Author: Sasha Summers
Category: Paranormal
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/36954_7
“What I do best.” Her gaze lingered on Oscar. “Fight.”
Chapter Three
He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead.
Ellen stood absolutely still. Waiting. Watching. No movement, no movement, nothing. And, inside, she couldn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t wrap her mind around what she saw—pale, cold, and stiff on the ground.
The wind reeked of death. Three bodies lay in the blood-soaked snow. Three bodies mangled and terrifyingly still. But only one held Ellen’s attention. Byron. Byron the butcher. Byron the bastard. Motherfucking coward.
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“Get up,” she ground out, shaking her hands, fighting for control as she stalked the dark-red patch of snow where he lay.
If he moved, if so much as a finger twitched, her wolf would act swiftly. Even now her wolf was pushing to get out, the urge to tear what remained of Byron’s body to tiny pieces was almost beyond control. Part of her wanted that, too.
Part of her wanted to run away. Far away.
Where would she go? She had no place. No one and nothing. She’d be hunted by all sides, the good and the bad, because she was neither. Peace was not in the cards for her.
Time was slipping away. Dead or not, Byron had answers. And the only way to get them required touching him. Being weak was never an option, especially now. Palms clammy, heart slamming into her ribs, stomach churning, she forced herself closer to Byron’s remains.
“Ellen?” Hollis’s voice. Soft. His hand gently clasping her arm.
She spun, her fist smashing into his nose without thought. Byron’s presence put her wolf on alert. Instinct ruled—the instinct to protect and fight. At the expense of Hollis’s nose.
He released her, one hand covering his face. “Jesus, Ellen. It’s me.”
Of course it was. Hollis was her shadow. Always two steps behind.
r /> “I forgot you were there,” she murmured, offering no apology. He’d no cause to touch her. Ever. She understood his pack was too wary of her to allow her a moment’s solitude. They had dangerous enemies, they should be wary. But not of her. Hollis was one of the few to believe that. Maybe that was why she didn’t mind his constant presence. He accepted her as she was. Even when she did foolish things like insist on running here—not waiting for reinforcement—and into what might have been a trap.
Byron loved traps. Setting them. Waiting for them to spring. And playing with his new toy—unless his Alpha had other ideas. Her gaze swept the perimeter of the meadow, looking, anxious. Were there more here? Waiting to attack? Waiting to drag her back? Her wolf sensed no threat. Not yet. But there was only one way to be certain.
She spared a glance at Hollis, his curse muffled as he pressed a handkerchief to his bloodied nose. He’d heal, wolves healed quickly. But a broken nose wouldn’t matter if Byron’s pack, the Others, were coming for them now. The only thing that would matter then was survival.
No more standing around. Pushing aside the rising panic, she closed the gap between herself and the man who had delighted in torturing her.
He is dead. Dead. Gone. No threat anymore.
A gust of wind blew Byron’s shaggy mop of thick black hair, giving the illusion of movement. Her wolf whimpered. She froze—cowered—before red-hot anger took over. “Bastard,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
Enough. No more weakness.
Crouching, her bare knees numb in the biting cold snow, she shook her hands before pressing her fingers against Byron’s chilled flesh. Faint sensations slid across her fingertips. “Damn you,” she ground out, biting into her lower lip, placing her palms flat against his body. Years of experience warned her she was too close, in striking distance, preparing her for the first blow—but her wolf demanded she stay strong. Clenched teeth, every muscle poised to run, breath shallow and uneven. Concentrate. Breathe. He can’t hurt us now.
Byron was cold. Stiff. Gone. But it offered no relief. His death was her right, a right she’d been robbed of. Rage rolled over her, so much she burned with it. To see him this way—throat ripped wide, a clean death—only added to the insult. Byron the butcher hadn’t deserved mercy.
Focus.
Information burned into her fingertips and palms, radiated along her arms, and flooded her mind—vivid images, conversations, sensory processing. Splintered but telling.
The answer she needed most was easy to find. “He acted alone. The Others didn’t know his plan. They won’t follow him,” she told Hollis. Her mind was wandering, sifting through other images and sound bites, digging in places she’d best leave alone. An image of Cyrus rose up, his colorless eyes and humorless smile making her wolf wince and back away. Cyrus was Byron’s Alpha. He’d been her Alpha for a time. Whatever damage Byron was capable of was child’s play compared to the man. No, the monster. “Cyrus doesn’t know where he is. But we must burn the bodies.”
“How do you know?” Hollis’s question was vague, muffled…far away.
Something was there. Something her wolf wouldn’t let go of. She had to find it, whatever it was.
“Ellen—”
“Hush,” she barked at Hollis. Explanations would wait. Explanations, now, would only lead to more questions and answers. She wasn’t ready for that.