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“So we wait for Nathan,” I said, panicked at the idea of her leaving.
“I can’t wait. Margo saw somebody digging a grave. What if it’s for Dominic?” She ran her hands through her hair in agitation. “I can’t just let someone die. Besides that, the pack will fall apart if they lose even one more person. I have to try to help him.”
“I’ll come with you then.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I’ve called the Hardings to come get you out of here. Stay with Margo until they arrive. In the meantime, lock the doors, and be ready to protect Margo. Keep calling Nathan and the others. Someone has to answer eventually.”
“Wait! At least take the dogs with you.”
“One, maybe. I should go.”
Something in her tone sounded off, left me wary. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I just… It’s nothing.” She touched my face then, regret in her eyes. “If it’s Victor, and he comes here and tries to hurt you, don’t hesitate. Promise me you won’t let him hurt you.”
“I… promise.” I was too stunned by the new hardness in her gaze to say anything else.
“Stay safe. Both of you. Nathan will probably call me back before I even get there.” She left abruptly, taking one of the wolfhounds and leaving the other.
“She didn’t want to go,” I said as the car pulled away from the house. “I shouldn’t have let her.”
“We could follow her.” Margo reached for my hand. “I mean, what if he goes after her instead?”
“I won’t let him,” I said fiercely. “But we won’t catch up to her now, so this is it. Do your thing. We can’t let her go out there alone. We need to find him first. I need you to help me.”
“I’ll try,” Margo said, but she didn’t sound confident.
“You can do this.”
She took a deep breath. “Maybe if I focus on your worry for Perdita. Maybe that will be a strong enough connection to get me somewhere.”
“Please,” I whispered. “Please find him before she does.”
She held my hand tight, squeezing her eyes shut. “Talk about her,” she murmured. “My mind keeps drifting.”
I kept talking about the pack and Perdita until Margo’s eyes shot open and turned a chilling blue. The dog whined.
“Margo?”
She ignored me, stood, and then walked right by me. All I could do was follow her with the wolfhound. It was dark and cold outside, but Margo was the one giving me shivers.
She strode in a different way, as though full-sure of herself and her destination. Her arms swung by her sides, and the only sound she made was a repetitive clunk as her boots met the pavement.
“Margo?” I said hesitantly.
She didn’t answer. The chill around her expanded. And then she broke into a run, the dog and I barely keeping up.
Time ticked on; she was fast, but we were on foot. Cars shot past us as we ran back toward town. Sweat dripped down my back, despite the unforgiving cold enveloping us. Margo didn’t even pant. She just kept going, determinedly pushing forward.
Eventually, we got back into town. I thought we were heading toward my own home, but we ended up on the stretch of land we used as an emergency run. The field was a place we would one day build upon, the place I had first found her, staring as though uncovering a secret. I shivered at the memory. Some part of her had known, even then.
There was little cover, something my wolf noted with concern, and any car driving by could see us clearly. But apart from us, the field was completely empty.
“This isn’t it,” I said, so frustrated I wanted to cry. “Margo, he can’t be here.”
She kept moving fast, completely ignoring me, until we reached the end of the field. She collapsed onto her knees in front of a wizened tree and dug her hands into the soil.Somethinghad to be there.
I helped her, scooping out handfuls of damp soil to get to what was beneath. The scent around the tree was odd. Strong, chemical-like. Something that covered up secrets from werewolves.
