by Amy Pennza
She knew.
Remy swung his head back to her, his pale eyes threatening. He bared his fangs and let out a short, staccato bark, then looked back down at the male’s prone form.
“Remy, no!”
He leaned down and ripped out the male’s throat.
9
Hot blood sprayed across Lizette’s face and bare chest. It got in her mouth and eyes, blinding her. She swiped at her eyes with trembling hands. Adrenaline kicked in, making her heart skip beats.
“What the fuck, Remy? What the fuck!” She forced her eyes open to find Remy standing over his prey, his sides heaving. He turned his head and spit. A chunk of bright red meat hit the ground with a wet splat.
Her Gift rushed over her, its call like a million tiny whispers.
Help. Heal. She rushed forward.
Normally, she would have never approached a male werewolf after a kill, but she had no time to lose. She fell to her knees beside the prostrate male. His vertebrae were visible between the pulpy halves of flesh, cartilage, and arteries. She gritted her teeth and lifted the exposed carotid artery from the tangle of veins. There it was—a faint pulse. The last seconds of his life pumped out onto the dirt-covered forest floor.
Remy tried to knock her hand away.
She smacked his muzzle.
His eyes widened. Under any other circumstances, a look of disbelief on a wolf’s face might have been comical.
He backed away and Turned.
Lizette used her thumb to lift the male’s eyelids. His pupils were fixed and dilated. Shit.
“What are you doing?” Remy’s voice, gruff from the Turn, grated behind her.
She ignored him. She thrust her hands against the battered flesh. It jerked against her palm. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”
The male’s body was trying to heal itself. The flesh shivered and pulled together, the bones twitching as they tried to reform—but blood was pouring out too quickly.
Her teeth throbbed. Her incisors lengthened. She knew if she looked in a mirror her eyes would be wolf blue.
“I said, what are you doing?” Remy grabbed her by both elbows and lifted her.
With speed that made her dizzy, she rounded on him and bit his forearm. “Back off.” She growled, savoring the low rumble in her Turned vocal cords. See, cousin, I can do it too.
Remy gaped at his bloodied arm. “You bit me!”
“And I’ll do it again. Now let me try to fix this.” She crouched by the male.
“Fix it? Lizette, he would have raped you!”
“No, he wouldn’t have.”
Warmth rushed from her head to her toes, like diving into a heated pool. Help. Heal. “I’m trying!” she yelled.
“What? At the risk of sounding completely inappropriate, the guy had a raging hard—”
“His name is Jonah. He’s Nathan’s brother.”
Leaves crunched. Remy lowered himself to the ground on the other side of the male’s neck. Realization crept over his face, taking the last of the Turn with it. His eyes faded back to green as he stared at the male’s bloodied and battered face. It was easy to keep track of Lizette’s love life, because she’d only had one boyfriend.
Remy never met Jonah, but he’d heard of him. Everyone had. Werewolf siblings were relatively rare. Most wolves in the territory had at least a passing knowledge of the Hallerton brothers, especially since their family’s story was so tragic—two healthy sons, but one was a latent.
“Are you sure?” Remy asked
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t let him die.”
“You can’t… You’re a Healer?” Shock roughened Remy’s voice.
“It’s my Gift.”
Remy’s expression flipped from surprise to resignation. “No Gift can fix this, Lizette. I’m sorry.”
“Mine can.” She lifted her wrist to her mouth, tilted her head, and dragged her right fang horizontally along the inside of her wrist, trailing a wake of fire that blazed a searing path up her arm and shot down her spine.
Nausea rocked her stomach. She swallowed hard. Puking was not an option right now. Blood welled from the seam she’d created, and she quickly lowered her wrist to Jonah’s neck, holding her forearm at an angle. Blood dripped into his open throat and bounced off a white vertebrae.
Deep in her belly, a tiny spark ignited. It built and built. Heat stoked in her core and then paused…waiting. All at once, warmth shot through her entire body. She closed her eyes and gasped. She felt her hair lift away from her head.
“Holy shit,” Remy breathed.
Lizette opened her eyes. Was it irony or coincidence that her Gift had first manifested five years ago, in this very forest, for a different Hallerton brother? Until then, she’d assumed she didn’t have a Gift. But then Max attacked her and Nathan, and the urge to heal had swept over her like an insistent current. The heat was so intense, she expected her body to glow. Even now she was still a little surprised to see her ordinary pale skin and her regular red blood.
Across Jonah’s body, Remy gaped at her, his expression awestruck.
“That was like standing in front of a pizza oven,” he said.
“That was the worst of it. Now we just wait to see if it works.”
He shifted from his knees to his butt, angling his leg to cover the juncture of his thighs. The sun was long gone now, the sky above an inky black lit by a weak half-moon. Shadows cast by the trees played over his broad shoulders. “What’s he doing here?”
“I have no idea. He said—” She shook her head.
“What?”
He said “you’re the one.” And he touched the scar on the back of her neck—almost as if he’d known where to find it. For some reason, she didn’t want to share that with Remy. Not just yet. She met Remy’s look. “Why did you try to kill him?”
