Page 45 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

45

SAM

A s soon as the fight ends, we rush Helena back to Raul’s cabin.

She won, but she didn’t walk away unscathed. Her face is swollen and both eyes are dark with bruises. Cuts mar her cheeks, thin slashes that sting just to look at. But it’s the gash across her chest that has my stomach twisting. Blood soaks her cloak, spreading in a deep crimson stain. Too much blood.

Monica barely takes a breath before ordering us to carry her to the couch. Then she tells us to get out.

I step outside, inhaling sharply, but the cool night air does nothing to calm the tension coiling inside. We’re not the only ones worried. A crowd gathers, fifty, maybe more. People whisper Helena’s name, the sound rippling through the space between the cabins. And more keep coming. Drawn by the weight of what’s just happened.

“How is she?” A woman’s voice breaks through the hum of the crowd. I don’t look to see who it is.

“She’s badly hurt,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “But whatever happens, remember this, she fought bravely tonight. Her sacrifice was for us.”

Murmurs spread, hushed but heavy.

“That’s right,” Raul says as he steps out onto the porch. His voice carries, steady and sure. “Helena chose to fight a battle that wasn’t even hers. I don’t know how many of us would still be standing if we’d gone up against Roberta ourselves. Half the pack, maybe. The rest wouldn’t have made it.”

The weight of his words settles over the crowd. We all know he’s right. Helena saved us tonight. But at what cost? I leave the talking to my brother after that. He’s always been better at it than I am.

My gaze drifts to Erica. She stands apart from the crowd, perched on the tailgate of my truck with her back to me, forearms resting on her thighs.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say, my voice a little louder than usual as I hop onto the tailgate beside her.

She lets out a sharp breath, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

“Which part?” she asks. “My own mother trying to carve up my friend? Or her casual confession to murdering my father? Believe me, it wasn’t the stabbing that shocked me the most tonight. I knew what Helena would do to her the second I saw that piece of wood flying.”

“All of the above,” I say, keeping my tone softer now. “Anyway… her body’s still there. If you want to give her a burial.”

“Why are you being so kind?” she whispers as her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “After everything she did to you, to this place? You still want to show her respect? She never showed you any, Sam. Or me.”

I exhale heavily and shrug. It’s hard to meet her eyes. Emotions clog my throat.

“I’m not doing this for her, Erica. I’m doing it for you. So you can have some closure.”

“Thanks, but I got closure the second Helena stabbed her.” A sharp edge cuts into her voice, but when she speaks again, it’s quieter. “You can do whatever you want with that body. Because that’s all it is. A body. Not my mother.”

Her throat works around the words. She hesitates, staring at some distant point in the dark.

“The night she… showed up in my bedroom, she got mad when I called her by her first name. She didn’t seem able to wrap her head around the fact that I didn’t think of her as my mom. Couldn’t think of her like that.”

“I’ll have her cremated,” I say, my tone calm, almost detached. “I’ll scatter her ashes across Brad’s estate. Guess it’s poetic justice. The two people who brought the worst kind of evil into Dawson… dying in almost the same spot.”

As the words leave my mouth, the sharp click of a door opening draws our attention. Monica steps outside, still in a white doctors coat, peeling off a pair of latex gloves.

“Helena’s going to be just fine.”

Her lips keep moving, probably explaining more, but the rest of her words vanish beneath the roar of the crowd. Cheers erupt, arms shoot into the air, people embrace, voices blend into a chaotic wave of relief and joy. I feel like I’ve been given the world. All the fear and anxiety vanishes in an instant.

Erica moves first. She throws herself at me, arms wrapping tight, her face buried in my shoulder. I hold her just as tightly, feeling the tremor in her breath.

“Thank God,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“Thank Monica,” I murmur with a smile, easing her back just enough to see her face.

“I need to see her,” Erica says, already turning.

Raul has Monica in his arms, both of them lost in their own relief. But Erica doesn’t wait. She hops off the truck, a current of adrenaline and joy carrying her forward.

“How is she? Is she awake?” she calls, weaving through the crowd.

Monica raises her voice to be heard over the excitement. “Yeah! She lost a lot of blood, but no vital organs were damaged. She’s been asking for you.”

“Thanks, Mon.”