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Fluffy harrumphs, and I snort before sniffing the napkin again. This is strange—more than that, it should be impossible.
“I don’t know how, but he’s dead,” Dr Thomas slurs.
I wave the napkin as one would wave a flag in front of a bull, and Topher snatches it from me and takes a deep whiff. His eyes turn pure gold, and I know that Orion has taken hold as he glares at Dr Thomas.
The lack of werewolf scents attached to it is an impossibility, so it’s scary that this exists. Even now, I can detect the pack scent, the werewolf scent, attached to him.
I look at Seb, who shakes his head, anger brimming in his eyes.
“Who organised his death?” Topher asks, and his words are backed up by Orion, forcing an answer from the doctor.
“His death was organised by—” Dr Thomas’s words are cut off by his scream of pain. The scent of copper fills the air, and my stomach rolls. Topher storms forward, driving the doctor’s head back, and growls low.
“The fucker has bitten off his tongue,” Topher hisses. His arms bulge as he clenches his fists together.
“He’s hiding something,” Fluffy says in a dry tone.
“No shit.”
Fluffy pushes forward, and I relent, wondering what he’s doing. He heads towards the desk and grabs a notebook and a pen. I frown as he advances towards Topher, and my brother steps out of the way to see what we’re planning.
“Shut the fucking whining,” Fluffy demands, and Dr Thomas’s noises cut off because he can’t ignore the command from an alpha. “Write out what you were going to say. Who organised the death of Ryan Grey?”
He makes noises, gurgles, really, but he can’t physically answer. Not orally or with the pen. Fucking prick.
I’m not strong enough to overpower whoever gave this command, which is only a little concerning. I may be an alpha, but I’m not the most powerful out there.
“Keep the pressure on him,” Topher says, and I nod.
“Who organised the death of Ryan Grey?” Topher demands, adding his power to mine. I can even feel the pressure.
Dr Thomas’s hand starts to move, and he scrawls out one word.
Topher and I lean forward eagerly to read it.
My brows furrow together at the word on the page.
Luna.
It’s not the most helpful now, is it?
“Luna who?” Seb snarls, grabbing the back of the doctor’s shirt as he shakes the man back and forth. He growls low, when Topher snaps at him to cut it off.
We watch with bated breath as Dr Thomas squeezes the pen in his hand and slowly starts to write on the page. His handwriting is messy, the letters not even in a straight line, but he scrawls out another two words ever-so-slowly.
I don’t believe it.
I really fucking don’t.
But there’s no way the good doctor could lie to us.
The name “Luna Julie Wolfe” is scrawled out on the paper.
It seems my mother has something to answer for.
18
MAIA
