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Thanks. The polished concrete floors were cool against my feet as I ambled through the living room and settled down on the faded, navy couch. It was covered in a million fluffy pillows. Every time I laid on the couch it was like getting swallowed by a cloud. The air conditioning was blasting, so I grabbed a cozy, plaid blanket and cuddled into it. A massive flat screen took up most of the wall in front of me and a pack of Bimbo pound cakes—literally the best thing ever—sat on the coffee table with a glass of milk and my phone.
I stared at the cakes. Just the idea of reaching over to grab them seemed like a lot of work.
The shower had helped calm me down a little, but the terror was still lingering, hovering underneath my skin. My body felt like it was filled with Jell-O, and emotionally, I was hanging on by a thread. I couldn’t believe I’d had such a close call. My hands were still trembling as I finally reached for the cakes. Food wouldn’t solve all my problems, but it would give me back some of my strength.
I usually loved the little pound cakes, but today they might as well have been filled with sawdust. I forced myself to chew and swallow small bites as fast as I could. I tried to think of what my next step was, but beside wanting to get home, all I had were questions. I needed to call Claudia.
My phone started vibrating. I jumped, knocking a sea of pillows to the ground. Claudia’s picture and name popped up on the screen.
I froze, watching the answer button blink. I dropped the cake on the floor as I fumbled for the phone, swiping my thumb across the screen. “Claudia? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m worried about you.”
I spun to Dastien. When did you call her?
I didn’t.
“One sec.” I stepped outside and closed the glass door behind me. Somehow Dastien could pay attention to multiple conversations at once and still converse coherently. I couldn’t. Listening to Dastien make travel plans while trying to give Claudia my attention wasn’t going to go well.
I walked past the patio table and chairs, a few loungers, and an infinity pool to the railing overlooking the water. The ocean was still peaceful, even though I’d died for a second out there. Whatever had happened out there was magic-based, and I wasn’t about to let it ruin paradise. The sun was getting lower, and we’d have to cook dinner soon, but I was glad Claudia had called. I really needed to talk to her.
Through our bond, Dastien’s voice was now just a faint hum. Good enough. “Hey. You still there?”
“Of course.”
“Are you really okay?” Dastien felt pretty certain that whatever happened to me was an isolated incident, but it seemed pretty convenient that she was calling me this evening when I hadn’t heard from her in weeks.
“I’ve been off lately, but…” She sighed. “It’s not important. Not after what happened to Muraco. That’s why I’m calling.”
I froze. “What happened to Muraco?”
“I’m sure you felt him pass. I hear all wolves should’ve, but…it was bad.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He didn’t just fade?”
I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from her.
“No. He didn’t. Someone murdered him.”
I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to this, but I had to ask. “Earlier today I was out swimming, and I got this searing pain in my hands. It felt like someone was slicing through my knuckles, very quickly one by one. It was weird. And then the pain was in my wrists. And my elbows and then—”
Her high-pitched gasp came through the line. “Your shoulders. Toes. Ankles. Knees. Hips.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“You felt his murder.”
“If that’s how he died, then I think so?” The question came out as a high-pitched squeak.
“No. I wasn’t asking. That’s how he died. No one knows but a few of the wolves from Lucas’ pack. It was a ritual killing. He was placed in a circle of his own blood. There were candles. And each joint was severed—from his knuckles to his knees and toes—in one clean cut.”
I sat on the balcony floor, threading my legs through the rungs of the railing, and stared at the waves crashing on the shore. “Did Lucas feel his death?” If anyone else had, the Alpha of Muraco’s pack had to have felt it. Please, don’t let it just be me.
“No.”
Shit. “Then why the hell did I feel it?” And what did it mean?
“I don’t know.” Her words were a whisper, like she didn’t want to say it too loud or else it’d be true. “But I’m pretty sure the spell and the cuts drained him of his power.”
