Page 43 of Depraved
An older couple stares at the camera, eyes blank. Their throats are a mess of blood and ribbons of flesh. I have to look away.
Beside me, Mason lets out a howl of grief. “No!”
I give him a minute, letting him absorb the fact that his selfish action was utterly meaningless. Then I climb to my feet because the moment to comfort him is over. It’s time for justice to be served.
My stomach twists as I realize what needs to happen.
“But … I did what he said.” Mason has trouble processing that the Dark Night didn’t keep his word.
“Thomas Stone is unhinged. His father’s been covering for his behavior for years. He’s violent and can’t be trusted.” Black’s tone is far steadier than I would have expected from him.
“He’s also the man responsible for the bomb at the pack house,” I add. “And you just agreed to help him.” I don’t come across as even-handed as Black. There’s acid in my tone, and I just wished my words were strong enough to burn holes in Mason’s ears.
“But it was just a rock. I didn’t hurt anybody. He just wanted to put a stupid rock—”
“He wanted you to disrespect the body of one of your pack members. He wanted you to disrupt a ceremony set to unite us. He wanted you to create dissension and fear, and suspicion. He wants us to think we can’t trust each other.” I look away from Mason and out at the crowd. I make eye contact with several alpha women, with several beta men. All of them stare solemnly back at me.
I glance back down at Mason. “You helped sow discord and distrust. You ruined your best friend’s funeral. Do you think that doesn’t hurt anybody?”
The silence that follows my words is profound.
Not a single shifter speaks.
No one moves.
The wind picks up at that very moment, whipping around my shoulders and lifting my hair. It presses against my back, sweeping the scent of my anger out across the field.
The beta on his knees in front of me lifts his hands to his face. His sobbing comes to a slow, stuttering halt.
And then he looks right at me. “Mercy, Luna,” he begs.
I stare down at him, at his broken expression. “Mercy is for those who make mistakes. You chose to betray your pack.”
I blow out a breath before I speak again because I can’t believe what I’m about to say. But such a betrayal can’t go unpunished, and pack unity needs to be restored.
I glance up at the other alphas. “Drag him to the hole from the pine tree.”
Not one of them hesitates. In under a second, Mason’s picked up and hoisted onto their shoulders, alphas each taking a limb or grabbing onto his waist and lifting him like they would a casket. Fitting—since he’s a dead man.
He screams and struggles, but they keep their hold easily as they march him down the field.
Whispers start to break out amongst the crowd, but that golden flag of instinct waves again inside my head, and I hold up my hand. Silence descends.
I wait until every eye in the crowd is on me. Then I say, “Someone who betrays the Lobos does not get a path to the goddess. Mason will spend all of eternity in the shade.” I turn and point to the massive tree that seven alphas just knocked down. “Together, we are all going to put that pine back on top of him. And it will stand here as a reminder of what happens to those who work with our enemy. It will stand as a reminder that we are Lobos, and wewill notbe divided.”
My eyes drift to Black and the approval I see shining there helps smooth over the quaky feeling in my stomach. He gives me a nod, showing everyone that he agrees with my decision.
A howl goes up from the back of the crowd, and then I watch as three hundred shifters transform into wolves. They lift their noses to the sky and all sing with one voice, howling their misery, their agreement, their vow to remain true to the pack.
I can’t hear words, but each tonal shift is clear to me, and I can tell exactly what they’re saying. My heart swells with something foreign, some strange combination of pride and motherly love that I’ve never experienced before. The feeling is so big and full that it fills me up and seems to radiate out from my very skin.
I watch the Lobos as they turn as one and then bound toward the tree to obey me.
* * *
“Why didyou make me do that?” I whisper-yell at Black as we climb into his car, Matthew at the wheel. I’m shaking from the adrenaline of speaking in front of so many people, the shock of them listening to me, the weight of condemning a man to death.
I don’t know what to do with myself, and my default response is to lash out at the man who did this to me.
