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“We downloaded the data from your phone. Can you walk me through these?”
Glassy eyes tracked a small screen that rose from a hidden compartment in the linoleum floor. It displayed the same messages Isaiah and Hunt now read.
The first one, sent from Bryce, read, TV nights are for waggle-tailed pups. Come play with the big bitches.
And then a short, dark video, shaking as someone roared with laughter while Bryce flipped off the camera, leaned over a line of white powder—lightseeker—and sniffed it right up her freckled nose. She was laughing, so bright and alive that the woman in the room before them looked like a gutted corpse, and she shrieked into the camera, “LIGHT IT UP, DANIKAAAAA!”
Danika’s written reply was precisely what Isaiah expected from the Prime Apparent of the wolves, whom he’d seen only from a distance at formal events and who had seemed poised to start trouble wherever she went: I FUCKING HATE YOU. STOP DOING LIGHTSEEKER WITHOUT ME. ASSHOLE.
Party Princess, indeed.
Bryce had written back twenty minutes later, I just hooked up with someone in the bathroom. Don’t tell Connor.
Hunt shook his head.
But Bryce sat there as Viktoria read the messages aloud, the wraith stone-faced.
Danika wrote back, Was it good?!!?
Only good enough to take the edge off.
“This isn’t relevant,” Hunt murmured. “Pull in Viktoria.”
“We have our orders.”
“Fuck the orders. That woman is about to break, and not in a good way.”
Then Bryce stopped responding to Danika.
But Danika kept messaging. One after another. Over the next two hours.
The show’s over. Where are you assholes?
Why aren’t you picking up your phone? I’m calling Fury.
Where the FUCK is Fury?
Juniper never brings her phone, so I’m not even gonna bother with her. Where are you?!!!
Should I come to the club? The pack’s leaving in ten. Stop fucking strangers in the bathroom, because Connor’s coming with me.
BRYYYYCE. When you look at your phone, I hope the 1,000 alerts piss you off.
Thorne is telling me to stop messaging you. I told him to mind his own fucking business.
Connor says to grow the Hel up and stop doing shady-ass drugs, because only losers do that shit. He wasn’t happy when I said I’m not sure I can let you date a holier-than-thou priss.
Okay, we’re leaving in five. See you soon, cocksucker. Light it up.
Bryce stared at the screen unblinkingly, her torn face sickly pale in the light of the monitor.
“The building’s cameras are mostly broken, but the one in the hall was still able to record some audio, though its video footage was down,” Viktoria said calmly. “Shall I play it?”
No response. So Viktoria played it.
Muffled snarling and screaming filled the speakers—quiet enough that it was clear the hall camera had picked up only the loudest noises coming from the apartment. And then someone was roaring—a feral wolf’s roar. “Please, please—”
The words were cut off. But the hall camera’s audio wasn’t.
