Page 83 of Witch's Wolf

The weight of his words settles over the crowd. We all know he’s right. Helena saved us tonight. But at what cost? I leave the talking to my brother after that. He’s always been better at it than I am.

My gaze drifts to Erica. She stands apart from the crowd, perched on the tailgate of my truck with her back to me, forearms resting on her thighs.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say, my voice a little louder than usual as I hop onto the tailgate beside her.

She lets out a sharp breath, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

“Which part?” she asks. “My own mother trying to carve up my friend? Or her casual confession to murdering my father? Believe me, it wasn’t the stabbing that shocked me the most tonight. I knew what Helena would do to her the second I saw that piece of wood flying.”

“All of the above,” I say, keeping my tone softer now. “Anyway… her body’s still there. If you want to give her a burial.”

“Why are you being so kind?” she whispers as her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “After everything she did to you, tothis place? You still want to show her respect? She never showed you any, Sam. Or me.”

I exhale heavily and shrug. It’s hard to meet her eyes. Emotions clog my throat.

“I’m not doing this for her, Erica. I’m doing it for you. So you can have some closure.”

“Thanks, but I got closure the second Helena stabbed her.” A sharp edge cuts into her voice, but when she speaks again, it’s quieter. “You can do whatever you want with that body. Because that’s all it is. A body. Not my mother.”

Her throat works around the words. She hesitates, staring at some distant point in the dark.

“The night she… showed up in my bedroom, she got mad when I called her by her first name. She didn’t seem able to wrap her head around the fact that I didn’t think of her as my mom. Couldn’t think of her like that.”

“I’ll have her cremated,” I say, my tone calm, almost detached. “I’ll scatter her ashes across Brad’s estate. Guess it’s poetic justice. The two people who brought the worst kind of evil into Dawson… dying in almost the same spot.”

As the words leave my mouth, the sharp click of a door opening draws our attention. Monica steps outside, still in a white doctors coat, peeling off a pair of latex gloves.

“Helena’s going to be just fine.”

Her lips keep moving, probably explaining more, but the rest of her words vanish beneath the roar of the crowd. Cheers erupt, arms shoot into the air, people embrace, voices blend into achaotic wave of relief and joy. I feel like I’ve been given the world. All the fear and anxiety vanishes in an instant.

Erica moves first. She throws herself at me, arms wrapping tight, her face buried in my shoulder. I hold her just as tightly, feeling the tremor in her breath.

“Thank God,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“Thank Monica,” I murmur with a smile, easing her back just enough to see her face.

“I need to see her,” Erica says, already turning.

Raul has Monica in his arms, both of them lost in their own relief. But Erica doesn’t wait. She hops off the truck, a current of adrenaline and joy carrying her forward.

“How is she? Is she awake?” she calls, weaving through the crowd.

Monica raises her voice to be heard over the excitement. “Yeah! She lost a lot of blood, but no vital organs were damaged. She’s been asking for you.”

“Thanks, Mon.”

46

ERICA

Ipass Monica, the ambient noise of those gathered swelling behind me. Their reaction makes sense. Their savior stared death in the face and came out on top. And somehow, this incredible woman wants to see me first. I could tell myself that a dozen times, and each time, I’d still wonder if it were true.

Helena is lying on Monica’s couch. The top part of her cloak is gone, and no fabric covers her shoulders. A long line of stitches stretch across her chest below the collar bone. Lacerations and bruises mar her face, and her left eye is swollen nearly shut.

“I can’t find the words to thank you for what you did,” I murmur, sinking to my knees beside her.

“It couldn’t have been easy for you. How are you holding up? Are you okay?” Her voice, is soft as a breath, washes over me like a miracle. A stunned laugh catches in my throat.

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