Page 130 of The SnowFang Secret


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But why would the AmberHowl have summoned the SnowFang? We’d all agreed to keep the SnowFang out of this. I shifted my tub of ice. Interesting. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll act surprised if they turn up.”

Sterling had taken off his shirt and pants and was investigating the extent of the damage. He was good and bruised and chewed up. Alan had peeled long strips from his shoulders and the sides of his legs and across his chest, just like the strips of fur in my first dream of him. But instead of silvery fur, it was flesh.

I picked off the bloody bandage on his shoulder. He was bruised, with a couple of puncture wounds, and a number of other much lesser bite wounds that made the skin look like it’d been hit with the business head of a tenderizer. Stitches held the worst closed, but overall, it was ugly, not serious. The werewolf equivalent to road rash.

He told me, “I’m fine. It’s just meat.”

I wrapped up some of the ice in one of the thin towels for his ribs, then started to unwrap fresh gauze pads. The punctures would drain for a few days. “A little bird told me that the AmberHowl sent for the SnowFang.”

All humor disappeared. “They didwhat? Why?”

“I don’t know. Neither did the little bird. But I also know AmberHowl had contact with SnowFang before this morning.”

“In what capacity?”

“When we went to FrostFangare, Demetrius’ gift was little cakes. I’m certain Cye made them.”

Sterling’s hazel gaze narrowed. His scent sharpened. “How interesting is that?”

“That depends on if AmberHowl has their own accomplished lupine pastry chef they could have called but chose not to. Otherwise, we can file it as slightly suspicious.” There were a fair number of reasons AmberHowl might have chosen to call Cye for all their bakery gift needs. SnowFang was discrete and could be trusted to not ask questions or talk about the request. Cye’s creations were the perfect gift for the pack that had everything. For a discrete, short-notice trip to FrostFangare, what was a couple of cakes between Elders?

“I am beginning to like this less and less.”

I paused in my taping.

“I wasn’t supposed to win,” Sterling said. “They’re going to have to reveal you’re still alive, and it was all a lie. They didn’t allow that to happen this morning. And you and I are not officially mated, are we?”

“The paperwork doesn’t exist. Technically, they can walk it back anytime they like.”

“And you’ve been living with Searle all this time. I can see a few different ways they will spin this.” Sterling put his hand over mine. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, after everything we’ve been through, we’re running this prey into the ground.”

Acceptably Crispy Bacon

(and other business matters)

The continental breakfast was… greasy. Assorted wolves moved around heaping plates while hotel staff familiar with the Greater Meeting (if not the wholewerewolvesaspect of it) kept bringing out trays of bagged scrambled eggs and acceptably crispy bacon. All the wolves in the small dining area were AmberHowl, except for a table of RedRise off in a corner. The AmberHowl were a mix of those that knew and those that didn’t, with Henri overseeing everything with his youngest daughter on his lap, holding a fistful of bacon in each hand while Sarah ate and the oldest pretended to feed her stuffie bacon.

Marcella and Demetrius were absent, and I got looks from everyone as I entered. Rumors of my death had been greatly exaggerated.

The previous night, givenstay out of sighthad seemed wise, we’d stayed at the motel. Garrett and Cerys had found some BBQ take out for us to eat. Sitting around giving the Elders a full twenty-four hours to contemplate the many ways they could screw us had not been how I liked to spend my evenings, but it was a chess tournament, and we had to wait for the other tables to finish.

Cerys and Garrett were tucked into another corner, Garrett reading the local paper while Cerys sipped her coffee.

“Sit,” Sterling told me.

“You’re the mangled one.” I could get my own plate. He’d bruised into a very colorful assortment of purples and blues overnight, and any wolf with half a snout could smell the distinctive scent ofbanged upclinging to him.

“Mangled. I am notmangled.” He snorted, but there was a troubled glint in his stormy eyes, and without another word, disappeared towards the buffet line.

I took the chair opposite Garrett. Garrett looked over his paper at his son, then back at me. “Hmm.”

Cerys translated for her husband. “My son is worried he put you through too much.”

“I’m fine. He went through it too.” I contemplated my jelly options. Little plastic containers of strawberry and grape. No raspberry or mixed berry or huckleberry. Boo.

Garrett snorted with utter contempt. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t go through a goddamn thing. He went to boot, then got into a fight.”

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