Page 40 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

40

SAM

T wenty-four hours of almost constant patrolling.

One full day of running on four legs, scouring the woods, tracking even the smallest of clues. Footprints, paw prints, scents, the faintest trace of disturbance. Raul and I push as far as the outskirts of Turner Falls, seventeen miles north of Shandaken. Moving in close enough to pick up the murmur of human voices.

All that time, all that distance, and we’ve got nothing but empty woods and the nagging sense that we’re chasing ghosts. We’ve covered miles but found the square root of zero. For all intents and purposes, Dexter’s pack has vanished.

Maybe they ran. Maybe they did slink back to Mercer. Hell, maybe they went to Boston for all I care. One thing is certain, they aren’t here, and that kills my theory. If Dexter wanted war, he’d have stayed. He would’ve fought, but instead he and his pack seem to be gone.

Meeting back at Raul’s cabin, Nora and Ray confirm the same. They patrolled the western borders of Dawson. No tracks. No scents. No signs of life.

A heavy silence settles between us. Nora crosses her arms tight across her chest. Ray drives his fist into an overhead cabinet, the sharp crack of impact breaking the quiet. Raul folds his arms behind his head, elbows jutting forward, his jaw tight. None of us say it, but the truth hangs heavy in the air. This doesn’t add up.

A sound cuts through the thick tension. A buzz. Voices. The occasional shout. My pulse kicks up and I’m first to move. Striding to the door, I yank it open. Outside, about thirty yards away, a crowd is approaching. Their steps are purposeful, and their energy charged. Just like that, things get worse.

“You’d better get out there,” I tell my brother, fingers slipping from the doorframe.

The second I step outside, the crowd murmurs, voices rising. Their fingers jab in my direction. Tension crackles in the air like a coming storm. At the front, leading the charge, is Jonathan Locksmith.

“I don’t need to ask what the problem is, do I?” I ask. I try not to be challenging, but I’m drained of patience.

“You are,” Jonathan growls, his steps slowing to a measured march. “Or rather, your bitch is. Her mother took my wife.”

The words might as well be a slap to my face. I clench my fists, grinding my teeth and take a step forward.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Locksmith,” I snap. “I know you’re grieving and I am sorry, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult me or her.”

“Jonathan,” Raul’s voice is cold. “Take that back, or I swear to God, you’ll be joining Karen sooner rather than later.”

Jonathan’s face twists with rage.

“It’s come to this? Our pack leader, the one who’s supposed to protect us, threatens one of his own? Why the fuck did you take out Brad? You’re no different than he was.”

“Silence!”

A woman’s voice rips through the night, laced with fury.

A red light explodes across the sky, illuminating the night. It spreads faster than I can follow and slams into the crowd and into me too. Raul and I fly in opposite directions. I hit the ground hard, pain bursting across my back.

Groans fill the air. Protesters struggle to rise, their bodies scattered like fallen leaves. And then she steps out of the light. Helena.

Clutched tight in her grip, her staff glows. Her eyes skim over me, then flick toward the others, filled with nothing but scorn.

“You utter fools,” she barks, her voice a whipcrack. “I knew I was dealing with pups, but I didn’t realize just how stupid you all really are.”

“Ah…” Locksmith sneers at Helena. “Look who it is. The mighty witch of Dawson. You’re useless too. We all saw that Connors bitch hand your ass to you.”

Helena tilts her head, eyes darkening.

“Insult me again, Locksmith, and I’ll bleed you all over Dawson,” she says in a voice that is soft but lethal. “I’m disappointed in you. But be glad that it’s the Crawfords who’ve let me down the most this night.”

“What? Why?” Raul asks, walking up to the witch with one hand on his lower back.

“You’ve been chasing your tails and you still haven’t figured out Roberta’s plan.”

My stomach knots. She’s not wrong. I hate her for calling us out but I can’t deny the truth of her words either.

“What do you mean?” Raul growls.

“Dexter’s pack was the first clue,” she says, her fingers tightening around her staff. “Instead of coming here to take over, they came in peace. I’m a hundred and seven years old, and not once in all that time has a pack approached the Catskills looking to negotiate. That alone should have made you suspicious.” She holds one finger up then adds a second. “Then the double murder. Second clue. Tragic, yes, but effective. It’s the oldest strategy in the book, divide and conquer. And look at all of you,” she sweeps a glare across all of us. “You were seconds away from tearing each other apart.”

My mind races, piecing together the threads.

“What about Ballard’s vampire clan?” I ask, pushing myself up onto my feet. “Where do they fit in?”

“That was your third clue,” Helena says, adding another finger. “Ballard could’ve sent dozens of his men to protect Jenkins. Or Sellers if you prefer his real name, but he didn’t. He sent two. Enough to die, to cause chaos, and while you were distracted, extracting Erica became that much easier.”

“I can’t believe this,” Raul curses under his breath as he shakes his head. He locks eyes with me and all I know is I feel every bit the fucking fool that I am.

“Well, you’d better,” Helena warns, her voice like steel as she drops her fingers. “Roberta Connors is cunning, firstborn. Her wits are undeniable. She orchestrated this entire plan just to turn you against each other. How easy would it be for her to take Dawson with its people divided and full of hate?”

“Take Dawson…?” Locksmith narrows his eyes, suspicion flickering beneath his grief. “Why? What the hell would a witch want with it?”

“I don’t know,” she admits with a small shake of her head. “Maybe she intends to hand it over to Dexter’s pack as part of their agreement. Maybe she has her own agenda. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you stop this madness now. You don’t honor your dead by turning on each other. That’s a dangerous path. You honor them by living. By remembering them. By protecting what you built together. This, your homeland.”

Raul nods, something shifting in his expression.

“Thanks, Helena,” Raul says, nodding. “You’ve opened my eyes.”

“Everybody’s eyes,” I correct, glancing at Locksmith. The tension in my chest loosens as I exhale. “Locksmith…” I meet his gaze, steady and sure. “I swear to you; we won’t stop until we find the bitch who killed Karen. And when we do, she’ll wish she’d never laid a hand on your mate. You have my word.”

Locksmith watches me, his grief-ridden face unreadable for a moment. Then he gives a curt nod.

“Fine,” he says, tears filling his eyes. He closes them, breathing heavily. He lowers his head, then growls. “That has to be enough.” He pauses; his eyes boring into mine for long enough that I become uncomfortable and then he switches his gaze to Raul. “Can I join the hunt?”

“Everyone’s welcome, Jonathan,” Raul answers, stepping forward. “You know that.”

“Then count me in.”

Locksmith extends his hand. Raul grips it without hesitation, sealing the unspoken truce between them. The tension that had gripped the town like a vice loosens. I look at Helena, the voice of reason, the voice of wisdom. She’s done it again.

She stepped in when we were inches from disaster. If she hadn’t, this wouldn’t have been just a fight. It would have been the spark that set Dawson ablaze. A civil war. It would have torn us apart without Roberta having lifted a finger.

As the last of the protesters disappear around the corner, I let myself believe I can finally go inside and talk to my family. That belief shatters the moment I see the sleek, familiar shape of a BMW rolling into the neighborhood.

Erica.