This Dark Wolf: Soul Bitten Shifter Book 1

by Everly Frost

Chapter Thirty-One

  I fight every instinct in my body that tells me to defend myself against them.

  Both men remain where they are, simply glowering at me. To strike out at them would start a battle I don’t need right now.

  Deftly slipping past them, I spin to keep the ice jotunn, the warlock—because that’s who the eyepatch guy must be—and Ford Vanguard, the unsettling human, in my sights as I back up the stairs.

  Some business deal this human has made.

  Ford fixates on me, his focus unrelenting until I reach the top of the stairs and head to the left. I stop and press my back to the wall once I’m out of sight, expanding my senses and waiting to see what they do.

  All three of them move on, and I exhale with relief when they don’t follow me.

  What I really need now is a place to catch my breath and figure out how I’m going to get Baxter Griffin alone. My time is running out. Tristan told Baxter and Cody that he wanted to negotiate a truce. If I haven’t killed Baxter by midnight, then things will get ugly.

  I hurry along the corridor, open the last door on the left, and stop.

  This can’t be right.

  It’s a bedroom, not a bathroom. Maybe Cody said to go right, not left.

  I’m about to back out of the room when a photograph catches my eye. It’s a familiar face I wasn’t expecting to see.

  Stepping into the room, I’m struck by the remnant scents inside the space. It’s a distinctly feminine bedroom, beautifully laid out in pastels—a plush, pale blue armchair, a lavender bedspread, a large abstract painting on the opposite wall, a pair of heels set beside the armchair, one of them tipped on its side, as if its owner just stepped out of them and will return any moment.

  I cross to the dressing table with the large mirror and the photograph tucked into the bottom of it.

  My hands shake as I remove it.

  Ella.

  She’s dressed in a strappy summer dress, smiling widely, her long, blonde hair falling across her face on one side, tucked behind her ear on the other, her brown eyes sparkling, her cheeks full of color.

  Gripping the photo, I spin to the abstract painting hanging on the wall. My heart lurches into my throat. It depicts a forest by the ocean, the sun rising in the background.

  The ocean is pink… the sunrise is violet… the forest yellow… and the grass… orange.

  I sink into the chair in front of the dressing table. “Pink ocean… orange grass… violet sunrise… yellow forest…”

  I need Ella’s list more than ever, but it sticks in my throat now that I know where it came from—from her life before. Jemimah said that Jace looked outside of Tristan’s pack for his mate, but I never dreamed he would look to Baxter Griffin’s.

  I’m too frozen to react when Cody appears in the open doorway behind me. He pauses there, filling the space with his big body before he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

  “Tristan didn’t tell you about my sister, did he?”

  Helen’s voice whispers in my mind. A little bit of knowledge can get you killed.

  Cody can’t know that I’ve met Ella. Hidden House is hidden for a reason. It protects women whose safety depends on not being found. Cody wouldn’t know that I’ve been there. He wouldn’t know where it is. He might not even know that Ella is there. Probably doesn’t even know that Hidden House exists.

  I shake my head. “What’s her name?”

  “Ella,” he says.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s dead.” Cody crosses to the painting and stands with his back to me. “Tristan got her killed. It’s the source of the war between our packs.”

  I close my eyes, telling myself to breathe. I whisper the question that Helen taught me not to ask. “What happened?”

  “She fell in love.” Cody’s shoulders are tense, his voice rough, but he remains where he is. “You’ve met Jace. He and Ella formed a true mate bond. Nobody wanted to get between them—not even my father—but Tristan’s father was gaining a reputation for violence and bloodshed. We heard stories that would give anyone nightmares. My father tried to convince Jace to join our pack, but Jace refused to leave Tristan.

  “So one night, Tristan himself shows up here. He tells us that he’s going to challenge his father. He promises that Ella will be safe. He says it can be a new beginning between our packs, an end to any discord.”

  I remain silent while Cody turns to me, his fists clenched. “Ella went with him that night.”

