She screamed, or rather tried to, but it was cut short. Claire wondered frantically why. Then she realized he had a hold of her throat with one clawed hand. His muzzle was close to her face and he was growling, blowing hot, rancid breath in her face. His eyes locked to hers.
It was the last thing she would ever see.
One quick swipe to her throat ripped it completely out, nearly severing her head. The blood gushed hot and went all over the front of her body, all over him. The smell of it was strong and combined with her fierce fear-scent, it was maddening.
He swiped with his claws again, letting out all his pent up anger on her. Several thick, deep slashes opened her belly. Warm entrails slid out.
He let her fall. She wasn’t entirely dead when she hit the blood-soaked carpet, but she wouldn’t survive. Her body twitched. Her eyes still moved, but did so without really seeing. He stared down at her, blood dripping from his claws and he watched her die.
It seemed to take forever, but she was dead. The smell of her blood surrounded him and he breathed it in.
He savored the kill, closing his eyes. He could taste her blood on the air and he drew a claw to his muzzle and licked it away from his fingers, really tasting it. Claire had deserved it, he knew. She had crossed him one too many times and it had just been a matter of time.
Her blood was just as he had expected it to be: sweet. He stopped and reopened his eyes. The blood was everywhere, painting the walls and monitors across from him. He turned and saw that some of the blood had splashed across the computer.
Computers, the werewolf thought, not really understanding. She had used computers to find out things. He took a step closer, focusing his eyes on the bright screen. Names popped out from the text and he recognized his own. Incensed, he had to find out more. What had she been doing in here?
The switch back to human took only a few minutes and it didn’t hurt very much. Her blood was sticky on his naked skin, beginning to dry. He leaned over the computer, staring. He read the words quickly, then again.
Letter? What fucking letter? My father is Jason’s father. Jason and I are brothers. Brothers.
He panted heavily, staring at the screen. He tore his gaze away, glancing briefly over Claire’s mutilated body.
Where’s the damn letter? He had to read it for himself. He had to find the truth. He spied sheets of paper everywhere, all over the desk. Angered, he swiped them away. They fluttered to the floor.
He caught the yellow pieces of paper and the empty envelope before they hit the floor. The envelope was splattered with blood and his name was scrawled across the front. His heart pounded as he looked to the papers. Quickly he skimmed over them. This was his father’s handwriting.
He began to read over it hurriedly.
So it’s true.
Simon roared with rage and the sound echoed throughout the PRDI.
Chapter Twenty
She awoke suddenly, feeling panicked and she didn’t know why. Her hand jerked, pulling the phone off the receiver. Had it rung? She held it to her ear and heard nothing but the disappointing dial tone.
Reluctantly, she let the phone back down. Jason hadn’t called. She couldn’t be too surprised. After all, had she really expected him to? No, but she had hoped.
Rose sat up in bed, pushing the sheets and blankets away. It was hot in the room suddenly. She had broken out in a sweat. What had jarred her so suddenly awake?
She wiped her brow, pushing sweaty strands of hair away from her face. The necklace she wore with her wedding band and engagement ring had twisted around her neck and she untangled it from her hair as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up, shakily. She had to pee and was on her way to the bathroom when she smelled it.
It was thick and coppery, like the smell of a penny, but much stronger. She smelled the air, remembering, knowing.
It was the scent of blood.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Jason, no.” That was her first thought. Jason had arrived, had been angry with her. Claire had been in the way. He had hurt her. Maybe he rage shifted.
“Oh no,” she said again, shaking with fear. Her heart kicked against her ribs. She grabbed her jeans from the floor and quickly slipped them on under her sleep shirt. She hurried to the door.
She had just stepped out into the hall when she heard the roar of anger. She froze. It was coming from Claire’s office. She peered down the hall, saw the light on and the door partially open. The blood-scent was stronger and Rose could now detect a fear-scent, something that reminded her of sour sweat, and the were-scent of a male.
