Page 77 of Depraved
ELENA
I walk outinto the parking lot in a daze, Black’s arm across my shoulders. The weight of him is both heavy and reassuring. A strong breeze whips my hair to the right and blows away the scent of all the blood splashed across the asphalt as he steers me outside so that Jonah gets more time to heal and we can help deflect the cops from getting inside too soon.
It looks like a war movie out here. Or the news in some other country. It’s unreal.
“Careful of glass,” Black warns me, steering me around the shattered remains of Pluto’s tinted car window.
Matthew trails behind us. He showed up with new clothes and a lawyer in tow. Said lawyer is now fending off the human police, who surround the entire parking lot. I spot squad cars with their lights blaring, a SWAT team van, and guys in all black with bulletproof vests surround us.
Fuck.
They lowered their guns as soon as Matthew’s lawyer friend—or is it Black’s lawyer friend?—got involved. The nerdy man in a suit and tie had stomped over there, pushing back his glasses and raising his voice before he got within twenty feet of them.
I definitely didn’t think the human part of this confrontation through. I didn’t consider cops. Or the shop owner. Poor Adelle.
I should have done better to prepare for that, for the possibility of Thomas Stone actually making it inside. I rub at my forehead, at the ache that’s coming on from all the mistakes I made. There’s a heavy weight behind my eyes because Adelle’s death is my fault.
So are any of the others.
I look over at my mother, who’s huddled together with the other alphas of our pack, waiting for orders from the cops, or Black—I’m not sure. My mom’s face has three long slashes across it, one of them going right through her lip.
She fought against Thomas Stone’s Night Wolves. Bravely. She defended her pack and her daughter and she got Georgia and the donut shop people to safety. For all her flaws, and the list is long, I give her a nod of thanks when she looks over at me.
She tries to smile, but she can’t with the cut on her lip, so she nods back. Her eyes glimmer, and I think they might even be wet with relief.
God. Guilt eats at me. And I can’t even look up at the moon goddess for comfort because it’s midday.
Maybe I should have warned her. Maybe I should have warned them all.
But they’d never have let me come. Maybe there’s a better plan out there, but if there is, I couldn’t think of it.
We’d still be on a wild goose chase.
Is it better that it’s all over?
Yes. But it doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve watched a million action movies, and the aftermath is always badass, and the good guy has this cathartic resolution. But when I look at the parking lot and realize that Warcraft is in human form, face-down between two motorcycles, and hasn’t gotten back up, when I know Jonah’s still inside the shop suffering—though Black has reassured me he’ll shift into his wolf soon—even though I see half a dozen bikers without heads and know we won the fight … I don’t feel a lot of victory in that.
Killing crazy Thomas Stone? Hell yes. That was victorious. That was everything.
But the price?
I didn’t quite know what paying it would feel like. And the ache in my chest feels like a costly, expansive hole. What have I done?
Black’s voice clicks on in my head, and I see all the alphas in the parking lot stiffen, so he must be speaking to all of us at once.Just let the lawyer talk. No comments, no matter what anyone asks you. Plead the fifth. But, as the cops walk up, you can let them overhear the cover story. This gang has been harassing me for a while. I hired you all because you work for private security. Dewey, hit up your brother Dotcom. Have him toss together a website or something.
Slight nods follow Black’s instructions. I’m impressed he came up with something that quickly.
Pluto walks over to stand on Black’s other side. His nose is broken, and blood is dripping from it. He’s wearing pack sweats he clearly grabbed out of his trunk. All of our shifters are. Only one Night Wolf in the parking lot is still alive. The others either fled or are splayed out, deader than dead.
But, as I stare between the smashed-up vehicles and the overturned motorcycles, I spot a glaring problem with Black’s cover story.
Black turns to Pluto. “Injuries?”
“Warcraft’s the worst. Everyone else made it. But we need to get a healer in here to check on him ASAP.”
Black nods and stares off for a second. I can’t tell if he’s mind-linking or if he’s just thinking.
