Page 48 of Blade's Battle
Liam had a stash of cars at his disposal. Less than a two-mile walk and Anna found herself in a beat-up black sedan with Colorado plates. Within an hour, they traveled down a service road to a state road and merged onto the interstate. An hour later, Griff, Daaven, and Anna arrived at her home, a small two-bedroom house southwest of Boulder. Her closest neighbor was a mile away.
She had always liked her wooded property, but ever since Kurt’s death, walking up to the house only depressed her. Each and every time she had to muster the courage to enter. When she finally did, that cloying scent of death that never seemed to leave despite the cleaning solutions she used struck her full force. Without Kurt, the house felt like a mausoleum with reminders of Kurt everywhere.
Griff pushed the door open without even having to force his way in. It had been locked when she had left. That had been over three months ago. When Griff stepped outside, he sent Daaven to run the perimeter.
“I take it this was not your doing,” Griff said, walking behind her as she entered.
The house had been trashed. Every piece of furniture, dish, painting, and piece of art had been smashed or shredded. Shattered glass, stuffing from the sofa, pages from books and research journals lay strewn about on the floor. Even the walls had been bashed in, leaving chunks of drywall everywhere. Carefully, she stepped over the debris, too shocked to speak. It hadn’t been much of a house, not with all the medical bills, but still, it had been hers, hers and Kurt’s.
“Why would anyone. . .” She couldn’t finish the thought. The word “DIE” was spray-painted on the wall over what used to be her sofa.
“You weren’t planning to stay here, anyway. Grab whatever you want. Clothing, money, and let’s go. You have five minutes.”
His words barely registered as she waded through the papers and possessions that used to be her life. Then she realized there was nothing here that meant anything to her, not since Kurt had died. These were mere possessions, they held no worth. Kurt. Blade.Theymattered.
When Griff yelled out a three-minute warning, she grabbed the hiking backpack she had shoved under the bed and the few pieces of clothing that hadn’t been shredded, including her hiking boots. On her way out, she glimpsed a frame thrown into the fireplace, one that had only been partially burned. She sifted through the ashes. It was her wedding picture. The edges of the photo were singed, but the rest of the photo was in good shape. She ran her fingers over the picture of her sweet Kurt, then shoved the broken frame into her backpack and headed out without a single glance back.
“Let’s go.” Griff’s voice had an unusual edge to it. Maybe Daaven had picked up the scent of whoever had done this. Oddly enough, she found this latest attack had given her clarity. Whether it was Drake or the WSSO who had tried to scare her, their tactics had backfired. Now she knew exactly what she had to do.
* * *
BLADE
The moment Callen and he crossed the border into Damien’s territory, Blade breathed a sigh of relief, though arriving home was a hollow victory without Anna. He had always loved coming home to family and pack, whether it was his birth pack or his new pack. There was the feeling of knowing you weren’t alone in the universe, that there were those who cared about you enough to tell you when you fucked up and when you did something right. They cared that you learned from your mistakes, that you didn’t let yourself disappear into your memories and wallow in grief, at least not for too long. These were the shifters, the friends—and now family—who had risked their lives for him over the past six years, and for whom he had done the same.
Except now the pack felt empty. Blade had left a part of himself behind, walked away from her as if she meant nothing to him.
“Welcome home,” Hayden said, with a slap on his back.
Blade and Callen had bypassed the cookhouse where most of the pack gathered for dinner. Dinners were a community meal here, giving everyone a chance to socialize and unwind at the end of the day. For a lot of the single shifters, eating at the cookhouse provided the chance to flirt, make plans, even arrange to hook up.
His friends would all expect him back at his usual table with Pryce and Callen, trading glances with some of the single females at the table across from theirs. That explained why Callen’s pace was slower than usual in returning to the pack. He had timed the last leg of their trip, so they’d miss dinner. Callen knew Blade wouldn’t be up for socializing, especially today.
“Not talking today?” Frank asked as they trudged past the cookhouse.
His brothers in arms expected a greeting, a joke, even a ‘fuck-off’ that he was prone to giving Frank when he annoyed Blade. They knew Liam had sent for Damien to escort Blade home, but they were acting as if everything was normal. By now they had all sensed his mood. They wouldn’t let him slip back into the depression that often gripped him.
He loved these guys, and he could talk to them about anything, but not yet. The pain was still too raw. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.
“Took you long enough,” Frank added, squeezing Blade’s bad shoulder. He smelled of garlic-braised venison with shitake mushroom, one of Blade’s favorites, especially the way Henrietta prepared it.
“Henrietta was asking about you,” Pryce said, not looking too pleased. The medic had his eyes on Henrietta for a while. “I think she sensed you were coming home today.”
Blade really didn’t want to hear about Henrietta, especially from Pryce who was driving him nuts by refusing to step in and ask the female out on a date. Pryce was too damn polite to interfere with what he thought was Blade’s budding romance with the cook.
Blade glared at Pryce until Frank elbowed him. “Loosen up. You don’t have to date her if you don’t like her. But she did put those little red hot cinnamon candies in the apple pie just for you.”
“Why the fuck does everyone think I want to blood-bond Henrietta?”
“What’s the matter? You don’t think she’s good enough for you?” Pryce shot back, a definite growl overriding his usual Southern gentility.
“Knock it off,” Callen warned the group.
Henrietta was sweet, but the only female that constantly popped into Blade’s mind was Anna, with her radiant smile that lit the darkest of forests. Blade would gladly give up his shifter abilities and anything else he had if he could have Anna.
“What happened?” Hayden asked, more bold than usual, his smile from a few minutes ago gone. That was probably because this whole mess started with his brother, and anytime Drake was involved, Hayden became a ball of pure angst, losing all humor and patience.
Blade was too like Hayden in that respect. Even after six years here, Blade still had trouble letting go of his past. He wasn’t Damien’s best scout because he was the fastest or had the best sense of smell among the pack’s handful of scouts but because he checked, double-checked, and triple-checked any and every fact he could when Damien sent him out to scout. This pack, these shifters relied on him, and he wouldn’t fail them, not like he had his birth pack.