She didn’t hesitate any more. She ran down the hall, her bare feet sliding on the hardwood floor. She reached the door and pushed it open all the way.
Claire lay on the floor, her body torn apart. Blood was everywhere. Claire’s blonde hair was red with it, her throat nothing but a gaping hole. Her brown eyes, wide with permanent and dead fear, stared up.
Rose couldn’t speak. She stared, feeling her gag reflexes begin to choke her. Claire’s intestines had spilled out, looking like a mass of red worms on the carpet. The smell of it was horrible.
In her mind, Rose saw a flash of Tiffany, her friend and fellow PRDI member, a woman who had been wrongly killed by Marcus Brown. She remembered the anger that had overcome her then. It was the same anger that began to consume her now.
Tears blurring her vision, Rose tore her eyes away from her dead friend and to the person standing in front of the computer. Sure it was Jason, she opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but stopped.
The man standing before her was naked and covered with blood. In his hands, he held a piece of yellow, blood stained paper. His fist closed around it, crumpling it. He shook with visible rage. The yellow eyes turned toward her. It wasn’t Jason.
Her tears began to fall now. Her anger was quickly replaced with shock. She began to back away from the door.
Simon. Simon had killed Claire. Simon was here. Simon.
Then she turned and started to run for the stairs. She had a few second headstart before Simon jumped into action. She had just reached the top step when he launched himself at her. His weight, easily a solid two-hundred some pounds, hit her with full force and she lost her footing. She hit the stairs hard and began to roll.
The back of her head hit one of the wooden spokes in the railing and she cried out in pain. Simon growled, his breath close to her. She felt his arms around her, gripping her tightly. Pain immediately shot through her leg. She heard it crack, loudly.
She couldn’t help it. She screamed in pain as they finally came to a halt in the downstairs foyer. When she looked down, she saw the blood and the bone protruding through her shin.
Simon yanked her upwards by her arm. She felt another pain start in her shoulder. He was going to yank it out of the socket. She sobbed in uncontrollable agony.
But he didn’t rip her arm out. For a moment, he held her there, staring at her with a strange look on his face. Suddenly, with his free hand, he reached forward and yanked the necklace from her throat. The chain and rings clattered to the floor. Then, he threw her over his back, securely with an arm firmly around the back of her knees. Her broken leg stuck out at an odd angle.
This is it, she thought, hysterically. I’m dead, he’s going to kill me, I’m dead, dead for real. Swinging in his arms, she looked down. She could see her necklace and her wedding and engagement rings at the foot of the stairs.
Then Simon began to walk and Rose was moving. Bright red blood trailed along the downstairs carpet, across the threshold, onto the porch. It gleamed black on the sidewalk. Then she saw nothing else.
* * *
Glen was not psychic by any means, but he was a firm believer in everyone having extra sensory perception. He knew dozens of instances where people with no extraordinary traits had sensed something, known who was calling a moment before the phone rang, or had a dream that came true. It wasn’t uncommon.
So when he felt a funny tingling and a s
trange, foreboding sense of doom, he didn’t ignore it. He climbed out of bed and dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt. He used the phone in his room to call the cabin, but there was no answer. Jason wasn’t there.
Glen reached the downstairs hall in record time.
He didn’t know much about this premonition except that it involved Rose. There was something very wrong. He crossed the floor to Davis’s downstairs bedroom and knocked fiercely on the door.
After a few moments, a groggy Davis opened the door. His short hair stuck out in all directions and his eyes were only partially open.
“What?” he demanded sleepily. He rubbed his face, refocused his eyes. When he saw it was Glen, he immediately straightened and tried to look fully awake. “What’s wrong?”
”I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about something,” Glen said. “Come on, we have to go.”
Davis watched him, confused. He scratched the back of his head. “Go where? What’s going on, Glen?”
“I don’t know.” Glen was at the PRDI front door. He grabbed his leather jacket from the peg. “I have a bad feeling that something’s happened to Rose.”
