Page 38 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)
38
SAM
C lose to perfection. That’s what this plan had been. Even so, I can’t deny we got lucky.
We expected two, maybe three dozen vampires waiting for us. That’s why more than half the Dawson pack had been scattered around Westchester. All of them were waiting for our signal to strike, but they hadn’t been necessary. Unbelievable as it is, there were only two bloodsuckers in that house. Two vampires and one twisted, human prick.
I don’t like attacking humans. They’re weak and defenseless, but Jack Sellers? I enjoyed every second of it. Hunting him when he ran, chasing him down that staircase, cornering him in the dark basement, feeling his terror as I loomed over him was a thrill I won’t soon forget.
Then, the part that I liked best. Tearing his throat open. Watching the fear in his eyes as he realized his end had come. The moment his body stopped twitching. Jack Sellers, the faux Alfred Jenkins, had been erased from this world in the way he deserved. Justice, served in flesh and blood. I had protected my woman, and it made both me and my wolf happy.
Erica wasn’t in a talkative mood when we reached her home and I understand, but I don’t want to leave her. Dawson can handle the night without me, and I’ll tolerate the city to make sure she feels even a little bit safer.
I follow her up the steps. Acutely aware of the scent of her fear. She fumbles the keys twice before managing to get the door unlocked. When it swings open, I sniff, making sure there are no surprises waiting inside.
She steps into her house and stops, looking around like she’s lost. She goes to the small kitchen and gets a glass of water. She leans against the fridge, sipping the water, but her eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing.
“I’m going to stay here tonight,” I say.
Her eyes dart to me, focusing for the first time since we arrived.
“Thanks,” she says, dropping her eyes back to the floor. She shakes her head and sighs, “but I think… I think I need to be alone… just… for now.”
Her words hit hard, taking my breath. After everything she’s been through, the blood, the battle, the sheer horror of it all, she should want someone by her side. Should want me. Want me to hold and comfort her, but she wants space?
As much as it stings, I don’t argue because on the one hand I get it. I’ve felt that way before too. Different circumstances, sure, but the feeling? All too familiar. So, I reluctantly and, more or less chastely, kiss her goodnight and leave the city behind.
I arrive in Dawson just before dawn and should be exhausted, but I’m still wired. A stroll through town usually lifts my spirits. Passing familiar faces, exchanging nods and waves. The people of Dawson always found a reason to smile, even when life threw them a curveball. A flat tire? An excuse to joke around. A long day ahead? No big deal, another challenge to take on. But this morning, that easy optimism is gone.
No smiles. No warmth. Only silence. Heavy and unnatural. I meet more fearful eyes than I can count, their stares pressing into me with unnatural weight. Some manage stiff greetings, but their voices are forced and empty. Others don’t bother at all. Then there are the angry ones. They’re fewer, but they’re there. I see it in the way they speed up when they pass me, in the way they turn away, refusing to meet my gaze.
I don’t have to guess why. I’m the one responsible for bringing the witch, Roberta Connors’s to Dawson. My involvement with her daughter was the impetus for her strike of revenge and innocent people have paid with their lives.
What should have been a refreshing walk is anything but. My feelings turn sour and angry, so I head for the shop. I keep my eyes down, avoiding those I pass rather than greeting them. What’s the point when they’re pissed off? And rightly so, but then so am I.
“Why the hell does dating a human have to be so hard?” I yell, bursting into the workshop.
“You went for a walk, didn’t you?” Raul asks, looking up from the other side of the bike he is working on with a tight expression.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “Got the distinct impression that some people wanted to tear me to pieces. Where’s Ray?”
Raul straightens, grabbing a rag and wiping grease off his hands. He exhales heavily.
“He, uh… he’s on his way to Joe’s.” He stops in front of me, and I can tell there’s more than what he’s saying; there is something going on. It’s clear in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “Sam, you saw how it is. There’s a lot of resentment amongst the pack. They blame you for our fallen, Sammy. Ray’s going to try to fix it.”
“Blame me? I mean, I get it, but fix what? How?”
“I’m handling it,” he says, frowning with his voice low and edging into a command.
I bristle at the tone of his voice and the assumption that I need my little brother to fix my shit for me.
“What is he doing Raul? What’s happening?”
Raul’s face darkens. I know my brother too well. He’s debating between telling me to sit down and color or telling me the truth. When he shakes his head and grunts, I know he’s going to tell me the truth.
“Jonathan Locksmith started a petition,” Raul says grimly. “He wants me to oust you from Dawson.”
“What?” I ask, shock tightening my throat and making my voice higher. “Exile? What the fuck Raul?”
“He started it the day after Roberta killed his wife. I’d tell him to kiss my ass, but he’s got supporters. About four hundred of our people have signed it already.”
“Four hundred…” the number lodges in my chest like a blade.
That’s nearly a quarter of Dawson’s population. Raul drags in a deep breath.
“Look, Sammy. I’ll ignore them. I don’t give a shit about what they do. You’re my blood. There’s no way I’m kicking you out, but if Roberta kills anyone else…” he shakes his head. “That number’s gonna rise. At some point, they won’t leave me a choice. I’d rather send you away than have an angry mob coming to lynch you.”
“Where would I go?” I ask, the words barely making it past my lips. “What the hell would I do? This is all I know, Raul.”
I grab a screwdriver from the workbench, gripping it like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
“Don’t go there,” Raul warns, stepping closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll bust our asses to make sure it doesn’t come to that. I’ve been trying to track that bitch down, but no luck. I’ve tripled patrols around Dawson. The pack’s working around the clock to locate her.”
“And?” I ask, knowing the answer before I do. “Anything?”
“There’s no sign of her,” he says, shaking his head.
“She won’t show herself with Erica gone,” I mutter, scratching my jaw. “That’s what she wanted in the first place, her daughter out of here. Away from me.”
Raul’s expression hardens.
“I don’t think that’s all of it. That witch is a plague, brother. She’s out for blood. Your blood. You have to be ready for her. We all do.”
“Fine, we’ll be ready but what about Dexter?” I say through gritted teeth, shifting the subject. “His pack was close when we last saw him. Did they leave?”
“Yeah. They’re in the wind too,” Raul says. “The boys scanned the area for ten miles around Dawson. No sign of them. Their scents are fading more by the day.”
“So, Dexter packed up and headed back to Mercer? Just like that?” I narrow my eyes, struggling to believe it. “What about that living space he wanted? He suddenly doesn’t give a damn anymore?”
Raul nods, like he’s already been turning that over in his head.
“I know what you’re getting at. He seemed pretty desperate about that claim. For him to forget it and go back would be…”
“Absurd,” I finish. My fingers tighten around the screwdriver in my palm. “I never saw those tents the boys found when they tracked Dexter’s people. Did anyone bother counting them?”
“No, but we do have a rough estimate on their numbers,” Raul counters. “Six hundred, give or take.”
“Six hundred?” I ask, eyes widening. “Would you move six hundred people just to throw out a suggestion to a complete stranger?”
“No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I wouldn’t do that unless I was dead set on fighting. They want our territory. There’s no way around that.”
“Exactly,” I emphasize. “I don’t know where they are, but something tells me they’re not far. We need to widen the search.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, determination flaring in his eyes. “Come with me. Let’s go hunt those sons of bitches down.”
A nod is enough. Dexter’s pack is a problem, one we need to eliminate before we can shift focus to the real threat. If we take out Dexter and his lieutenants, the rest of his pack will scatter, running back to Mercer where they belong. Leaderless, they’ll slink home with their tails between their legs. And once they’re gone, we’ll be free to turn all our attention to the bigger menace, Roberta Connors.