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A honed predator now stood in his place. Who had surely not forgotten the leaked messages she’d sent and received that horrible night. That she’d been fucking some random in the club bathroom while Connor—Connor, who had just spilled his heart to her—was slaughtered.
Bryce lowered her eyes, hating it, hating every second of this fucked-up visit.
Ithan smiled, as if savoring her shame.
He’d dropped out of CCU after Connor had died. Quit playing sunball. She only knew because she’d caught a game on TV one night two months later and the commentators had still been discussing it. No one, not his coaches, not his friends, not his packmates, could convince him to return. He’d walked away from the sport and never looked back, apparently.
She hadn’t seen him since the days right before the murders. Her last photo of him was the one Danika had taken at his game, playing in the background. The one she’d tortured herself with last night for hours while bracing herself for what the dawn would bring.
Before that, though, there had been hundreds of photos of the two of them together. They still sat on her phone like a basket full of snakes, waiting to bite if she so much as opened the lid.
Ithan’s cruel smile didn’t waver as he shut the door behind them. “The Prime’s taking a nap. Sabine will meet with you.”
Bryce glanced at Hunt, who gave her a shallow nod. Precisely as they’d planned.
Bryce was aware of Ithan’s every breath at her back as they aimed for the stairs that Bryce knew would take them up a level to Sabine’s office. Hunt seemed aware of Ithan, too, and let enough lightning wreathe his hands, his wrists, that the young wolf took a step away.
At least alphaholes were good for something.
Ithan didn’t leave. No, it seemed he was to be their guard and silent tormentor for the duration of this miserable trip.
Bryce knew every step toward Sabine’s office on the second level, but Ithan led the way: up the sprawling limestone stairs marred with so many scratches and gouges no one bothered to fix them anymore; down the high-ceilinged, bright hall whose windows overlooked the busy street outside; and finally to the worn wood door. Danika had grown up here—and moved out as soon as she’d gone to CCU. After graduation, she’d stayed only during formal wolf events and holidays.
Ithan’s pace was leisurely. As if he could scent Bryce’s misery, and wanted to make her endure it for every possible second.
She supposed she deserved it. Knew she deserved it.
She tried to block out the memory that flashed.
The twenty-one ignored calls from Ithan, all in the first few days following the murder. The half-dozen audiomails. The first had been sobbing, panicked, left in the hours afterward. Is it true, Bryce? Are they dead?
And then the messages had shifted to worry. Where are you? Are you okay? I called the major hospitals and you’re not listed, but no one is talking. Please call me.
And then, by the end, that last audiomail from Ithan, nothing but razor-sharp coldness. The Legion inspectors showed me all the messages. Connor practically told you that he loved you, and you finally agreed to go out with him, and then you fucked some stranger in the Raven bathroom? While he was dying? Are you kidding me with this shit? Don’t come to the Sailing tomorrow. You’re not welcome there.
She’d never written back, never sought him out. Hadn’t been able to endure the thought of facing him. Seeing the grief and pain in his face. Loyalty was the most prized of all wolf traits. In their eyes, she and Connor had been inevitable. Nearly mated. Just a question of time. Her hookups before that hadn’t mattered, and neither had his, because nothing had been declared yet.
Until he’d asked her out at last. And she had said yes. Had started down that road.
To the wolves, she was Connor’s, and he was hers.
Message me when you’re home safe.
Her chest tightened and tightened, the walls pushing in, squeezing—
She forced herself to take a long breath. To inhale to the point where her ribs strained from holding it in. Then to exhale, pushing-pushing-pushing, until she was heaving out the pure gut-shredding panic that burned through her whole body like acid.
Bryce wasn’t a wolf. She didn’t play by their rules of courtship. And she’d been stupid and scared of what agreeing to that date had meant, and Danika certainly didn’t care one way or another if Bryce had some meaningless hookup, but—Bryce hadn’t ever worked up the nerve to explain to Ithan after she’d seen and heard his messages.
She’d kept them all. Listening to them was a solid central arc of her emotional death-spiral routine. The culmination of it, of course, being Danika’s last, foolishly happy messages.
Ithan knocked on Sabine’s door, letting it swing wide to reveal a sunny white office whose windows looked into the verdant greenery of the Den’s park. Sabine sat at her desk, her corn-silk hair near-glowing in the light. “You have some nerve coming here.”
Words dried up in Bryce’s throat as she took in the pale face, the slender hands interlaced on the oak desk, the narrow shoulders that belied her tremendous strength. Danika had been pure wildfire; her mother was solid ice. And if Sabine had killed her, if Sabine had done this …
Roaring began in Bryce’s head.
Hunt must have sensed it, scented it, because he stepped up to Bryce’s side, Ithan lingering in the hall, and said, “We wanted to meet with the Prime.”
