Page 74 of Witch's Wolf

“What do you mean?” Raul growls.

“Dexter’s pack was the first clue,” she says, her fingers tightening around her staff. “Instead of coming here to take over, they came in peace. I’m a hundred and seven years old, and not once in all that time has a pack approached the Catskills looking to negotiate. That alone should have made you suspicious.” She holds one finger up then adds a second. “Then the double murder. Second clue. Tragic, yes, but effective. It’s the oldest strategy in the book, divide and conquer. And look at all of you,” she sweeps a glare across all of us. “You were seconds away from tearing each other apart.”

My mind races, piecing together the threads.

“What about Ballard’s vampire clan?” I ask, pushing myself up onto my feet. “Where do they fit in?”

“That was your third clue,” Helena says, adding another finger. “Ballard could’ve sent dozens of his men to protect Jenkins. Or Sellers if you prefer his real name, but he didn’t. He sent two.Enough to die, to cause chaos, and while you were distracted, extracting Erica became that much easier.”

“I can’t believe this,” Raul curses under his breath as he shakes his head. He locks eyes with me and all I know is I feel every bit the fucking fool that I am.

“Well, you’d better,” Helena warns, her voice like steel as she drops her fingers. “Roberta Connors is cunning, firstborn. Her wits are undeniable. She orchestrated this entire plan just to turn you against each other. How easy would it be for her to take Dawson with its people divided and full of hate?”

“Take Dawson…?” Locksmith narrows his eyes, suspicion flickering beneath his grief. “Why? What the hell would a witch want with it?”

“I don’t know,” she admits with a small shake of her head. “Maybe she intends to hand it over to Dexter’s pack as part of their agreement. Maybe she has her own agenda. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you stop this madness now. You don’t honor your dead by turning on each other. That’s a dangerous path. You honor them by living. By remembering them. By protecting what you built together. This, your homeland.”

Raul nods, something shifting in his expression.

“Thanks, Helena,” Raul says, nodding. “You’ve opened my eyes.”

“Everybody’s eyes,” I correct, glancing at Locksmith. The tension in my chest loosens as I exhale. “Locksmith…” I meet his gaze, steady and sure. “I swear to you; we won’t stop until we find the bitch who killed Karen. And when we do, she’ll wish she’d never laid a hand on your mate. You have my word.”

Locksmith watches me, his grief-ridden face unreadable for a moment. Then he gives a curt nod.

“Fine,” he says, tears filling his eyes. He closes them, breathing heavily. He lowers his head, then growls. “That has to be enough.” He pauses; his eyes boring into mine for long enough that I become uncomfortable and then he switches his gaze to Raul. “Can I join the hunt?”

“Everyone’s welcome, Jonathan,” Raul answers, stepping forward. “You know that.”

“Then count me in.”

Locksmith extends his hand. Raul grips it without hesitation, sealing the unspoken truce between them. The tension that had gripped the town like a vice loosens. I look at Helena, the voice of reason, the voice of wisdom. She’s done it again.

She stepped in when we were inches from disaster. If she hadn’t, this wouldn’t have been just a fight. It would have been the spark that set Dawson ablaze. A civil war. It would have torn us apart without Roberta having lifted a finger.

As the last of the protesters disappear around the corner, I let myself believe I can finally go inside and talk to my family. That belief shatters the moment I see the sleek, familiar shape of a BMW rolling into the neighborhood.

Erica.

41

ERICA

Iyank the handbrake, kill the engine, and shove the door open with more force than necessary. My pulse pounds in my ears and my thoughts are a tangled mess as I slam the door shut. Helena steps forward, her sharp gaze locking onto mine.

“I smell trouble…” she mutters, brushing past Sam without another word.

No kidding.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say. “What’s happened?”

“I saw her,” I announce, voice tight with the weight of last night. “She came to me.”

“I was afraid of that,” Sam says, taking a step closer. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”

“Not exactly,” I exhale sharply, forcing my legs to move. Every step feels heavier than the last. “She did most of the talking. Told me she had to ditch me with my grandma to ‘hone her skills as a witch.’”

Sam narrows his eyes, lips pulling back into a sneer. There’s a tic on his temple.

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