Page 62 of Claimed By the Feral Wolves

“Hello, Faye.”

A dread I’ve come to associate with Kurt blooms through my body like a drop of ink in a glass of water. I struggle to breathe as I turn, coming face-to-face with Kurt, who’s grinning like he’s just won a prize.

At once, I see my brother’s face, his neck at the wrong angle, his eyes staring off into nothing, and I’m certain that it’s about to happen to me, too. Kurt is here, like some sort of familial curse. I think of how confident I’d been that day during the fashion show, and I wish I could summon that courage now.

But I can’t.

I’m trembling, unable to breathe.

“They aren’t here, Faye,” he says, frowning and tilting his head, like I’m a child who’s been dropped at school for the first time, looking for her parents. “And they aren’t coming. Today, we’re playing a new kind of game.”

“A new kind of game?” I pant, terror in my voice.

A slow, cruel smile tilts his lips. “One I’m going to win.”

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