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They stay the same. Wolves emerge in varying shades of brown and grey with Cain’s standing out in a color near identical to his human hair. Low, they keep their bodies closer to the ground while ears their twitch and nostrils flare.
Ten feet from the entrance, I grab a pair of trousers from a hidden opening within a tree. They’re tighter and smaller than my normal tailored bottoms, so much so that I don’t zip them. All that matters is I’m tucked inside when entering mum’s building.
Who knows how long ago Mum placed this pair here. Something I never questioned in the past, the little things she did, because that’s the kind of woman she was. Loving. Always taking care of others, and my chest aches as a flash of her decapitated body appears in my mind.
That anger I’ve been trying to hold back rises. A red mist overtakes my senses.
Another few feet closer, and a heart picks up its beats inside. Panic.
He knows.
“Stay. No one steps a foot inside.” One by one, they give me a nod while I head straight for the still-closed gate. The warded lock is intact, no trace of obstruction, and I grab the key from a chain around my neck that’s long enough to fit my wolf and human form.
It creaks, the sound loud, and I sense him trying to use his magic. Yet it fails him.
He tries again, and frustration mounts. Each emotion is clear for me to see, like a living entity, and I walk inside without pause.
Bartolo’s on the ground, dragging his body deeper into the large room with empty clay pots and endless planting beds on either side of him. The further he moves back, the less lighting, and I enjoy his scream of terror when a second later I have my hand around his neck, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground.
His swollen, bloodshot eyes are on mine. His torn hands pushing at mine, but I only tighten my grip until his face turns ashen and his split lips a light blue.
No words are exchanged. None needed.
I carry him out and past the fence without a single word. Not until there’s enough space between us and the mausoleum.
But once there is, I bring my other hand up and slash across his chest with my black-tipped claws. From just below his shoulder to the opposite side, I leave deep gouges behind with a smile. At once, he cries out and tries to cover the wound with his mangled hands, body thrashing in pain and I revel in the sound of his screams.
By the neck, I bring us nose to nose. “Look at me.” When does, I’m met with tears and desperation. He’s not healing as others fae’s do, his accelerated abilities failing him and every wound I’ve inflicted is gaping or infected. “I want the truth, warlock. No more games.”
“Killing me won’t bring her back to you.”
“Bartolo, I’m only just beginning.”
* * *
Present…
I’m angry.
Motherfucking burning from the inside at the sight of her in chains and filthy, as if dragged through dirt. Someone had the audacity to put their hands on her.
Touched what belongs to me.
Because she does. Our situation doesn’t change that, and it’s the one thing the wolf and I agree on.
After Bartolo escaped and I locked her inside the luna’s suite, I left to do what was necessary. She was meant to be safe in there. The personal fitting and relaxation space fit for what my mate is: a queen.
No one knew she was there. Just like no one was told Bartolo’s unconscious body laid a locked door from my office. He wasn’t fit to run away, his wounds too deep, yet the warlock still managed to escape without detection.
And while I left Timoth in charge, gave him my trust, the beta took advantage. Right now, he’s the cause and catalyst where everything starts and begins. Two and two don’t equate to four in this scenario; his explanations don’t make sense the more I turn them over in my head.
Yet it was Timoth who reported him gone.
He also removed Isabella from her chambers.
The latter is indisputable with the traces of his scent lingering on my floor. He had no business there; an adjoining room next to ours designed with the sole purpose of my mate’s comfort.
“Alpha, let’s talk. What’s the problem?”
