Page 165 of Conner's Luna

"He left," one of the younger males says. His eyes are a sad, melancholy brown.

"When?" Trey lashes out.

"A couple of hours ago."

"Where is Kane?" Trey asks us.

Shrugs and cluelessness. It's all we get.

"Take us to your packhouse," Dad orders Trey.

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"Motherfucking Goddess. The fuck is this? You should have told me. Fuck. I would have locked Bailey away in ClearHowl months ago," I rant at a hapless, sullen Trey.

Lydia's bedroom in the packhouse is littered with photographs. Older ones feature females and males I don't recognize. In the back of my mind, I note that we'll have to take them down and process the images against the missing and murdered females.

On top of the older photos are pictures of me, Trey, and most of all, Bailey. It's a horrifying shrine dedicated to the death and debasement of my girl.

Red words are written in what looks like blood, scrawling threats and insults. Pictures of Bailey's car, tagged with slurs from weeks ago, are prominently featured as if Lydia is proud of her handiwork.

"This should have been disclosed," Dad snaps at Trey. "She's clearly nuts."

"Don't. She's bipolar and has delusions. Her wolf sometimes hallucinates. It wasn't this bad just a couple of months ago," Trey whispers. He nods and points with his bound hands at a corner of the room. I walk over and see an image of me and Bailey. Our bodies are touching, my head tilted down to her upturned face. We're both smiling at each other, except that I'm circled in red and Bailey's eyes are gouged out. Another photo of Bailey and me has a picture of Lydia plastered over my mate.

The plastic quality of Lydia's smile in that picture holds my attention for a moment as chills race over my body. Then, I see the photos laid under that one. They are of Trey.

"Is she Severed from her wolf?" I weigh the thought in my mind, tentatively probing at my wolf. There's really nothing there, just a vague sense of guilt. It's mine, not my wolf's. He doesn't rationalize the mental stability of his former mate. He just wants to den up with his pregnant female and make sure her and our pup are healthy.

"I don't think so," Trey admits. "Both feet and paws are unstable."

"She was obsessed with you," I remark.

"Yeah. It turned, like I said. She wanted... wants, Bailey dead. I played her game," Trey says, sounding exhausted, "so she wouldn't tell Dad that Bailey was my mate."

"Why does your Dad hate humans so much?" Sean asks.

Trey tosses a glare his way. "I don't know. He doesn't think humans can bear strong pups? Some history with a human mate a few generations ago. We were cursed, so the story goes. It's fucking stupid, but Dad's a believer."

"What curse?" Dad asks.

Trey laughs, "Your alpha knows. Yeah, Uncle Alex knows all about it. Ask him."

Dad punches Trey in the gut. "I'm asking you.UncleAlex?"

Trey wheezes for a few minutes before he manages to catch his breath. "Your alpha is my... third cousin, maybe?"

Dad whips out his phone. Holding it to his ear, his face darkens as he pulls it away. "Xander isn't answering," he mutters.

"You are the only one to call him Xander," Trey says.

"He doesn't like being called Alexander, or Alex, except he got used to that," Dad responds stiffly.

"Because, he was named the family name, and his great-grandfather Alexander was not someone to emulate," a cool, feminine voice says.

All eyes turn to the older female wrapped in a long, brown cardigan that dwarfs her body and nearly hangs to the floor. She is hugging herself as if trying to hold herself together. Wrinkles and lines bracket blue eyes just like her son's. My wolf whines a little at the sight of a female reduced to this sickly, frail thing.

Trey inhales sharply, "Mom! Why are you out of bed? Where is Dad? Are you alright?"

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