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“Hello?” I answer, ducking as someone’s bat familiar zips past my head.

“Selene?” Kane says. His voice is unnaturally low and gravelly. In the background, the grief-filled howls are amplified, the noise punctuated by whimpers and sobs.

“I heard the news. I’m so sorry, Kane,” I say.

The other end of the line is quiet, and part of me is sure Kane’s shifted and I’m now speaking to a wolf.

“Miranda was ripped apart,” he finally says, “just like the witches on your side of the woods.” It’s silent for another long moment, then he adds, “Her body carried the stink of something unnatural…” Kane’s voice disintegrates into a growl.

I take that in, wondering how much time I have to talk with the lycanthrope before he gives in to his shift.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, though the sentiment rings hollow. What is an apology in the face of a life cut horrifyingly short? “Do you or your pack mates need anything?” I ask. I don’t know that I have anything of substance to offer, but the rest of my peers and I have dealt with these deaths several times already.

The other end of the line is quiet again.

“The last time we spoke in person, you admitted that Memnon moves the bodies,” Kane eventually says.

My stomach drops.

“My pack would like to meet with him so that he might answer for this.”

After the call ends, I sit down on a random patch of grass in front of Henbane’s main buildings, Nero flopping down beside me.

I idly coax a small daisy to grow from the soil. As its stalk rises and a flower unfurls, I sit with my thoughts. Worry, doubt, and dread all knot together.

Memnon?

I feel the brush of Memnon’s pleasure, though beneath it, I sense…strain.

Est amage…your voice is sweeter than wine after conquest.Despite his words, his voice sounds tight, thready.

A light, fluttery feeling blossoms in my stomach. It has no business being there, given the current circumstances.

Did you move another body?

Perhaps …Again, his voice sounds strained.

I frown, and the daisy beneath my palm wilts a little.

Are you okay?I ask.

Is my fiancée worried about my well-being?he teases.

I look skyward even as I suppress a smile.Forget I asked.

Never. I’m collecting your slipups.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

Please don’t.I don’t even bother trying to deny that they are in fact slipups.

I feel the brush of his mirth, though there’s still that nagging sensation beneath it.

You’re really okay?I ask.

Again I feel his pleasure.Sweet mate, I’m fine. Were you reaching out just to ask about the body?

The one he all but confirmed he moved.