Page 55 of Wild Games

“Permission to notify his Luna?” Zane asks as if this is just any ordinary shifter, and not his father and mother that he’s speaking about.

Nobody knows what to say, so Dean simply nods.

With a pained expression, Zane turns his back and strides into the trees to mind-link in privacy.

Lynn doesn’t wait for orders. She splashes straight through the shallows to the now-empty vial and scoops it out of the water, bringing it back to Dean. Then she crosses to Callum, ignoring Tanner completely, and reaches for his face, wiping away a trickle of blood with her sleeve so that she can see the wound on his head properly. There’s a nasty gash above his eye, and a dark bruise starting to appear on his temple.

“You need to sit down and get treated. Let someone else take him.”

With a vicious glare at the man in his hands, Callum shakes his head stubbornly, the movement making him wince in pain. “I’m fine,” Callum protests, but then nearly drops his prisoner. His knees buckle.

Lynn gives him an exasperated look. “Sure, you are.”

She shoulders part of Tanner’s weight, and with one hand staying on Callum’s arm to steady him, she guides them both to a waiting cart. When two other wolves step forward to take Tanner into custody, Callum finally relaxes his grip, squinting as he straightens.

“Possible concussion by the looks of it. Sit before you fall.”

Callum lowers his tall frame onto a large, flat rock, and Lynn immediately checks his pupils with a penlight from her bag.

Zane reappears silently, watching them for a moment, jaw tight. Then he’s moving, checking Williams once with clinical detachment as he’s brought away to the clinic, before turningback to catalogue the scene. The pattern of blood spray, the drag marks on the ground, the vial that Dean hands over to him.

“Someone will be here tonight, but we need to examine the scene now while it’s fresh.” He rubs a hand over his face, the only outward sign that this is bothering him at all. “Do you want one of yours to do it or…”

Dean is calm, watching Zane for any signs of aggression toward me. It wouldn’t be surprising if he were upset and looking for payback. It’s more unnerving that he hasn’t reacted at all.

“Whatever you’d prefer,” Dean says. “I trust you to do your job if you’re up for it.”

The gentle reminder of his position seems to galvanise Zane, who takes out a pocket recorder and presses start.

“Throat’s torn out. Carotid severed. Patient currently en route to pack clinic in critical condition.” He looks up at me. “Your wolf?”

There’s no point in denying it. His blood is still under my fingernails.

“He threatened my mate.” I attempt to stay calm, knowing that Zane is just doing his job, but my wolf is still furious this happened. I bare my teeth, daring Zane to challenge me for protecting my mate. “Used dark magic. Tried to tamper with the competition.”

But Zane just nods, already moving on, the perfect enforcer, even when it’s his father’s lying half dead.

“And him?” He tips his head toward Tanner, who’s complaining loudly about every bump and pothole the cart goes over as they drive him away to be treated.

“Edward’s accomplice.” I refuse to call him alpha, not after what he’s done. “Tanner tossed her in the water, unconscious. He was helping to fix the Games so Ryan would win.”

Zane hesitates.

“Ryan?” His brother’s name comes out strained. Real emotion crackles through his stoic mask.

“He didn’t know.” Camille’s voice is kind. She pushes herself up slightly in my lap. “Your father did this without telling him. I have it all recorded.”

She fumbles for the recording again, hands shaking from cold and exhaustion. I help her pull it from her inner jacket pocket and watch as she holds it out to Zane for him to take.

“He didn’t know?” Zane’s whole body sags in relief. Shoulders dropping, head bowing. “Thank the Moon,” he breathes, and runs both hands through his dark hair, leaving it dishevelled. Then his expression shifts to something softer, the first glimmer of worry breaking his professional mask. “I need to find him. Before someone else tells him. Before...”

Before his world comes crashing down.

“Go,” Dean says quietly. “We’ll handle this.”

Zane nods, but pauses to look at us, at Camille specifically, and although she’s weak, she meets his gaze steadily.

“Thank you.” Then his gaze shifts to where Lynn still tends to Callum, her hands gentle, as she cleans the cut on his temple. Something passes between them, heavy with meaning. “And… I’m sorry.”