Page 40 of Depraved
But on the silk pillow, right next to the smashed skull of one of my pack mates, is a flat gray river rock. A bright blood redEis painted on top of it.
11
ELENA
When Black stomps over—stillin his werewolf form—and grabs me with his massive claws, lifting me up and yanking me into his side, I don’t say a word.
The fact that he monstered out and ripped open a casket has me scared silent.
Up against his snow-white fur, my fingers digging into the shoulder of his beast, I can feel his burning hot fury driving his heart to pound quickly. The chill of the night does nothing to cool him because he’s as livid as a volcano right now. Every feral instinct he has is activated as he turns his wolf head and snarls, making everyone nearby back up a step.
Unsure of what’s happening, I do the only thing I can. I wrap my arms around Black’s neck and whisper in his pointed wolf ear, “I’m okay.”
It seems the right thing to say because the pulse throbbing underneath my fingers starts to slow. I gently pat his neck, trying to soothe him.
Whatever’s wrong, he instantly felt the need to protect me. I try not to let the twinkling, starlit pleasure of that fact overshadow the dark reality that something very dangerous is going on.
I let my eyes scan the crowd, the trees in the background, the distant parking lot. I don’t see anything amiss. Whatever the threat is, I can’t tell.
With a single gesture, all the alphas in the crowd spread out, shredding their mourning suits, and leaving nothing but yellow scraps of fabric fluttering to the grass as their monster forms emerge. They herd the betas together like sheep into a pen and surround them, facing outward, staring and sniffing for threats, waiting for a signal from Black.
The minutes pass tense and silent, everyone ready for an attack.
My muscles are as taut as the halyard rope on a sailboat, and my ears twitch with every noise. Someone shuffles their feet, and my head whips in that direction. Someone coughs, and my heart jumps.
This has to do with the Dark Nights. I just know it does.
Inside my head, bombs go off underneath our feet like land mines. I’m dragged back to the night at the pack house and worry about a repeat. My imagination forces me to watch the people in front of me in the field die at least a dozen times until I’m quaking in apprehension.
No signal comes from Black.
No bombs go off.
No wolves burst through the trees.
Eventually, I feel Black’s shoulders relax. Whatever the threat is, it must recede enough for Black to calm a bit because as he holds me, he shifts back to human. It’s strange to feel his body morph and reform—the arm around me and the neck I cling to growing smooth in under a second. I go from embracing a monster to holding a man in less than a blink. A very tan, naked, heavily muscled man who’s strong enough to keep me floating against his side, feet inches off the ground, with a solitary hand.
I glance around possessively, ready to stare down any female who so much as looks at Black with desire. But all eyes are on his face; all expressions are pale and waiting. Human emotions have been cast aside as these shifters look for a command from their alpha.
I’m struck by how utterly alien that is. It’s foreign, something that independent humans would never do, yet … it feels totally right.
I don’t have time to unravel or unpack that revelation because Black speaks.
He yells so loud that his voice ripples through the entire field, and I swear the very grass bends to his alpha tone. “Form a line. Every single one of you needs to sniff the handprint on this casket. I wanna know who touched it. Because it was one of you.”
I glance back at the casket, immediately regretting my choice because the sight inside is so gruesome. With the lid thrown back, I can’t see the print in question, but I have no doubt it’s there. Someone touched the casket and did something. What I don’t know, not until Black lifts his other hand high in the air and I see a rock painted in blood.
I turn to ice.
My mind is hurtled back to the nude man in the forest, happily painting with blood on a boulder.
Thomas.
I have no idea what this rock has written on it or what it means. All I know is that Black didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary while he held me.
That means someone in our pack is helping the enemy.
I watch dully, still internally reeling from my realization, as a snake-like trail of people forms across the grass. Everyone joins in—everyone except for a single solitary figure who suddenly bursts from the line and bolts for the trees in his yellow suit.