  “What happened to her?” Again, the question sticks to my tongue like a betrayal of everything Helen taught me. But I need to know why the war between Tristan and Baxter began.

  Cody shakes his head. “We heard nothing from her. Every attempt to contact Tristan or Jace failed and we went crazy with worry. A week later, we heard that Tristan’s mother was dead. Stories finally started filtering through. Apparently, his father went on a rampage. He killed Tristan’s mother and took Ella into the forest. We don’t know what he did to her before he killed her.”

  Cody’s lips form an angry line, the pain in his eyes making me shudder. “Tristan failed to keep her safe like he promised. He let his own mother die. It was another two years before he finally killed his father.”

  Ella’s photo suddenly feels brittle in my hands. Tears burn at the back of my eyes. I want to tell Cody that she’s alive, but I can’t reveal where she is and I can’t tell him how broken she is. It will only add fuel to his anger.

  “You gave me the wrong directions to this room because you wanted me to know about her, didn’t you?” I ask, unable to look up in case he sees my damp eyes.

  “I wasn’t sure how much Tristan told you about the history of the war between our packs,” Cody says.

  I give a shake of my head, biting at my bottom lip while I hunch over Ella’s photo. “Tristan didn’t tell me any of it.”

  Pieces are falling into place. The reason for the deep hatred between Baxter and Tristan is clear. The reasons for Tristan’s frustration and rage, his inner turmoil are clear. His deep need not to lose another member of his pack, and his deeper need not to become like his father.

  But what I still don’t know is the role of the three-headed wolf in Tristan’s past.

  Swallowing, I raise my head. “What do you know about the three-headed wolf?”

  Cody’s forehead creases. “I don’t know what that is.”

  The picture that was forming in my mind disintegrates again. Only Tristan and Jace have spoken about the three-headed wolf. Once between themselves, and then the other day Jace mentioned him to me. Jace said he hoped I would be strong enough to kill the beast. That Tristan was counting on me to do it.

  Nobody in Tristan’s pack has ever spoken about the white wolf and I don’t believe Cody is lying to me now. But it seems strange that nobody else knows about him. Of course, I haven’t exactly talked about meeting him, either.

  When Tristan first spoke about the wolf, he said that the three-headed wolf was coming for him the same way it came for his father. The extent to which the three-headed wolf—the white wolf—is responsible for what happened to Ella is a frustrating unknown.

  I shudder because I still only have pieces of the picture.

  Now I’m here to kill Ella’s father.

  How can I do that when her family loves her and their hatred of Tristan is the result of incredible pain and distrust? Pain that Tristan shares?

  I try to remind myself that Baxter Griffin’s hatred might have been triggered by losing Ella, but since then, he has orchestrated brutal attacks on innocent wolf shifters. Even with that thought in mind, even though I scream at myself inside my head, I can’t kill Ella’s father.

  One day, I hope that Ella will emerge, healed, from Hidden House and when that day comes, I need to be able to look her in the eyes.

  “Tristan is not his father,” I say to Cody as I rise to my feet. “You have to stop the systematic killing of his pack. They suffered at his father’s hands. Now they’r
e suffering at your hands. They don’t deserve more pain.”

  Cody shakes his head, a slow side-to-side motion. “Tristan failed, Tessa—”

  I snarl. “You’ve seen Tristan’s strength and power! If he failed to protect Ella—if he failed to protect his own mother that night—then it’s because nobody could have protected them! If it took him two years to kill his father, then he did it faster than anyone else could have.”

  I step up to Cody, inhaling the power that swirls around him, a power that allowed him to inhale my scent. I’m not afraid of him like I once was. I am calm. In control. But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry.

  “Destroying Tristan won’t bring Ella back or heal your pain,” I say.

  “And yet you’re here to kill my father for vengeance.” Cody snarls, pointing out my hypocrisy.

  “I came here to stop him,” I say. “In any way I can. I see now that killing him isn’t an option.”

