Page 55 of Crave

A thin smile graced his lips. “I won’t say anything. You know, you might find it hard to believe, but most of the pack has shifted, moved away from the hard-liners. London’s father was a traditionalist. Segments within the pack, ones who support the current Alpha, want a ruler who will stick to the old ways. London was more like her mother. She wanted change. Many were sorry when the Council removed her. And for what it’s worth, I’ve never believed the charges against her for a second.”

* * *

“Okay, you ready for the breakdown?” Brody drained the last of his beer.

Over at the edge of the patio, a haggard, brindle-colored werewolf sulked in timeout, glaring out at our dad’s herb garden so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t set the thing on fire. Alan Jackson’s Honky Tonk Christmas blared over the sound system. Over the past two days, I’d texted Lacey nineteen times and gotten two replies. Every time my phone vibrated and it wasn’t from her, my pulse went into freefall. This brotherly bonding sesh? Any other time I would have been down for it. Today it felt like my personal version of hell.

“I had River go over the flash drive. On the surface, everything checks out. According to,” my brother’s eyes flicked to Topher, “Goldilocks, the vampires hit Lacey with a biological weapon that targets the lycan virus.”

“We knew all that two days ago.” Shutting the lid on the smoker, I checked the temperature gauge. Every year around the holidays, I smoked gouda and cheddar for my entire family. Pretty sure if the stuff didn’t show up in their stockings Christmas morning, someone would hunt me down.

“Maybe so. But we’re still not asking the right questions. The lycan virus mutates rapidly. It’s why our scientists have never been able to develop an effective therapy to help control our Feral population, or treat people like August with autoimmune disorders linked back to lycanthropy.”

I took a pull off my beer, barely resisting the urge to check my phone for the fifth time since I’d gotten here. And then what my brother was saying hit me. “Why go to the trouble of developing a biologic weapon that has to cost millions—”

“Hundreds of millions. Maybe more.”

“—when you could just use silver?”

“Or wolfsbane.” Brody reached down to rub Major’s ears. “We can keep up this song and dance as long as you like, Topher. But we both know the vamps aren’t targeting Blood Moon because our Whataburger makes the best fries in the state.”

The wolf flattened its ears.

I stewed on his answer, staring up at the sky, where high wispy clouds drifted overhead. “Wolfsbane found in the wild won’t hurt one of us. It’s only when it’s compounded and aerosolized that it becomes a deadly paralytic.”

“And the Council’s been tight-lipped about that formulation ever since Tracers started using it roughly thirty years ago.”

“My guess is they’re still in the early stages of testing,” Brody said. “Weapons-grade wolfsbane is expensive and hard to come by. It’s an effective paralytic, but only for short-term use. And silver comes with its own set of problems. An aerosol that could be deployed during a fight, one that weakened every shifter who breathed it in, reverted them back to human status for days, maybe even weeks, but left the vamps untouched… that would be a game changer.”

“And we still don’t know why they’re targeting mostly females.”

“Lot of unanswered questions about Project Eclipse.” Brody’s eyes flicked to the wolf-gargoyle at the edge of the slate flagstones, who seemed to hunch further into himself with every word. “That’s an hour. Back in the house.”

Glowering, the brindle wolf performed a quick three-sixty of the back yard, like he was picking out burial plots for both of us, then turned and skulked inside.

I was just about to ask if one of us should go with him when West came out.

“Kill me now.”

He sagged into one of the patio chairs. Major bounded over and dropped a grayish chewed-up tennis ball next to his Saturday afternoon bowl of organic vanilla ice cream (now licked clean), tail waving hopefully.

Brody threw it out into the field and the golden took off through the grass in a blur of pale fur. “Topher secure?”

Pulling out his phone, West flicked at the screen. “Whatever. He’s fine. Probably destroying everything I own as a fuck you for hauling him back here last night.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Brody rubbed his jaw. “Topher’s wrist cuff has a built-in tracker. The room downstairs is wired remotely, too. It’s how West and Cal caught up to him last night when he tried to run.”

“Again,” West added dryly.

“Wow. Thought he was doing better.”

“He overheard us talking to River. And completely lost his shit.”

Brody leveled him with a stare. “If staying here with us isn’t going to work out—”

West rubbed his eyes, starting to get back up. “Can we not do this? Can we go even twenty-four hours without you wanting to rehash all the reasons we should send him packing?”