by Nancy Holder
“You’re wrong.” His face hardened, and he clenched his jaw. “No one’s forgotten. And when we find out who did it …” His voice was low and dangerous, and it unnerved her. She would never want Justin to be angry with her.
Justin pulled off the paved road and drove into the dark forest, where all this had begun. Katelyn glanced over at Justin as she recognized the route Cordelia had taken the night before, to the meadow. She rolled down the window. And as if on cue, drumming and howls echoed off the trees. Justin groaned aloud.
“That moron,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We need him gone.”
Then they reached the meadow, and Justin turned off the engine. Sunlight streamed into the clearing. The deer carcass was gone.
He got out; Katelyn did, too, and she joined him as he raised his chin, sniffing the air. She smelled dirt and tree bark, the coppery tang of blood, human sweat, soaps, and shampoos.
“Come on,” he told her. They moved together from the meadow to the trees, deep into the underbrush. Katelyn breathed in a thousand more odors. The drumming and the howls grew louder, more impassioned. They matched her thundering heartbeat.
Heat washed over her face as she sniffed the area, and the drums and the howls echoed off the darkness of the deep woods, giving voice to her fears. She strained her eyes, staring into the shadows, searching for her friend.
They pushed deeper into the woods. Fear fell over her like a shroud, and she looked around anxiously. A leaf jittered, then broke from a branch and sailed downward like a tiny bat. Below the drumming, she heard something moving along the forest floor. The trees swayed. Goose bumps rose along her arms. She was suddenly cold. She kept going, kept straining her eyes to make out something, anything, that would tell her where Cordelia had gone. Smells rose, still too many to be helpful.
From a distance away, Justin said, “Time’s up. Lee will be expecting me back.”
“No. We can’t give up yet,” she begged, raising her voice so he would be able to hear her. She couldn’t see him anywhere. “Please, Justin.”
“As long as you’re in the pack, you have to do what he wants.”
“No,” she whispered, heartbroken, turning in a tiny circle. “Cordelia, please, if you can hear me, please answer me.”
Then the forest seemed to whirl around her, spinning. Dizzy, she balled her hands against her chest and stopped moving. The forest blurred around her and the voice overwhelmed her.
Katelyn.
I shall do thee mischief in the woods.
“Justin?” she whispered, barely able to get the word out. She was rooted to the spot in fear. Something was in the woods with her. With them. It was creeping toward her. She felt it, knew it with every fiber of her being. And she knew it was dangerous.
“Justin!” Her voice tore out of her, raw and terrified.
You are marked.
You are mine.
“There’s something, there’s … Justin!” she cried. “Justin, help!”
It was coming from the left. She sensed it. She bolted to the right, pushing through a net of tree branches. Then she ran into something hard, and the impact made her stagger backward a few steps. Her ankle twisted and she lost her balance, swaying left, right, as if she were drunk. Her legs gave way and she fell onto something jagged and sharp. It cut into her right forearm, and she screamed.
“Kat!” Justin shouted.
There was crashing through the underbrush. It was Justin, bursting from among the branches. There was a scratch on his forehead and she smelled his blood.
She clutched her arm. “Something cut me,” she said.
“Get away!” he bellowed. “Silver!”
Then she looked down at what had cut her. It was a black thing that looked like a huge open mouth, with large pointed teeth. She’d never seen an animal trap in her life, but she had seen pictures. It was open and she had fallen onto some of the teeth.
“Kat, that thing’s made out of silver,” Justin said in a careful, flat voice. He looked sick. “I can smell it.”
She whimpered. “It—it broke the skin.”
She tried to get up, but her ankle seized. Justin darted forward and took her other arm, then wrapped his free hand around her waist. Her ankle gave way and he caught her, holding her against his chest tightly.
“No,” he murmured. “No.” Then he bent down and scooped her up in his arms. She put her arms around his neck, clinging to him, tears welling.
“Am I … am I going to die?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything. With her in his arms, he pushed through the forest like a madman, then exploded into the clearing. He kept going, grim-faced, single-minded, racing for his truck. Katelyn saw the deep cut in her arm. Her blood was soaking into his white T-shirt.
Then he tripped on something and fell. She tumbled out of his arms, landing hard. With a cry, he scrambled over to her, gathered her up. There were streaks of sweat and blood on his cheeks.
“Damn it,” he grunted. “Damn it to hell.”
“How long does it take?” she asked in a tiny voice.
He froze. Then he looked at her. “Not this long,” he said slowly. “You should be unconscious by now. At least.”
Struggling to catch her breath, she returned his gaze. “But … I’m not. The cuts hurt, but … I feel okay.” At his bewildered expression, she added, “Are you sure it was silver? Who would put out an animal trap made of silver?”
“Someone who wants to catch werewolves,” he answered, staring wide-eyed at her. “But … I saw you change, Kat. I know you’re a werewolf. So you can’t be immune to silver.”
He got up and opened the truck door, then helped her to her feet and into the cab.
“I think I might be,” she replied shakily. “I might be immune.”
He stared at her in amazement, then examined her arm. He grimaced and looked back up at her. “What are you?” he breathed.
They locked gazes, and she trembled from head to toe.
“Don’t tell anybody about this until I figure it out.” He wiped his face with his bloody T-shirt. “It changes everything.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, thank you, Debbie, for seeing the big picture and planting the seed, and for all the love and care you lavish not only on our books but on me and mine. You’re my pack mate, Deb, and always will be. To our wonderful editor, Krista Marino, we are so grateful for your excellent editorial vision and continued support of our work. As always, thank you to our fabulous agent, Howard Morhaim, and the unbeatable home team at Morhaim Literary—Kate McKean and Katie Menick—as well as to our international agents, Caspian Dennis and Danny and Heather Baror. Thank you to my sweet Chumash Woman, aka Belle, my coauthor, author tour escort extraordinaire, and all-around best daughter. My gratitude to Debbie’s husband, Dr. Scott Viguié, whose unfailing patience and good humor served us so well. And a shout-out to the California Wolf Center for your amazing work with gray wolves. Congratulations on the two new pups!
—Nancy
Thank you to my wonderful coauthor, Nancy, for her support and friendship and amazing research skills! Thank you to her beautiful daughter, Belle, for all her enthusiasm and support. Thank you to my amazing agent, Howard Morhaim, and the equally amazing Kate McKean and Katie Menick, who work tirelessly on our behalf. I’d like to thank those friends and family who always offer me their undying support. And I would also like to thank all the volunteers the world over who work with wolves, ensuring their health and safety in the wild and in captivity. Your efforts on behalf of those magnificent animals are greatly appreciated.
—Debbie
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
NANCY HOLDER has published more than seventy-eight books and more than two hundred short stories. She has received four Bram Stoker Awards for her supernatural fiction and is the coauthor of the New York Times bestselling Wicked series. She lives in San Diego with her daughter. You can visit her at nancyholder.com.
DEBBIE VIGUIÉ is the coauthor of
the New York Times best-selling Wicked series and several other books, including the Once Upon a Time novels Violet Eyes and Midnight Pearls. She lives in Florida with her husband. You can visit her at debbieviguie.com.