  My plan was unraveling before, but now it’s in ruins. I can’t kill Ella’s father tonight, but that won’t stop me if he crosses into Tristan’s territory intending to attack Tristan’s pack.

  Daring to grab Cody’s hand, I push Ella’s picture into his palm, trying to force him to listen to me. “Stop sending shifters across the border or I will kill them without mercy,” I say. “Tristan’s pack deserves a future.”

  I turn away from Cody, preparing to leave, but he catches my arm and spins me back to him, pulling me hard up against him. His head tilts down to mine as I catch my breath. One of his arms anchors around my waist; the other curves around my unmarked shoulder.

  “Why do you smell different?” His voice is rough as he demands answers. Up until now, even when he spoke about Ella, he has been civil and in control.

  Now I glimpse the animal he’s keeping caged inside, the ferocity I experienced on the night of the Conclave. He wanted to claim me, even if he had to tear me apart to do it. He may have conquered his aggression since then, stepped off the path he was walking, but his animal’s nature remains wild and wanting.

  The sudden surge of strength in his hold tells me he’s harnessing his wolf’s ferocity and he won’t let me go until I give him answers.

  “Your scent made me crazy.” He growls. “I was fucking savage toward you. And now I can’t sense you at all.”

  I tip my head back with a whisper. “Because I’m more powerful now.”

  Despite my answer, his arms close tightly around me. His eyes narrow at me, and I sense him teetering on a precipice of choices. The desire in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to release me now that he’s holding me.

  “You’re like a thorn I can’t remove from my paw, Tessa,” Cody says. “You’re sharp. Painful. I’ve tried to rid myself of you. But you remain.”

  He fought me once and lost, but his appearance tells me he’s spent the last two months making himself stronger and faster, the same way I have.

  I’ve never used my magnified power to make someone do what I want. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to accomplish it even now because I’ve never fully tested it, but manipulating Cody into letting me go is preferable to engaging him in a fight to free myself.

  My hands slide beneath his jacket and up his sides, following the hard muscles of his back as I press myself closer to his chest, quickly leaning forward to nudge my cheek against his jaw.

  I turn my lips toward the corner of his mouth as I allow my power to build inside me. It’s a very different process to controlling my scent. When I control it, I must be calm, attain a level of peace and acceptance. But to magnify my power requires inviting its chaos, embracing the wild abandon that is not exactly out of my control but pulses with excitement.

  My fingers tingle against Cody’s muscles as I knead my palms against his back. My breathing increases and I arch a little. My lips are a breath away from his as my power flows through me.

  All I need is for him to inhale.

  “Is this better?” I whisper, preparing myself for a violent reaction. Even if he doesn’t want to react aggressively, he might. I’m deliberately triggering his most basic instincts, forcing him to act without reason or logic.

  He shivers as he inhales.

  Whatever cages he was keeping on his animal disappear the moment his pupils dilate, a deep growl rumbling through his chest.

  The civil, controlled mask he wore vanishes. Finally, I’m facing the wolf who tried to mark me at the Conclave.

  “Fuck.” He moves so swiftly that I’m still catching my breath as he pushes me back against the wall beside the dressing table, hooking my leg around his hips as he drives us into the solid surface.

  His mouth descends to mine, a millisecond away from kissing me.

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  He halts, his lips close to mine.

  Relief fills me, but my power over him feels precarious, tipping between control and chaos.

  I need to tell him to let me go now. I should do it quickly, but I suddenly wonder if I can plant a thought inside his mind, whether I can use this moment to influence the future.

  It’s a huge risk, but one I’m willing to take.

  “You will be the alpha soon,” I murmur. “When you are, you will have the power to change your pack’s future. You must stop this feud with Tristan—”

  Cody’s arms clench around me. “My father won’t give control to me until I prove I’m strong enough to challenge Tristan.”

  I shiver. “No, but you—” Nobody is strong enough to challenge Tristan.

