He reared back then, his knees straddling her thighs, and with his free hand, the fingers still elongated into gnarled, claw-tipped weapons, he reached for the fly of her jeans. “No…no…no,” she chanted, twisting her upper body every possible way that she could, but he was too strong, the hold he had on her imprisoned wrists impossible to break. Terror consumed her, smothering her to the point that she couldn’t breathe, could no longer even scream, nothing but a broken stream of dry, choking whimpers breaking out of her.
And then suddenly, Dustin was rearing backward, being pulled through the air, and Michaela blinked against the incredible sight of Dylan Riggs holding the rogue by the scruff of his neck. Scrambling to her knees, she watched in shock as Dylan, who was still in his human form, with only his hands shifted into claws, slammed Dustin face-first against a nearby tree, then turned him, pinning the younger Lycan against the thick trunk. Dustin snarled in outrage, and before she could draw in enough air to scream, the Elder’s head transformed into the shape of his wolf, and he killed the rogue Lycan with a single vicious bite.
Nausea overwhelmed her, but Michaela fought against it as she watched Dylan step back, releasing Dustin’s body, which slumped lifelessly to the ground. The Elder’s head shifted back into that of a man and he turned to look at her with piercing eyes that glowed an unearthly hue, as if lit from within. Shock made her stumble backward, a cry breaking out of her mouth as she found herself bombarded by a horrific wave of hatred and despair that emanated from him, the blackness seething inside him overwhelming her with a torrent of gruesome images and fractured emotions.
She was reading Dylan Riggs, and she suddenly understood why she’d felt so uncomfortable around him, so on edge.
Oh God. Dylan is the one…the one Brody has been hunting!
“You can read me now, can’t you?” he asked, staring at her with tortured eyes that revealed both horror and pain.
She nodded, too shocked to speak.
“I was almost hoping you would be able to tell, Michaela,” he stated in a soft rasp, a wry smile tipping the corner of his mouth. “That you’d be able to read me, the way they say you can sometimes do. That’s why I’ve been watching you. Wondering if you’d see what I was hiding. Half hoping you’d expose me and bring this nightmare to an end. But you didn’t pick up on me. Not in the clearing on the night of Max’s ceremony, and not even—”
“In the woods, when we found the body,” she whispered, taking another instinctive step back as he moved closer, keeping one eye warily focused on the claws he’d yet to shift back into human hands. “And last night as I was walking with Brody to his cabin.”
“That’s right.”
“I picked up on you,” she admitted, “but something was jamming the signal. All I heard was static. But I…I can read you now, Dylan. You’re hurting because you…killed someone you cared about.”
“Her name was Jessie,” he told her, his words soft, barely more than a whisper. “Jessie Bonness. She was a human, like you. Blond and blue-eyed, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What happened?”
Shaking his head, he said, “I kept our affair a secret from the pack, but I’d been trying to work up the courage to tell her the truth about me for months. I knew I’d have to give up my position on the League if she agreed to marry me, but I was willing to do it, if it meant having her in my life. My only concern was how she would react to the truth about what I am. And then one night I went down to the city to see her, and she told me she was pregnant.”
He broke off his explanation, staring at the leaf-covered floor of the forest, lost in the memory. After a moment, he took a deep breath and went on. “I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. So I told her…everything. She didn’t believe me, and we argued. She called me crazy, so I shifted just my hand for her to see, and she reared away from me in horror, her features twisted with disgust, as if I was some kind of monster.” A low, bitter sound lost somewhere between a sob and a laugh jerked from his throat, and he raised his gaze back to her. “I loved Jessie, she was pregnant with my child, and all she could do was scream at me, calling me names, telling me I was an animal. At first, there was nothing inside of me but the most excruciating, hollow sense of pain, of loss—and then she told me that she’d rather die than ever have me touch her again, and something inside of me snapped. Suddenly, that hollow feeling was gone, replaced by the most intense, vile wave of hatred I’d ever experienced. And in that moment, my beast awakened, lashing out at her in its fury, and I…”
His throat worked as he swallowed, brow drenched with sweat, tears streaming from his eyes, running through the blood on his face. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I killed her. It was like watching something in a movie, as if it wasn’t really me doing those horrible things to her body. But it was.” He shuddered, his voice lowering as he said, “And my beast, it’d found a taste for something it liked—an outlet for all the primitive rage roiling in its blood over the loss of its mate. And she was, you know. My mate. I knew it the first moment I scented her skin. Jessie walked by me in a bookstore down in Covington, and I damn near tripped over my feet as I turned to chase her down.”