“Oh, God.” Davis stepped out of the bedroom, clad only in his sleeping pants. His face went white. “You don’t think Simon killed her, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he said hurriedly. He didn’t want to think of his cousin, a woman who was like a sister to him, dead by that mad man. He sucked in a deep breath. “Jason didn’t answer the phone when I called. I’m going there. Hurry up and get dressed.”
Davis only stared at him. He still seemed shocked, unable to move into action. He shook his head.
“I don’t understand. How do you know that something has happened?”
“I don’t,” Glen said. He usually kept his cool, but there was something this time letting go. “I felt it and I know better than to ignore this type of feeling.”
“Feeling? You mean, like a psychic thing?” Davis asked. “But you’re not psychic.”
“I know that. Haven’t you learned anything these past three years?” Glen snapped. “People can have psychic occurrences without having shown any other signs of supernatural activity in their lives. What part of that do you not understand?”
There was a moment of ringing silence as Davis gaped at him. Glen immediately sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to snap.
“I’m sorry. It’s just—I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
“We all have,” Davis finally said. “I’m sorry for being so stupid.”
“No, you’re not stupid.” He paused, opening his eyes. “I just feel I need to get in contact with Jason.”
“Okay,” Davis said, “but does it have to involve me?”
Glen gave him a once over. Davis looked like shit. Of course, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while either; none of them had.
“I guess not,” he said after a moment. “I would like the back-up though.”
“Listen.” Davis leaned against the doorframe. “I’m tired. I’ve had a hell of a week. We all have. I don’t want to go back to Jason’s just on a whim. If something happens, something concrete, then yeah, I’ll be there. What if it’s nothing?”
Glen had considered that. What if it wasn’t anything but a misguided feeling? Something told him it wasn’t.
“I'm taking the chance. You don’t have to come along, Davis. I just thought maybe you cared.”
“Whoa, hey, don’t turn this around on me. I do care.” Davis looked angry. He pointed at himself. “I just don’t want to go on some wild chase. I’ve done that enough in my life.”
“Fine,” Glen said, defeated. He had hoped riling Davis would convince him to come along. “I’ll go alone then. Stay by the phone. I’ll call if something is wrong.”
“Sure,” Davis answered, slightly rebuffed. No doubt he thought Glen gave in too easily. He shrugged a bit. “Keep in touch.”
Glen slipped on his jacket and grabbed his van keys from the pocket and stepped out into the cold, early dawn.
It was daylight by the time he reached the cabin. Jason’s car wasn’t in the driveway and Glen took it as a bad sign. He sat in the van, letting the engine rumble. He stared at the front steps. The porch was dark and the door was wide open.
Definitely not good, he thought. He shut the engine off and climbed out of the van. His boots crunched on the gravel as he slowly made his way to the steps. He felt his heart thud. His blood pumped quickly, but he felt cold all over. A sweat broke out. Something was very wrong.
He scented the air. There was something heavy here, but familiar. Carefully, he pushed back the door and stepped inside. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.
The stench of the urine was overwhelming. Glen felt the wolf respond with hostility. He felt a growl begin, angry and deep within him. He quelled it. The male were-scent was very strong, very dangerous.
It was Simon.
“Shit.” Glen barely breathed. He stepped forward, his boots cracking broken porcelain. He looked down. The floor was strewn with debris. Simon had destroyed the house. “God.”
What had happened here? Had there been a struggle? He couldn’t really tell. The smell was horrible, assailing. He tried to breath through his mouth, but he imagined he could taste it. He was going to be sick.
“Jason?” he called. If Simon had been here, maybe he had killed him. Maybe he had stolen the Camaro. Glen didn’t like the grim thought. He didn’t want to sniff again, but he had to. There was just a faint blood-scent, but nothing to suggest death. He couldn’t be sure.
He slowly moved through the house, staying aware at all times.