  “My father wants to destroy Tristan piece by fucking piece,” Cody says. “Once Tristan’s pack is torn apart, my father will send me to challenge Tristan, even if I end up dead. Revenge has consumed my father the same way bloodlust consumed Tristan’s father.”

  Cody brushes the back of his hand across my cheek. “He doesn’t realize that you’re the one who can hurt us the most.”

  My feelings are in turmoil. Baxter’s need for revenge is out of control. By coming here tonight, I’ve seen a side of Cody that I never thought existed. Maybe it didn’t before the Conclave, but the memory that returns to me most sharply now is not when Cody fought me, but when his father backhanded him across the face.

  Cody is caught in a different kind of cage. Facing down a future where he will fight Tristan—and he already knows how it will end.

  I came here to control the future and now I feel it slipping through my fingers.

  “Let me go,” I whisper.

  Cody’s arms falls away from me. He steps back from me, shaking his head, trying to shake off my power over him. It won’t be long before he’s in control again.

  I poise on the verge of hurrying away when his fists clench and I’m not sure whether it’s his wolf speaking or him when he says, “I regret the past, Tessa. The fucker who attacked you is dead. I killed that part of myself. But now I’m caught between two ugly choices: Kill my father and take control of my pack by force. Or kill Tristan so that my father willingly steps aside.”

  He stares at the discarded picture of Ella that dropped to the floor when he grabbed me, and I know which choice Cody is going to make.

  Oh, Ella.

  I can’t kill Baxter because of her and neither can Cody.

  Unable to stay, I rush from her room.

  I have to find Tristan. We need to leave. I can’t go through with killing Baxter Griffin and the longer we stay here, the more danger we’re in.

  I won’t breathe easily until we leave this place behind.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I race down the stairs, relieved that Ford Vanguard is nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the thumping music from the other side of the house, I hurry back into the dining room, scanning the crowd for Tristan.

  Baxter Griffin has returned, standing at the bar, his sharp gaze boring into me as I hover in the doorway.

  With a surge of relief, I spot Tristan standing in the alcove I left behind. He’s leaning against the wall at the back corner, his shoulders hunched, setting down a
n empty shot glass onto the little table in front of him as I hurry toward him.

  Trying not to cause a disturbance, I dart between guests to reach his side, grateful that the tables nearest to us are empty. “We need to leave—”

  “No.” Tristan’s free hand clamps around my arm, shockingly tight, making me freeze.

  His fierce eyes meet mine, his eyebrows drawn down, his mouth set in a hard line. A threatening growl hums in his throat. “We’re not leaving.”

  I tug against his hold, suddenly wary of his anger. “Tristan, we need to go—”

  I wince as he yanks me up against his chest, his hands gripping my waist so hard that it hurts.

  He snarls. “Your emotions are wide open to me, Tessa. You know what happened to Ella. You know I can’t protect you or give you a future.”

  Forcing myself to breathe, to remain in control, I dare to slip my arms around his chest, my hands sliding up his back, slow and gentle, willing him to accept the embrace, even though he remains tense in my arms.

  “We will have a future,” I say. “We’ll protect your pack. Together. We just need to find another way.”

  His chest rises and falls against mine, increasingly rapid, thrumming with growls.

  “It’s impossible,” he says, grabbing both of my arms to push me away from himself. “Deceiver, coward, killer. As long as the three-headed wolf exists, you won’t be safe. Nobody is. It has to end tonight. I can’t ask you to kill him. I know that now.”

  “Tristan.” My heart is a rapid hammer in my chest. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  Tristan said that his father was a deceiver, a coward, and a killer, but his father is already dead. I don’t understand why he would reference his father in the same breath as the three-headed wolf, as if they are the same creature. “Please. Let’s go.”

  “Please?” Tristan’s voice is sharp. His gaze flicks past me—the quickest glance—to someone behind me. It’s the same frighteningly clear assessment that he gave my father before my father was killed.

  I shudder as I remember Helen’s warning that Tristan has an unparalleled ability to perceive and neutralize threats. Cody also said Tristan is smarter than anyone knows.