Page 6 of Pack Kasen: Part 2

She might not want to kill him because… well, I’d rather not go into the specifics of why she wants him to live, but we both want revenge for what he did to us.

“I assume you’ve been trying to find the killer on your campus.”

Is this his attempt at making small talk?

“Why would you assume something like that?” I walk over to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, hoping for something to make this moment easier.

There is no wine or beer in the refrigerator. Just a chopped salad kit and half of a rotisserie chicken, my meal for tonight. But I’m not hungry. Not now.

Only a bottle of strong liquor or a heavy, blunt object applied with significant force to the side of the Wolf King’s head would make me feel better.

I close the refrigerator when his footsteps move toward me.

He stops at the kitchen island. Not on the other side of it, though. On my side. He leans against it, crossing powerful arms over his chest. “You seemed passionate back in…”

“The cage you locked me in?” I offer helpfully.

He has the decency to wince and look away at the reminder of what he did.

“What I mean to say is that you seemed like you might want to get to the bottom of whoever was doing it and why. I can help with that.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“So you’ve found the killer?”

“I’ll find him.” But I’m not sure I will. I don’t even know if the killer is male or female, and I’ve lost count of all the time I spent prowling around my old college campus, sniffing out a killer and getting nowhere.

“I can help.”

“You can’t help me.”

He cocks his head as he studies me. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Was the experience new and exciting?” I can’t help it, and truthfully, I don’t even attempt to curb my sarcasm. The guy locked me in a cage. He had me eating scraps off the floor and squatting over a bucket to pee. I will take everysingleopportunity to hit back at him that comes my way.

No regrets.

His forehead furrows in a frown as he opens his mouth.

I point my finger at him. “You have broken into my apartment. There are mud stains on my brand new white sheets, and you are keeping me from my meal and the rest I desperately need.Don’t.”

“I recognize that I might have been… misguided when I accused you of being a feral.” He relaxes against my kitchen island, arms crossed. “Whoever has been killing here was not you. Maybe it’s not a feral. Maybe the killer is shifter-born.”

I cross my arms. “So?”

“If the killer is shifter-born, it seems like someone doesn’t want you to be close to any man.”

I blink. “That… actually sounds like you might be right.”

I’d suspected it, of course. But having someone else confirm something I’d not wanted to admit to myself is validating, even if I’m still no closer to figuring out who it is and why.

He looks briefly offended at my surprise that he might actually have a brain under that long, Viking-like blond mane. “Maybe we can help each other out. I can help you track down whoever killed the quarterback.”

“And me?”

“I have a situation with an Alpha from Washington State. The Wolf Lord of Starling’s Peak. Tagge keeps threatening to send me his sister. I need him to see you exist so he can send his diseased sister somewhere else. I don’t want her.”

What is up with the names these people give their homes?

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