“But why the others?” she asked, wondering if Brody would track her down in time to save her. Though Dylan had rescued her from Dustin, Michaela still didn’t trust him.
The corner of his mouth quirked with another smile, and it was clear the Elder was no longer sane. “Like I said,” he told her, “the beast had found a way to ease its heartache.”
Disgust thickened her voice as she croaked, “By eating the hearts out of those innocent girls?”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said quietly. “Hell, I hardly understand myself. But as that blackness inside of me grew, I lost more and more control, until I became the monster humans depict us to be in their horror folklore. And my wolf liked it. It enjoyed becoming the monster Jessie accused me of being.”
“Drake somehow found out, didn’t he? And he blackmailed you into helping him.”
“Yes, on both counts,” he admitted, while thunder boomed in the distance, the scent of rain growing stronger as the next storm finally prepared to roll in. “After reading about the legend, Stefan had been waiting to find a weak link in the League, needing an Elder he could force to help him. Hoping to catch one of us in a compromising position, he’d been having each member of the League followed. Suspicious about my trips down to Covington, he’d assigned Anthony Simmons to follow me, and got what he’d been looking for. The night I killed Jessie, Simmons was watching through her bedroom window. On Drake’s orders, he covered up the murder. Then Stefan told me that I would be working with him—telling me that I just needed to learn to focus my rage and control my beast, but it…it just kept wanting to kill again. And so I kept finding those girls, all blond and blue-eyed, reminding me of Jessie. And each time my wolf relished the sweet reenactment of its revenge, as if it were killing her all over again.”
“Why not just tell Drake no?” Michaela pressed, aware that no more than a handful of steps separated them, knowing he’d have her down in a second if she tried to run.
“He threatened to send Dustin after my sister, fully aware that I’d have nowhere to turn for help so long as he held that information against me. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, which is revenge against the League and full control of the pack. And he’s going to get it, Michaela. Nothing can stop him now.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded, recalling with terror Dustin’s claim about the attack on the Runners.
“Drake drew the Runners to Shadow Peak on purpose today, knowing they’d come to support Jillian. It’s all a setup. Today’s his final bid for power. With my help, he’s already pulled the wolves from those townspeople who showed up for the committee meeting. Once he had them in his control, he ordered half of them to turn on the League itself.”
“He assassinated them?” she asked, stunned.
“All of t
hem. After that, we pulled the wolves from the other half, who were outside with the Runners.” His gaze dropped to the ground, shifting uneasily before he continued in a broken rasp. “Without the power of the moon, the Runners will be unable to fully shift.”
“You just left them there to die?” she whispered, almost taking a step forward, wanting to scratch and claw at him.
“How could you do that?”
“I didn’t have a choice!” he seethed, lifting his gaze to her tear-streaked face. “He’ll kill Jenny if I don’t do exactly as he says.”
Terrified for Brody and the others, she struggled for a way to appeal to the man who was trapped within the insanity of his beast. “It’s not too late to do the right thing, Dylan. You can still help them.”
A hoarse crack of laughter burst from his throat. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Damn it, they’re your friends!” she cried. “You can’t just let them die!”
“No,” he rasped, his dry laughter fading. “They’re not my friends. Not now. Not anymore. If they survive, it will be their job to track me down and kill me. I can’t…can’t let that happen. I have to find a way to protect Jenny. That’s why I came after Dustin.”
