—Those Who Collect in Kind
I read the letter over and over again silently, a chill climbing up my spine. It was written vaguely, in language that no one in their right mind spoke nowadays. Some of it I wasn’t even remotely close to understanding.
But one thing was clear: It was a threat.
They came to Thayer to threaten him about me. Because whoever they were knew I was with Lucien—this part was the least obscure one—and so were probably too cautious to approach me, either out of fear of Lucien or simply out of a healthy dose of caution.
So they went to Thayer for “help.”
“Something doesn’t add up,” Lucien said, making me snap my eyes back to him. He seemed confused as he glanced between Thayer and me. “Why did they mention your family?”
Both Thayer and I looked at one another simultaneously. His face was grave, and fear filled his eyes.
But I wasn’t afraid. If anything, my exhaustion was suddenly gone, and I sat up straight, my mind reeling. “Lucien,” I said, looking at the wolf, whose eyes were now narrowed in suspicion. “Do you know who wrote the letter?”
Lucien grimaced, obviously dissatisfied, but he nonetheless said, “Yes.”
From the corner of my eye, Thayer whipped his head toward him. “You do?” he asked, incredulous. “How?”
Lucien didn’t reply. Instead, he walked toward me and crouched so his face was at my level. “Those who collect in kind,” he said quietly as Thayer approached us as well. “This is one of the pseudonyms the Sable Syndicate love to refer to themselves as.”
“The Sable Syndicate?” Thayer and I spoke together, our tones so eerily similar, we both glanced at each other in surprise before quickly looking away. But then I realized the term wasn’t unfamiliar and returned my gaze to Lucien, who studied me with such a focused look, I found it hard to look him straight in the eyes. “You mentioned them before,” I said, trying not to stumble over my words despite having Lucien’s undivided attention on me. “What are they?”
He stared at me for a moment too long before he plucked the letter out of my hands and rose to his feet. He then stretched his hand toward me, and after a slight hesitation, I took it, and he helped me up. I immediately let him go afterward, the searing touch of his palm against mine still lingering.
Lucien glanced at Thayer then. “Drew mentioned you flew in from Seattle while you could’ve just as easily taken a picture of the letter and sent it to her,” he said, and his words sent a jolt down my spine as I turned to look at Thayer, who was now watching Lucien with open suspicion. But Lucien ignored it as he said, “That means you believe your phones are rigged.”
My heart pounded loudly as I fumbled to take out my phone. “Rigged?” I repeated, staring at the innocent-looking phone.
“That’s right,” Thayer murmured, folding his arms. “Who are you?” he suddenly asked, eyes narrowed on Lucien, before he paused, lips thinning, and tweaked his question. “Whatare you?”
Before Lucien could respond or I could comprehend what Thayer was saying—Thayer, the person who was so avidly convinced I was a delusional crackpot for believing, or rather,knowing, that what killed our sisters wasn’t of human origin—the living room window exploded.
In a split second, I was flat on the floor next to Thayer with Lucien’s arms over both our chests, protecting us from the sharp glass shards.
Pain hit me from the impact, and I sucked in a breath while Thayer groaned and said, “What the—”
But his words were cut short when Lucien suddenly pulled back, and as he did, his skin began to ripple.
I gasped as I realized what he was doing, and Enoch’s words were suddenly ringing in my head in warning. “You know better than anyone that werewolves heal faster and better in your human form!” he had scolded Lucien just yesterday.
And yet Lucien was transforming before my eyes into his wolf form, his skin replaced by auburn fur, his back hunching as his limbs curved and changed, the ends turning from fingers to claws and frompalms to paws. His ears grew sharp and filled with tufts, and his nose and mouth elongated into a canine snout.
He was on all fours a moment later, a gorgeous, humongous wolf stepping over sharp shards of glass that were bound to cut him open. “Lucien!” I called after him, pulling myself up, “you have to remain in your human form—”
A shadow entered the room through the now-nonexistent window. It was so swift and quick, I couldn’t even make out what the shadow was until it lifted two daggers and threw them at Lucien.
Lucien was nimble; he sidestepped the daggers at an astonishing speed while drawing closer to the attacker, who was on the move once again. The attacker, which I realized now had a supple, lean human form covered by a low-hanging hooded cloak, jumped into the air, pulling their knees to their chest and successfully avoiding Lucien’s sharp teeth as he tried to bite down.
The next few seconds were a blur of darkness and shimmering red fur as the two attacked and missed one another. Lucien was growling loudly enough to make the entire building rumble with the vibration, and the attacker was silent. If I’d closed my eyes, I would’ve thought Lucien was fighting air.
When the attacker pulled out two more daggers from their boots, I belatedly realized this wasn’t merely an attacker but an assassin.
They came here for Lucien.
To finish the job they started?
But why now? Why here?
