest bears the evidence of battle. A massive red stain, thin lines of blood connecting one patch to another.

I don’t think or hesitate. I fling my arms around his head, burying my face against his bloody fur. I don’t care about the gore. Don’t care that Jenkins’s blood is smearing across my skin. All I care about is anchoring myself to him. Something that hasn’t been a lie. Someone who is here.

“Let’s do it!”

A sharp voice from across the room wrenches me back.

Two more shifters come in, each carrying fuel canisters. They split off, one rushing toward the bar, the other joining Ray and Nora.

“We’ve got a couple of cars waiting for you,” the shifter behind the counter calls, flipping open the canister and drenching the wood in gasoline. “Clothes you asked for are in there. Let’s move!”

One of the pack helps me to my feet and I watch as the wolves of Dawson pad back to the smashed entrance. I sidestep shards of glass, picking my way through. The smell of gasoline gains in intensity.

Sam and the pack have accomplished their mission. Soon, the house will be torched, going up in flames, just like my dreams of becoming famous.

I’m grateful to them. I am, but I can’t get rid of this nasty feeling either. Disappointment. This feeling that the dream which I thought was in my grasp turned out to be nothing more than smoke. Fading away like morning fog before the rising sun.

I hope it won’t linger too long, but right now? Right now, it hurts so much. All I want to do is cry, but I hold it all in. Push it down and lock it away, burying it under the gratitude of having ended up in the hands of the monsters who tried to kidnap me.

38

SAM

Close to perfection. That’s what this plan had been. Even so, I can’t deny we got lucky.

We expected two, maybe three dozen vampires waiting for us. That’s why more than half the Dawson pack had been scattered around Westchester. All of them were waiting for our signal to strike, but they hadn’t been necessary. Unbelievable as it is, there were only two bloodsuckers in that house. Two vampires and one twisted, human prick.

I don’t like attacking humans. They’re weak and defenseless, but Jack Sellers? I enjoyed every second of it. Hunting him when he ran, chasing him down that staircase, cornering him in the dark basement, feeling his terror as I loomed over him was a thrill I won’t soon forget.

Then, the part that I liked best. Tearing his throat open. Watching the fear in his eyes as he realized his end had come. The moment his body stopped twitching. Jack Sellers, the faux Alfred Jenkins, had been erased from this world in the way he deserved. Justice, served in flesh and blood. I had protected my woman, and it made both me and my wolf happy.

Erica wasn’t in a talkative mood when we reached her home and I understand, but I don’t want to leave her. Dawson can handle the night without me, and I’ll tolerate the city to make sure she feels even a little bit safer.

I follow her up the steps. Acutely aware of the scent of her fear. She fumbles the keys twice before managing to get the door unlocked. When it swings open, I sniff, making sure there are no surprises waiting inside.

She steps into her house and stops, looking around like she’s lost. She goes to the small kitchen and gets a glass of water. She leans against the fridge, sipping the water, but her eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing.

“I’m going to stay here tonight,” I say.

Her eyes dart to me, focusing for the first time since we arrived.

“Thanks,” she says, dropping her eyes back to the floor. She shakes her head and sighs, “but I think… I think I need to be alone… just… for now.”

Her words hit hard, taking my breath. After everything she’s been through, the blood, the battle, the sheer horror of it all, she should want someone by her side. Should want me. Want me to hold and comfort her, but she wants space?

As much as it stings, I don’t argue because on the one hand I get it. I’ve felt that way before too. Different circumstances, sure, but the feeling? All too familiar. So, I reluctantly and, more or less chastely, kiss her goodnight and leave the city behind.

I arrive in Dawson just before dawn and should be exhausted, but I’m still wired. A stroll through town usually lifts my spirits. Passing familiar faces, exchanging nods and waves. The peopleof Dawson always found a reason to smile, even when life threw them a curveball. A flat tire? An excuse to joke around. A long day ahead? No big deal, another challenge to take on. But this morning, that easy optimism is gone.

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