“Isn’t there any way to stop it? To put an end to what’s happening?”
“They would have to kill Drake,” he said after a moment.
“That’s their only hope. Once he dies, the feral wolves will change back.”
“Then come back with me,” she pleaded, knowing the Runners would need all the help they could get. “Please, Dylan.”
“No,” he grated, backing away from her, and she knew he was going to run. “You can’t go back to town, Michaela. You’ll die.”
“Then I’ll die,” she screamed at him, her voice cracking with fury. “But at least I’ll go knowing that I did everything I could to help the people I care about!”
He stared at her a moment longer, his eyes growing deeper, face pale beneath the crimson stain of Dustin’s blood. Then he turned and walked away. Wiping at the tears spilling down her cheeks, Michaela started back toward town, moving as quickly as possible, ignoring her aches and pains, praying only that she would make it in time.
* * *
After racing toward the Town Hall at the sound of the first howl, Brody and Cian had found the other Runners already engaged in battle, facing off against an overwhelming number of fully shifted werewolves. The nightmare, it seemed, that the Runners had been waiting for had finally arrived, unfolding across the morning like the terrifying pages of a horror novel, complete with blood and gore and a maniacal madman.
“What the hell’s going on?” he’d shouted at Mason, who was striking claws with a honey-colored wolf.
“We got here and found a crowd gathered outside on the steps,” the Runner had shouted back at him. “Said they were supposed to be here for a committee meeting, but that Drake had told half of them to wait outside, then locked the doors. Next thing we knew, they started changing and attacked us. We were able to get Torrance and Jillian out of here, but Drake has the other Elders trapped inside!”
Together, he and Cian had joined the battle, the Runners hoping to fight their way into the Hall and rescue the League before Drake killed them. Brody had fought alongside his friends until Eric had called and told him about the attack on his house. He’d left the others fighting, and headed for Eric’s in his truck, going hell-bent for leather, but by the time he’d gotten there, Michaela was gone…as were the rogues—except for the two that lay dead in the living room, killed during the fight.
When they’d found Dustin Sheffield’s thick scent outside one of the bedroom windows, Brody had realized she’d probably had to run for her life. He’d nearly choked on the great rising wave of fear that overwhelmed him, terrified he wasn’t going to get to her in time. He’d told a blood-spattered Eric to take Max and Elliot to Jillian’s—and then he’d immediately taken off after Michaela.
Running as fast as he could, Brody’s legs now powered him through the damp forest, the air growing heavier as thunder rumbled in the sky, heralding the coming storm, while he followed the lush trace of her scent. He could scent Dustin as well, the rogue’s musk ripe with lust, and his insides twisted with rage.
A broken, snarled stream of swearwords tumbled from his lips, his heart hammering within his chest to a painful, panic-filled rhythm. And then suddenly, he could hear someone ahead of him, moving directly in his path, Michaela’s scent growing thicker…richer, and then she was there, emerging from between two towering trees. She cried out when she saw him, throwing herself into his arms, their combined momentum crashing them against one another.
“Brody!” she gasped, running her hands over his shoulders and arms as she stared up at him with wide, tear-drenched eyes. “Oh God, Brody, you’re alive!”
“Doucet,” he grated, his throat tight with emotion, unable to believe he’d found her—or that she’d found him, since she’d run right into him. Now that he had her in his arms, he wanted to throttle her for scaring the hell out of him, at the same time he wanted to kiss her senseless. And since he’d have rather chewed off his own arm than harm her, the kiss won out.
Wrapping one arm around her waist, Brody cradled the back of her head with the other, her hair cool and damp against the heat of his skin. “I will not lose you,” he growled against her mouth, sharing her breath…and then he claimed possession, pouring everything he had into his kiss. She tasted like sunshine, honeyed and warm, her flavor rolling through him like a miracle—like something that belonged to him and no other. She clutched at handfuls of his hair, trying to crawl her way up his body, her tongue stroking his, making him so hot he was amazed steam didn’t sizzle off his skin as the sky cracked open and a deluge of rain poured down on them, the raindrops sharp and cold against their faces.