“Jason?” he called again, louder. There was no answer. He let out a breath. He wasn’t here.
He stopped just short of the couch. The cushions were non-existent, shredded into strips of fabric and stuffing. The urine yellowed what was left of it. He turned away.
The roaring of an engine sounded loudly from outside. Glen hurried to the door. The Camaro had just turned into the drive. It lurched forward, swerved off the gravel path. Glen watched, as it moved back onto the drive and finally to a stop. The door opened and Jason staggered out.
Glen hurried out of the house and down the steps. Jason walked sideways toward him. He could smell the alcohol all around him. There was no doubt in his mind that Jason had been drinking.
“What—what are you doing here?” Jason said, words very slurred. Glen could barely understand him. When Jason almost stumbled, he grabbed hold of his arm. Jason roughly pulled away, losing his balance. He tripped over his own feet and fell square on his ass.
“I came here to find you,” Glen said. He offered Jason a hand, concerned about him, but he refused. He slowly climbed to his feet and leaned against Glen. The liquor on his breath was heavy.
“I wasn’t gone that long,” Jason again slurred. Glen didn’t believe him. “Now let me go. I want to sleep.”
“No, Jason.” Gen held him back. “You don't want to go in there.”
“It’s my own fucking house.” He was angered by the refusal. He turned his flushed face toward Glen. His eyes were bloodshot. Beard stubble darkened his jaw. “Why not?”
Glen didn’t know how to tell him. He wouldn’t understand, not in this state. Or worse, he would and he would snap. A drunken rage shift. Glen had never seen that before and he didn’t think he’d ever want to.
“It’s—”
“What? What is it?” Jason was right in his face. Glen backed away. “What’s wrong with my house?” He turned quickly. His nostrils flared as he took a quick sniff. “What is that smell?”
“Jason, don’t—”
But it was too late. He had already started for the house. He stumbled up the steps, his shins smashing into the porch ledge. He gave no indication of the pain and stomped to the door. Glen was right behind him.
Once more, the piss-scent assaulted him as he entered. Jason stopped a few steps from the door. He was
shocked silent. Glen watched as he closed his fists and began to shake with rage.
“Simon,” he said, his voice tense and no longer slurred. The words were clear, angry. “Simon did this. He was here.”
“Jason, don’t.” Glen reached out a hand and firmly grabbed Jason’s shoulder. He felt the tensing of his muscles beneath his shirt, the rippling of the wolf beneath the skin, begging to be let loose. “He’s gone.”
Jason seemed to accept it quite well. He panted heavily, though. The smell of the marked room circled all around them.
Where was Rose during all this? Had Simon killed her? Glen didn’t like to think of it, but he had to explore all possibilities. Was that why he had returned? Had she gotten away, and come here?
Glen wrinkled his nose as he tested the air again. There it was, a very faint, but familiar scent. Rose had been here, but she was long gone.
“Rose was here,” he said, moving away from Jason. He tried to follow the smell, focusing on only it. He walked a few paces toward the bedroom. Simon’s scent was thick and nearly overruled, but he could smell it even here.
“But she’s gone now,” Jason said. He seemed calmer, suddenly sober. “She was here, but now she’s gone.”
Glen puzzled over what he said a few minutes. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“I mean, she was here. She got away from Simon and she came here.”
Relief flooded through him. “Then she’s safe. Thank God.” Glen breathed the words. Jason looked at him. He wasn’t too happy. His features were dark, livid.
“I don’t know about that any more. She left last night, or actually, sometime this morning. I don’t know where she is.”
“She left?” Glen repeated. Relief gone, he shook his head. “Shit.”
Jason moved away, turning his back on him. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the mess that was once their living room.
“This is serious. Simon is out there. He may be looking for her. He might have her.”
“I doubt it,” Jason said, darkly. “I doubt he has her again. She wouldn’t have come back here. She was…angry with me. And I was angry at her. She—” He choked on his anger. Glen glanced at him.
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