Page 87 of Logan’s Acadian Wolves

Logan couldn’t believe it. Of all the people in his pack, it made no sense. The person hadn’t even tried to hide from the camera. Instead after they’d cut the line, the perpetrator purposefully stared into the lens and smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wynter’s wolf whined in agonizing pain, begging to shift. Instinctively, she knew a transformation could heal her injuries, but as she called on her wolf, nothing happened. Her head lolled back against a rough surface and she licked her cracked lips. An iron-tinged crust stuck to her tongue. She felt heavy, drained. Wynter slid her fingertips down her sides and felt metal on her midsection. She shook her head, willing her eyes to open. As she looked to her torso, she was shocked to see the silver chainmail corset that had been fastened to her body. Tugging at the seams, she couldn’t get it to budge.

The lethargy didn’t stop her from scanning the room for a clue to where they’d taken her. A dilapidated cabin? Was it the cabin they’d been in the night she shifted? The lack of screened windows and rotted wood told her no. Listening as Logan had taught her, she could hear the cicadas but other than that, she was met with silence. She knew, though, that she had to be somewhere in the swamp.

Her plan had failed miserably. She wondered what had happened to Logan. There was no way that boat could have outrun him. Why hadn’t he come for her? Did they shoot him like they’d threatened to do to Fiona? Wynter stifled the small sob bubbling in her chest. She needed to conserve her energy. She needed to escape.

“You okay?” Wynter heard the question and glanced over to see Fiona sitting in a chair.

It appeared her hands had been fastened behind her back. But there was something odd about her demeanor and posture. On the boat, after Wynter had tried to get her to jump, she’d held on. Then within minutes, she’d rested on the boat, almost as if she were relaxed, content. But now, Fiona had been bound. Had Wynter imagined what she’d seen? No, there had definitely been something strange about Fiona’s behavior and even now, her face was bright. Unlike Wynter, whose face was bruised and puffy from crying, Fiona’s complexion was clear. But why would Fiona help the vampire? And why was she playing a victim unless she weren’t one?

“I’m fine. I can’t shift. What is this thing?” Wynter asked, trying to act unsuspecting.

“Silver,” Fiona responded without even looking.

“Our kryptonite.”

“What?”

“A human throwback. Superman.”

“It won’t kill you,” Fiona told her with an icy stare. “The vampire. He wants to know what you know about the virus.”

Wynter gave her a sardonic smile and laughed bitterly. “I just bet he fucking does. Well I wish him good luck with that.”

“You have to tell him. He promised to let you go.”

“No, he promised to let you go. And he didn’t. You’re still here, Fiona. He’s a liar.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “The man on the boat? He’s not in charge. No, I speak of the Directeur.”

“What? How do you know that name?” Wynter demanded, attempting to stand. She bent her knees and pushed upward, bracing herself against the rickety wall.

“The Directeur told me himself. He wants to know if you managed to cure Emma’s virus,” Fiona said emotionlessly.

“How do you know about Emma?” Wynter found herself yelling.

“He told me. He said she’s sick but that your blood, it’ll cure her.”

Wynter closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He knew about her blood as she’d suspected. A rush of nausea poured over her and she struggled not to vomit.

“He saw the New York Alpha in New Orleans. He knows that you sent blood to Emma…your blood. He watches you…always. So tell me, did it work?”

“Yes…yes it worked. Why do you care, Fiona? He’s got you tied up. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“So it’s true then. Have you figured a way to modify the virus? To make it portable?”

A chill crept up Wynter’s spine. Fiona was privy to details…details no one but she and Logan knew. And she hadn’t jumped from the boat. Was this all for show? Even if Wynter had been close at one time to isolating the virus, allowing others to inject it, she’d never tell a soul. She’d die first.

“No,” she lied. “I haven’t been working on it. Emma is cured; that’s all that matters.”

“He knows how to do it. He found a way while you were gone. Did you know he also is a scientist? Perhaps that is why he reveres you so?”

“What?” Wynter couldn’t believe Fiona’s words.

“It’s been him all along. His company. His research.”