Forcing himself to break away from the heaven of her mouth, Brody grabbed her shoulders, staring into the deep, fathomless depths of her eyes. “I almost died when I got back to Eric’s and found you were gone,” he rasped, his breathing choppy, while his body shook with a mixture of anger and piercing relief.
“I’m sorry,” she panted, “but I sensed Dustin getting ready to break into the bedroom where I was hiding and knew I had to run. Is Max safe?”
“Eric’s taken him to Jillian. He’s fine, just a little scratched up. You’re the one I’m worried about,” he growled, one hand hovering over the scratches that Dustin had left down the side of her face, afraid to touch her lest he cause her more pain.
“Are you okay? Where’s Sheffield now?”
She shuddered as if something slimy had crawled over her skin. “Back…there.”
“Son of a bitch.” Staring at her torn clothes, he could feel his rage punching against the inside of his body, pressing against his skin, as if it would break out of him in a vicious, violent demand for revenge. “Did he touch you?” he asked in a soft, seething rasp.
She shook her head, pale face drenched with tears. “No, he…he was going to, but Dylan stopped him.”
“Riggs was there?” he grunted, shocked. He’d assumed Dylan was inside the Town Hall with the other Elders, either as a prisoner…or as Drake’s accomplice. “And he let you run off on your own?”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Dylan killed Dustin. When it was over, I thought he was going to bring me back to you, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that something was wrong.”
The back of his neck prickled. “What do you mean?”
Clutching handfuls of his damp T-shirt, she explained. “Dylan’s the one, Brody. Drake was blackmailing him. That’s why he was cooperating with Stefan. But that’s not all. He’s the one you’ve been hunting. The one killing the girls.”
A sharp, guttural curse fell from his lips, his head spinning as he absorbed her words. She went on to quickly relate what had happened, telling him about Jessica Bonness, the human Dylan claimed to have fallen in love with, and Brody was shocked to realize he rec
ognized the name from the list Monroe had sent him.
“Goddamn it,” he finally snarled.
“You’re going to have to take me with you.”
He knew she was right, but the idea of taking her into danger infuriated him. “You will stay where I tell you, Doucet. No running. No interfering. You got it?”
“I will, I promise.”
Grasping her hand, he threaded their fingers together. “Come on,” he growled, pulling her along behind him. “We don’t have any time to lose.”
* * *
By the time they made it back to Main Street, chaos and death covered the streets in a gruesome, crimson wash of blood. Brody parked his truck on the side of the road, ordering her to stay inside, and to drive like a demon if anyone came within ten feet of the vehicle. She understood what it had cost him to take her back into town with him, but she also knew he didn’t have any choice. He had to come back and help the others. It was a part of who he was—one of the things that made him so remarkable. The rain had mellowed once again to a gentle mist, and Michaela was able to watch Brody through the front windshield as he fought his way toward the center of the action, where the Runners were still battling their way into the Town Hall, Eric Drake fighting at their side.
“It’s too late,” she could hear Brody shouting, his voice raised so that he could be heard over the chaos. “The League is already dead!”
Mason turned toward him, his expression furious as he listened to Brody, and she knew that he was explaining about Dylan, while danger loomed around them. Again, she could hear Brody shouting, “I’m telling you, man, Dylan’s the one!”
Mason shoved him hard, then, nearly sprawling Brody in the middle of the street. “I told you that was enough of that shit!”
Taking down a gray werewolf, Jeremy turned and lunged between them, shoving them apart, at the same time Brody shouted, “I’m telling you the truth, Mase. He confessed to Doucet. Told her everything. Said the only way to put an end to this is to take down Drake.”
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