His expression was indignant. “He had you pinned to the ground. He was ready to assault you.”
“Arousal is a common side effect of the hunt for males.” Thank goodness the darkness covered her blush.
“Maybe, but acting on it is entirely different.”
She couldn’t reply without revealing what Jonah said about her mark. She made a non-committal noise and refocused on her task.
He watched her blood flow into Jonah’s neck. “That’s not just any run-of-the-mill Gift, Lizette. You’ve got to be one of the best Healers in the pack. Does Max know?
Better than anyone. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Dom and me, I mean.”
“I…” She felt her cheeks heat. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret.”
But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
She sighed. “I guess maybe I was. Max told me my parents were Healers, although they obviously never used their Gifts in front of me. I knew people would find out eventually, but for awhile I wanted it to be…I don’t know. It’s silly.”
“No. I get it.” He rested his chin on his knee. “It’s a bond you had with them.”
She glanced at him. “Yeah.” She’d tried to recall her parents healing her childhood bruises or scraped knees with their Gifts, but she couldn’t.
Her strongest memories were of her parents laughing together on the deck after she’d gone to bed. They danced while the sun sank into the ocean and the first stars peeked out of the sky. Sometimes Lizette sneaked out of bed and crouched beside her bedroom door, hoping to catch a glimpse of them swaying to the music, gentle smiles on their faces. “Noémie,” her father would whisper, “you are my whole world…”
Jonah gurgled as his trachea tried to close. Lizette massaged her forearm, coaxing more blood into the wound. The lacerated edges knit back together, but blood still pumped sluggishly from the snarl of veins surrounding his exposed flesh. She moved her free hand to her elbow and squeezed. More blood dripped into Jonah’s neck. His flesh wiggled and flopped into place. It was a gruesome sight—like a video played in
reverse.
“This is some sick shit.” Remy’s tone was a mixture of awe and revulsion.
“You eat raw deer.”
“Yeah, as a wolf. This is whole other level of gross.”
She looked up. “If you give me your arm, I’ll seal it.”
Remy extended his forearm. “The one who dealt it smelts it.”
Reluctant laughter built in her chest. “I don’t think you know what smelting means.”
“Sure I do. You fuse the wound, right?”
She shook her head and rose to her knees, careful to keep her arm angled over Jonah’s throat. She leaned across his body and ran her tongue along the jagged fang marks on Remy’s arm.
His vocabulary might leave much to be desired, but he was right. Only the wolf who inflicted a wound could seal it. Remy would heal fast enough without it, but her saliva would speed up the process.
He inspected his arm when she was done. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I bit you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll do something to deserve it eventually.”
After several more minutes, Jonah’s flesh closed. The skin was an angry, mottled red, but it was whole.
“He’s breathing,” Lizette said. She pulled her bleeding wrist away from his throat and pinched the edges of her wound together while it throbbed in sync with her heartbeat. She licked the seam she’d made with a grimace at the taste of copper filled her mouth. In wolf form, she could tolerate blood and raw meat. As a human, blood still tasted like blood. The laceration would scab over and hurt like a bitch for a few days, but it would heal. She looked at Remy. “We have to take him to the Lodge.”
His face paled. “Max will kill him.”
“No he won’t.”
“You’re right. Max will kill me.”
Lizette’s heart sped up. She’d been so focused on healing Jonah, she hadn’t thought about Max. “Nathan was five years ago. Besides, this is his brother. And we don’t even know why he’s here. This might not have anything to do with Nathan.”
“You’re right. Your ex-boyfriend’s brother trespassed in his territory and attacked you on your first night back at the Lodge. No big deal. I’m sure Max will understand. He’s a very understanding guy. Are you kidding me, Lizette?”
“Well, we can’t leave him out here.” She ticked items off her fingers. “It’s freezing. He’s naked. He’s wounded and unconscious. He can’t Turn. Now, are you going to help me, or do I have to drag him back myself?” She could carry him if she had to, but the healing had drained her strength.
Remy shot her a disbelieving look, but he stooped and gathered Jonah’s body in his arms, straightening with a grunt. “If Max kills me for this, I will haunt you for the rest of your life. Like full-on chains and everything, Sixth Sense style.”
“Deal, but Max isn’t going to kill you.” He just made people wish they were dead.
“We’ll see.” He gestured toward her with his chin. “You should Turn. You’ll be warmer.”
She hugged her waist. “I don’t think I can.”
“Why no—” He sighed. “Come on, then. At least walking will give us time to think of how we’re going to explain this shitstorm.”
10
Lizette stumbled over a rock and pressed her lips together to keep from swearing. Her soles were battered from the jagged edges of the stones and broken branches that littered the forest floor. Dull, throbbing pressure built behind her eyes—the start of a migraine. If she didn’t get to her medication soon, she’d be in bed for at least a day.
Max’s bed.
Don’t think about it. She had to concentrate on getting back to the Lodge, and then figuring out how to handle whatever came after. Ahead of her, Remy carried Jonah along a narrow trail barely wide enough to accommodate Remy’s broad shoulders. They’d been walking for an hour, yet he showed no signs of fatigue. Werewolf stamina had its perks.
