Page 43 of The Weakest Wolf

With my ears peeled in case this is a trap meant to lure me into an ambush, I slowly approach the crumpled figure outside a cabin that smells of laundry detergent and soap.

I wait for the woman in a shredded, faded pink t-shirt and jean shorts to snap at me to fuck off, just as she did before. But she doesn’t move.

I go for a run, and they shift to wolf and shred her skin and clothes with their claws. Is there anything this pack won’t do?

By her side now, I get my first full glimpse of her face and realize why she isn’t swearing at me. That’s when I shift.

As I stand over her, I take in the deep black and blue bruises that cover her face. Someone punched her in the face. Repeatedly. I’ve been in too many fights not to know the damage it can do. The massive goose egg on her forehead looks like it came from something else. Maybe a weapon?

Between the split lip, bloody nose, and the suspicious swelling on one cheek, I’d say it was more than one person that did this to her. Likely several.

I continue to sweep my gaze over her, taking in her awkwardly bent wrist and scraped knuckles. My wolf snarls his fury.

I know.

She fought back, but in a pack of sixty, she never stood a chance.

Eyes probe my back. Some of the pack have emerged from whatever pit they crawl into each night.

They beat the shit out of her. Probably for no other reason than just because they could. She will heal from it. Eventually. But just because she won’t be laid out in a hospital for weeks the way a human would, that doesn’t take away from the fact a beating like this would fucking hurt.

Is that how they treated Eden and Melody? Is this what their lives were like?

I ask myself these questions, but they don’t explain my growing rage at the bruises marring Sierra’s face.

Crouching, I prepare to lift her.

“No need to pick her up,” a male voice calls out from behind me. I peer over my shoulder at a small group of men clutching bottles of beer near a cabin with its door open. “We’ve got a bet going on how long it takes her to return to the land of the living.”

I lose control of my wolf. My vision shifts and claws burst from the tips of my fingers. Fury coats my tongue, and the growl that emerges from my throat tastes of death. Theirs.

The men rush back inside the cabin and slam the door shut behind them. But they don’t go far. I feel their eyes peering through the lace curtains.

Later. Kill them all later.

Turning back around, I release a slow, steady breath. My claws slide back inside my skin and I’m once again just a man. I’d expected my wolf to fight me, but he falls silent and I know it’s because of her. Because he wants me to help her.

When I’m no longer staring out at the world through wolf's eyes, I scoop up Sierra’s light weight and head for her cabin.

The broken door hangs off its hinges. Using my shoulder to shove it open the rest of the way, I take one step inside.

One step is all I take.

My eyes scan the devastation of a tiny cabin I recalled as sparse but clean.

The clothes rail lies in a crumpled pile of twisted metal. Hands did that. Shifter strength broke it beyond repair. The mattress is a shredded mess with the cotton filling torn out and strewn around like confetti.

Running water pulls my gaze toward the bathroom door. I don’t have to venture any closer to know someone left the faucet on because water soaks through the beige carpets.

In the tiny kitchen, someone has emptied every cupboard and every drawer, and rained the broken contents all over. They’ve even taken the time to twist each knife, fork, and spoon until it snapped.

If there was any food in the refrigerator, there’s none there now.

But the worst is the smell.

It covers every corner of the room, the floor, the ruined mattress. Everything. The way that only the acrid stench of piss can.

They destroyed everything, and that still wasn’t enough. They had to piss all over it too.

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