I stop walking when I almost plow into a figure waiting in the hallway.
But it’s not Celeste.
I recognize this woman instantly—inky-black hair, almond-shaped eyes, olive skin. She’s beauty personified, even if her personality is about as enticing as a nose hair.
“Forget everything I just said,” I tell Ansel, not tearing my gaze from the new arrival. “I actuallydofeel like burying a body now.”
“There’s no need for that.” Michelle waves a hand in the air, a tiny smile on her lips. “After all, you’re one of us now.” Something dark and insidious slithers over her expression, narrowing her eyes and straightening out her lips. “And we take care of our own.”
Ten
REID
Istare intently at my phone, waiting for it to ping.
Come on, Izzy. Text me back. Text me the fuck back.
Behind me, Kain screams.
“Fucking hell, man.” Emery lifts his hand to his head, as if he means to run his fingers through his hair, before forgetting that he’s temporarily bald due to the bet he made with Izzy.
His face is abnormally white, his customary tan nowhere to be seen, as he glances back at Kain and Ashton before quickly turning away.
He doesn’t have the stomach for what we have to do.
None of us do.
Even Ashton, despite what he wants us to believe.
But I know today will take its toll on my pack brother.
“Tell us who’s in charge!” Ashton roars, and the demand is punctuated by the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Kain begins to cry.
However, I don’t feel an ounce of empathy or compassion for the dumb fuck. He sold us out. Threatened our children. Nearly got Izzy killed with his stunt at the football game.
Just the reminder has me sucking in a scorching breath, the air feeling like embers that burn my throat.
No, I don’t feel an ounce of pity for Kain. He deserves this, and then some.
I glance at my phone again, and Emery stands on his tiptoes to see over my shoulder.
“Did you hear from her yet?”
I grunt in response.
Fuck, why isn’t she answering? Is she with Hale and Gerry? Ethan? Christian? That vampire prick, Grayson?
Trying to ignore the residual panic coursing beneath my skin—the muted cries of my wolf attempting to call to his mate—I focus back on Ashton and Kain.
I don’t consider my stomach as weak. In all honesty, I’m the one most likely to beat the shit out of someone else and do so with a gleeful smile. My curse changed me in ways I don’t like to articulate. Made me hard. Dangerous.
But watching Ashton throw a punch at a bloody, sobbing, and mutilated Kain?
Something twists in my gut.
Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ashton will be changed irrevocably. There’s only so much he can take before his precarious control shatters, leaving nothing behind but jagged shards that cut and stab and draw blood.