If you’re a healthy werewolf, that is.
The forest surrounding the Lodge was a wild place. Untouched by humans, the trees grew thick and tall. Streams wound their way around rocks and over the occasional falls. The terrain was rocky and uneven—most of it treacherous to navigate in the dark. Now night had fallen in earnest, cold air swirled around Lizette’s bare calves and unprotected midsection. She clenched her teeth against the chattering that threatened to erupt. She needed to find something to distract herself.
“Are you all right?” she called to Remy for what felt like the hundredth time. “I can carry him.”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “And, no, you can’t.” He shifted Jonah’s body higher in his arms without slowing or missing a step.
The trees and thick brush made it difficult to walk side by side, so she’d spent most of the journey trailing behind. Sick of staring at Remy’s back, she scrambled over a low-hanging branch when the path widened. Just as she thought she cleared the branch, her foot caught the top and snapped the whole thing to the ground, filling the quiet nighttime forest with the sound of crackling leaves and splitting wood.
Remy stopped and gave her a withering look. “We have got to work on your tracking.”
Irritation at her own clumsiness made her snippy. “Not everyone can be Daniel Day Lewis. And we’re not tracking, anyway.” But he had a point. As a teenager at the Lodge, she’d been taught to glide through the brush on four feet or two—to stalk her prey with patience and stealth. Right now she sounded less like a graceful huntress and more like an overweight rhinoceros. She brushed her annoyance aside so she could focus on Jonah.
His head lolled on Remy’s forearm. The weak moonlight illuminated his ashen face, and little beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. His throat looked like raw hamburger, and thick white scars crisscrossed the skin from his jaw to his collarbone. “Has he opened his eyes at all?” she asked.
“No, but he’s heavy as a motherfu—” Remy took a deep breath. “He’s heavy.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“You’re the Healer.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a doctor.” It would have been a good career path for her. Packs prized Healers who chose to become medical doctors. She even considered it during undergrad, but her headaches had gotten worse, and she knew she could have never kept up with the demands of the curriculum.
Remy glanced at her. “He’ll be fine. It’s gonna be nothing but turtlenecks for a while, though. Have you thought about how you’re going to explain this to Max?”
Irritation spiked her heart rate. “It’s not my problem to explain, Remy. I told you I have no idea why he’s here.”
“Well, it obviously has something to do with Nathan—”
“You don’t know that.”
“Come on, Lizette. You come home for the first time in five years, and Nathan’s brother just happens to show up in less than twenty-four hours.” Remy snorted.
She jerked to a stop. “If you’re implying that this is some sort of plot for me to get back with Nathan, you’re crazy. Why would Jonah show up without him?”
Remy shrugged, then winced and repositioned Jonah’s body. “I don’t know.”
“That’s right, because it doesn’t make sense.”
“Fine, I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
He used his chin to gesture farther down the path. “Come on. My legs hurt.”
She fell into step beside him.
“I never understood what you saw in Nathan anyway,” he said.
“I had my reasons.”
He drew in a breath.
“Don’t ask.”
He made an offended sound. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Yeah, right.”
They walked for another ten minutes before Lizette spotted the lights of the Lodge through the trees. She opened her mouth to ask what they should do next, but a questioning howl split the air. Her heart leaped into her throat. She looked at Remy. “What should we say?”
“Let me do the talking.” He walked forwa
rd. “Over here,” he called out. “We have a prisoner.”
His call was just a formality. The Hunters would have heard their approach all the way from the gorge. The most experienced among them could probably tell Remy was carrying someone based on his footfalls.
Like ghosts melting out of the shadows, half a dozen Hunters in human form emerged from the trees, some shirtless and barefoot. Dom shouldered to the front, still pulling on a blue plaid shirt. A young Hunter with a red buzz cut broke from the group and handed her the bundle of clothing she left back at the gorge. Her phone was on top.
She hugged the clothes to her chest. “Thank you.”
Dom’s eyes locked on Jonah and then slid to Lizette’s wrist. His nostrils flared. “What the hell happened?”
Remy transferred Jonah to one of the Hunters. “Take him to the infirmary.” The same Hunter who’d retrieved Lizette’s clothes tossed him his sweatshirt and running pants.
“I asked a question,” Dom said. “One of you better start giving me some answers.”
“And you’ll get them.” Remy tied the drawstring on his pants and pulled his shirt over his head. “This is better discussed in private.” His expression intensified.
Dom’s head jerked, and he appeared to listen to something no one else seemed to be able to hear. He glanced at Lizette and then nodded.
“All right.” Dom followed Remy away from the gathering.
She ducked behind a tree, her hands shaking as she pulled on her underwear and jeans. The events of the long day—the drive to the Lodge, the meeting with Max, her Turn, Jonah’s attack, healing him—had finally caught up with her.
It didn’t help that her last real meal was the burger and fries in Dom’s SUV. She leaned against the tree and clutched her sweater to her breasts. The forest floor blurred and rippled. She squeezed her eyes shut and then forced them open. Shook her head a little.
“Lizette!” Dom’s voice conveyed a definite note of impatience.