A wolf.
Several wolves.
A woman in a flowing green dress stumbles, and a man in jester’s bells helps her up as they flee past Meredith’s memorial.
Bast curses under his breath. “I have to go. Stay here. Don’t make me hunt you down.”
Before I can respond, he’s stripping off his clothes. Right here, in the middle of the Faire. I gape at him, unable to look away as he sheds every last bit of fabric in a matter of seconds.
Then, in a blur of motion that my eyes can barely follow, he changes. His body contorts, fur sprouting across his skin, limbs elongating and reshaping. Where Bast stood just moments ago, a massive wolf now crouches, muscles bunching beneath its reddish-gray coat.
Those familiar golden eyes meet mine for a split second, filled with an emotion I can’t quite name. Then he’s gone, bounding down the street after the others.
I should run. I should get as far away from here as possible. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, my gaze fixed on the direction Bast disappeared.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me out of my stupor. With trembling hands, I pull it out. There’s a new message from theMathairs.
Elsa: Will have new orders for you shortly. Hold.
Well, at least it isn’t an immediate death sentence.
I look back at Meredith’s smiling face in the photograph, then down the street where Bast disappeared. Dark smoke billows above the festival grounds, staining the bright autumn sky. Through the chaos of fleeing tourists, I catch fragments of terrified shouts—“Monster!”
“Wolf!”
“Fire!”
The crowd surges past me in waves of velvet and cotton. Children sob for their parents. Someone’s turkey leg hits the ground, sending sawdust flying. Above it all, that column of smoke grows darker, thicker, marking where Bast ran.
My phone weighs heavy in my pocket, theMathairs’message burning like a brand against my hip.
Stay and help? Risk everything for people who are nothing to me? Or run and save myself, like the coldhearted bitch they trained me to be?
Chapter Fourteen
Bast O’Connor
Truth Among the Flowers
The smoke thickens with each passing second. An ominous black cloud billows from the inn’s windows. Angry orange flames lick at the wooden frames, hungrily devouring everything in their path. The acrid smell of burning wood and plastic assaults my nostrils, making my eyes water.
Chaos reigns in the street.
People run in all directions. Children’s cries pierce the air, their high-pitched wails a counterpoint to the deeper, more guttural sounds of panic from the adults. But what stops me cold is the sight of wolves—wolves—growling and snapping at the people escaping from the inn.
What the fuck?I can’t piece this nightmare into anything that makes sense.
I spot a big gray wolf I don’t recognize snarling at a group of terrified tourists huddled near one of the inn’s side doors. Without thinking, I launch myself at him, my powerful hind legs propelling me through the air. We collide with a bone-jarring thud.
“Run!” Iwoofat the tourists, forgetting for a moment that they can’t understand me in this form. They don’t need a translation and quickly scramble past us toward safety.
The gray’s already on his feet, lips curled back to reveal yellowed fangs. His eyes are filled with rage.Who are these bastards?The scent is unfamiliar—not O’Connor, not Gallagher, not any pack I know.Where did they come from?
The gray’s on me, his jaws snapping closed mere inches from my throat. I twist away, feeling the rush of air as his teeth close on empty space. Pivoting, I strike, sinking my own teeth deep into his flank.
The taste of his blood fills my mouth, hot and metallic. He yelps in pain but doesn’t retreat. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, coming at me with a ferocity that’s almost admirable.
We dance a deadly waltz, circling and lunging, each looking for an opening. Slash. Bite. Dodge. Slash again. With each exchange, we leave our marks on each other—tufts of fur flying, skin tearing, blood staining our coats.
