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I pressed my fingertips to his mouth, quieting him. His brows rose as if I’d surprised him. I huffed softly and dropped my hand. “Let me help,” I said. “I can do this.”
He sighed and brought his head forward, dropping it onto my shoulder. “Are you sure?” he asked weakly.
“I’m positive,” I said, turning my head to kiss his temple. “I want to do it, and I can do it. You can trust me with this.”
He nodded. “That does actually take a lot off my plate,” he said. “Thank you, Marley. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“It’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out,” I said. “You’re stuck with me.”
He smiled and kissed my shoulder. “Thank god for that.”
I looked past him out the bathroom door, noticing the sunlight coming in the room flicker as if something was fluttering by. My brow twitched, and I opened my mouth to say something.
Just as I did, Cole sat upright again, turning his head in the way he did when he heard some sound that sat below the register I could hear.
“What’d you hear?” I asked.
“Shouting,” he said. “I couldn’t hear exactly what about.”
“It looks like there are birds flying around outside or something.”
He met my gaze, his brow faintly creasing.
“Should we go check on things?” I asked.
“Yeah, we should,” he said.
We got out of bed and made quick work of slipping on our clothes, the fabric sticking to our still-damp skin. When we finally looked out the window properly, we saw a rain of papers falling through the air, catching the wind and fluttering and sailing on invisible currents.
“What the hell?” I asked, looking up to see where the papers were coming from.
Much to my surprise, I saw a helicopter. Two of them, actually, from which the papers were being tossed. Thousands of fliers tumbling down from the choppers’ open doors.
They were too high up for me to really see who was in there, but one thing was familiar: the helicopters were painted with the logo for the shifter clubhouse Curt had made his makeshift headquarters.
“Shit,” I said. “It’s Curt.”
“What?” Cole snarled, coming to join me at the window. “Where?”
“I mean, I can’t see him exactly, but isn’t that the clubhouse logo?” I asked, pointing.
Cole pressed his lips into a thin line and heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes,” he said. “Come on, let’s go figure out what this is about.”
He offered me his hand, and I took it, happy to have this moment to look like a united front, if nothing else. We walked out of our bedroom doors and hurried down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the foyer.
The front doors had already swung open, and the ground outside was already covered with a thick blanket of the flyers the choppers were littering all over our property. Standing outside in the cold sunlight, Travis was looking up at the sky as the flyers rained down around him. It looked like something out of a movie.
When he looked over and saw us, Travis picked up a stack of flyers from the ground and approached us inside the house. He handed the papers to Cole.
I looked at the sheet in his hand, realizing what it was the same moment Travis spoke.
“Propaganda,” Travis said. “Propaganda, and a hell of a fucking clean-up.”
I felt sick as I read the words on the photocopied paper, thick black text shouting, “JOIN A REAL PACK BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE”
I looked up at my mate just in time to see his expression settle into one of terrifying rage.
Chapter 5
