Page 13 of Moonlight & Mayhem

Chrome started laughing. “Wrong answer, brother.”

Moon helped him stand, and Mayhem immediately regretted everything. “He tore his stitches, shifted while poisoned, attacked a Capitol wolf, reopened half the injuries I spent hours repairing, and apparently has the survival instincts of a drunk squirrel.”

Chrome laughed even harder, and Howler rubbed a hand over his face. Tempest muttered, “Sounds about right.”

Mayhem looked at Moon. “You forgot the part about me being handsome.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And delusional.”

“See?” He looked at Howler. “She likes me.” Moon turned away, but not before Mayhem saw it—the tiny smile on her lips. Victory.

Howler helped hold him up, grabbing his right side and slinging his arm over his shoulder. “They came specifically for you.”

Mayhem sobered. “So we figured.”

“One was alive long enough to talk outside,” Howler said.

Moon stopped. Mayhem watched his Prez. “What did he say?”

Howler’s expression darkened. “They weren’t supposed to kill you at the docks.”

Mayhem went still. “What?”

“They were supposed to infect you,” Howler said.

Moon slowly turned around. “With the black substance?” she asked.

Howler nodded, and Mayhem felt cold spread through him. “What the hell did they put in me?”

Howler’s jaw tightened. “We don’t know yet.”

Moon came closer. “But you have an idea,” she said.

Howler looked at her before returning his attention to Mayhem. “Apparently they needed a high-ranking Silverfang Wolf for whatever comes next.” Mayhem’s wolf growled.

Tempest swore quietly, and Moon went pale. Mayhem looked between them. “What comes next?” he asked.

Howler nodded. “They called you the carrier.” Silence fell over the clubhouse, and Mayhem stared at his Prez before looking at the black veins crawling beneath the skin of his forearm. His wolf recoiled. For the first time since the attack, Mayhem felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel—fear. It wasn’t for himself, though. His eyes found Moon, because if he was carrying something, and she was his mate, he had no idea what that meant for her.

Mayhem hated being afraid because fear made wolves stupid. It made them hesitate when they should strike, retreat when they should stand their ground, and question instincts that had kept them alive for years.

He had spent most of his life learning how to kill fear before it could take root, but lying on Moon’s medical table while black veins spread beneath his skin was doing a damn good job of bringing it back. Not because he thought he was going to die. Death had never scared him much, but losing control did. Hurting someone he cared about did, and the thought of hurting Moon terrified the hell out of him.

“The carrier,” he muttered. Moon stood beside the counter with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had scrubbed the blood from her hands, but there was still a faint smear along her jaw from when he had touched her earlier.

His blood. Mayhem couldn’t stop staring at it. Her scent was all wrong too. He could tell that she was anxious. His wolf had been restless since Howler told them what the Capitol Wolves called him, but every time Moon came near, the animal became almost frantic. Not aggressive, but protective, possessive, and even terrified. That last emotion worried Mayhem most.

“How long are you going to stand over there pretending you don’t want to yell at me?” he asked.

Moon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not pretending.”

“So yell then,” he ordered.

“I’m deciding where to start,” she admitted.

“That bad?” he asked.

“You shifted.” Mayhem sighed and settled back, knowing that she was going to list a whole bunch of things that pissed her off about him. “You shifted while silver was still circulating through your body,” she continued.