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Her wolf was hunting, trapping her in Byron’s head. Ellen didn’t want to know how Byron had hated her, and loved her, and hated loving her. Or that hurting her gave him pleasure. How he’d adored making her scream. The more she’d rejected him, the more desperate his need to hurt her. Cyrus was the only thing that stopped him from killing her. Killing her, losing her power, was an unforgivable act. And Byron hated her most for that—her power and her importance to Cyrus.
But her wolf held on, searching until…
No. Fuck, no. Her mind shut down, but not before she’d seen… Oh God. No. It was too much. Her wolf ran, hiding from the truth, as her hands slid from Byron’s body. Now was not the time to face the demons of her past. Not yet. Cyrus and his pack of Others had taken everything from her. Everything. But anger. Anger was good. Rage was better. Her eyes fluttered open. Her wolf’s growl spilled from her lips. But the sound was tempered with anguish.
And she hated it—hated the power Cyrus and the Others still had over her.
Cyrus lived. For now. Somehow, someway, she would watch the life fade from his eyes.
It was the only purpose she had left.
Birdsong reached her. The Montana wind whispering through the trees. The sun was rising above the horizon, faint yellow in a pale-blue sky. Life went on. No matter the pain and suffering and injustice that existed, life never stopped. No one could share in her grief for those she’d lost. But she held on to them, to remember why she fought. And holding on ensured the sharp pain of their loss would never fade.
The pain was good. It kept her rage razor-sharp and lethal.
Her gaze fell to Byron. Still cold and pale. Still dead. But that didn’t stop her fury. “You’re lucky Mal killed you. Lucky it wasn’t me,” she hissed, her hands fisting against Byron’s chest. The air in her lungs expanded, tight, crushing, forcing her to scream, “You would have paid for what you’ve done, you fucking bastard. You would have bled.” She slapped him, the sound enraging her all the more. “You took everything from me. You took her from me.” A red haze clouded her vision, the roar of fury in her blood drowning everything else. Stopping wasn’t an option. Her wolf didn’t want her to stop. Over and over, until her arms and body were shaking, she hit what remained of Byron. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“Ellen,” Hollis soothed. Steely-arms slipped around her waist, pinning her arms at her waist, and pulling her away from Bryon.
She struggled, his hold restraining her made things worse. He didn’t know. Couldn’t understand. “Don’t touch me.” She pushed out of his hold and slumped back in the snow, staring blindly around her. The connection was severed and her endorphins crashed. Nausea set it, breathing ached, and staying upright took effort. Burying her hands in the snow eased the resulting burn, but not the feel of Byron from her skin.
She stood up, swaying on her feet, rubbing her hands together, but it was still there. He was still there. Clinging to her. She doubled over, throwing up until her stomach was empty and dry heaves had her pitching forward. Hands on knees, she waited until her breathing steadied, then pushed herself upright. And came eye to eye with Hollis.
Green eyes, alert, searching, far too quick. He was waiting for something. Answers most likely. He was a man of science, he said, always looking for answers. Well, he could wait.
“Where is the truck?” she asked, glancing beyond Hollis. Her palms still burned, still tingled. Washing them would help. Or scrubbing them…with bleach if necessary.
“Cold?” He shrugged out of his carefully pressed shirt and offered it to her. She hadn’t realized she was shivering. Even naked, as she was now, she was rarely cold. Her wolf kept her warm. But her wolf was in shock, still reeling, still hurting. “What can I do?” His question was soft.
As a skilled physician, brilliant at deductive reasoning and logic, could Hollis bring Byron back from the dead, so she could kill him again? Slowly. Painfully. Even if he could, would he? Since it was a ridiculous train of thought, she kept her mouth shut and tugged on his shirt. His scent wrapped around her, offering her a warmth she’d never admit she craved. Craving, wanting, needing—weakness. Glaring seemed a perfectly acceptable response to his question.
Copper brows arched, his gaze searching her face. “You don’t scare me.”
“Liar,” she whispered. He shouldn’t look at her like that, like he cared. And, to a point, he did. She was a puzzle he yearned to solve. He could try, but she wouldn’t make it easy for him. Eyes narrowed, she stalked toward him, taunting, “I scare you. You know I do.”
His concern evaporated.
She smiled slowly, sweetly, enjoying the telltale tightening of his jaw. Teasing Hollis was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself. Whenever the possibility arose, she took it. Like now. Right now, she needed pleasure…in whatever form available.
He ran a hand through his tousled copper hair. “You frustrate the hell out of me. That’s not fear.”
“Then perhaps you fear what I make you want to do?” she asked. Like embrace his wild side and find his wolf. He had a wolf, no matter how he denied it. Her wolf sensed his beast, inside Hollis, just beneath the surface, aching to be freed.
“You overestimate the affect you have on me,” he countered, using his most detached tone to great advantage.
“Perhaps.” She shrugged, her fight draining.
He glanced at Byron, then back at her. “What just happened? I know…something happened.” His bright-green gaze was invasive…and irritating. “Are you okay?”
“Stop asking that. I am.” Enough thinking or talking about Byron. “The bodies must be destroyed here. If you take them back, you risk leading the Others to your sanctuary.” Her gaze swept the horizon. “It’s too great a risk.”
“Okay.”
She stared at him, then startled. “No argument? You surprise me, Hollis.”
A frown creased his forehead. “I only argue when necessary. When it comes to the safety of our pack—”
“Your pack,” she interrupted.
