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Okay, so zombies weren’t real, but I had seen the dead rise once, and it wasn’t pretty. It was incredibly frightening, and I had no desire to live through it again.
As I pivoted, I could see that the area within my salt barrier was filled with spectral bodies, at least a half-dozen people crowded together. In the middle of it someone was throwing punches.
“Are you seeing this?” Perry said, his voice full of astonishment.
“Yeah,” Wilder replied.
“As long as I’m not crazy.”
“The more time you spend around her, the more normal this shit becomes.”
Perry glanced at Wilder. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”
Wilder grinned, his expression all for me. “I think it’s pretty great. I’m never bored.”
I responded with a small wink, then moved towards the edge of the salt line so I was close to Carlos, wanting to see the scene from his angle. Carlos was frozen, staring into space while the rest of us watched his memories unfold like a 3D movie. I hoped he’d be able to answer us if we had any questions, since I’d sort of promised Perry that would work.
Now I was able to see that the fight was between Mason and another guy—not the victim as I’d expected—and Emmett pushed his way through the onlookers in an attempt to break things up.
Though I had never doubted the innocence of my wolves, it was
interesting to see how events had actually played out. We couldn’t hear the memory, but it was obvious the human male was screaming something at Mason. The unknown man shook Mason by the front of his shirt, his face contorted into a mask of absolute hatred.
Mason attempted to wrench free of the man’s grip. His hands were by his sides, and he rolled his shoulder towards his attacker, not to hurt him but merely to break his hold.
Mason wasn’t trying to fight, he was trying to run away.
As Emmett muscled his way in, I could tell how hard he was struggling to keep from shoving the human man. His hands were held up in a gesture of surrender, as if he was telling the man, You’ve won, we’re done here. The guy would not let go of Mason.
I looked at Perry to make sure he was paying attention. He was scribbling wildly in his notebook, but he lifted his eyes every few seconds, taking in the whole scene.
Emmett was calm, showing no signs of the rage I would expect considering someone was screaming in his face. He was saying something to the angry bro, and though I couldn’t hear anything, it looked as if he was saying, Just let us leave.
A glow of pride blossomed inside me, because this was exactly how I would have hoped they would act. They’d told me in as many words the fight hadn’t been their fault, but I’d only let my faith in them go so far. I’d imagined them getting riled up and arguing with the other men. I’d even been willing to think they might have fought back.
I’d never believed they were guilty of murder, but seeing the scene play out like this, I was absolutely staggered by their pacifism.
I wasn’t sure how, but once they were out, I was going to reward them somehow.
The bro punched Emmett square in the face.
Wilder, Perry, and I all collectively held our breath as if this were happening now, and not in the past.
Blood sprayed from Emmett’s nose, coating the front of his shirt, which went a long way to explaining why he’d been so bloody when I first arrived at the crime scene. His healing powers would have made sure he was fine by that point, but the blood wasn’t going to go anywhere.
And if the worst of it was on his shirt, that would also explain why I hadn’t smelled a lot of werewolf blood in the alley. Emmett was wearing most of it.
I watched as Emmett’s once-peaceful expression pinched and twisted. Rage turned his cheeks red, and he lifted his hand to his nose, pulling his fingers back to inspect the bloody mess he found there.
Get out of here, he said, each word so clearly defined it was easy to see what he was saying.
The bro who had hit him looked like someone waking from a dream. He was wide-eyed and holding his fist in one hand—probably nursing some severely broken bones—as he gaped at what he’d done.
He had let go of Mason when he threw the punch, and now it was Mason’s turn to hold Emmett back. Neither of them had that feral, blind-rage look to them, but Emmett’s hands were balled into fists, and I could tell it was taking every ounce of self-restraint he had not to smash this idiot in the face.
I couldn’t blame him. I’m not entirely sure I would have been able to hold back. McQueen women are not wildly known for being able to maintain their calm.
This was where Liam came in.
