She turned her back on the scene and walked toward the tree line.
“Where did you get them?”
Maybe she should listen to the answer. It would tell her where she’d come from, but all she could think about were all the other babies that hadn’t been as lucky as she had. For some reason, she’d been latent. Perhaps one of her parents had been human, but who knew? Why had she been born without the ability to shift? Her latency had saved her life.
Betsy doubled over. Her hands ached, and she stared down at them before standing back up straight. Without meaning to, she’d shifted her hands again. Betsy sighed. Every time this happened, she ended up going into a haze and losing periods of time. Damn it, she wasn’t going to allow that to happen again.
Why had her hands shifted? She wasn’t in any danger, not that she could tell.
Cyrus’ hand felt warm on her back, and she turned around to look at him. “Didn’t see the dead wolf babies coming.”
“I was afraid that was the case.” He ran his hand over her cheek. “I’ll forever be grateful that you couldn’t shift. You and Lilliana. It saved you.”
“What will you do to him now?”
Cyrus pulled her against him. “I won’t do anything. This is Beaux’s land. And, as it turns out, the werewolf babies came from all over. So none of us have jurisdiction over this. I’m hoping to build some good will with Beaux in case we need him again.” Cyrus smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “He can play hunt the true believer next week during the fool moon.”
“Actually sounds like fun.”
“Betsy.” Cyrus tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t determine who would live and who would die. There’s no need for survival guilt.”
“How did you catch them? I would know, if you hadn’t made me stay in the basement.” It was better to focus on the injustice of being sidelined than to think about all those dead babies…
“I lured them out. They took a shot at me in my human form, and then Beaux’s men and our pack took them out from behind. It was all pretty fast actually.”
“You let them take a shot at you?” She whacked him in the arm. How many times was he going to risk his life without a second thought?
Cyrus rubbed his arm where she’d hit him. “Ouch, woman. You’re a strong werewolf lady. Watch where you put those claws.”
“Like I could ever hurt you.” She laughed. He always seemed to be able to do that. Disarm her temper with a word or a look. How could he make such an awful situation feel better just by being with her?
“It’s your claws. Put them away before you take out your eye by mistake.”
“Oh.” She took in her hands again. . He’d made her laugh, and she’d forgotten that she’d partially shifted. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with this. Can you help?”
“Sure. Don’t worry. New werewolves have to figure out this stuff one day at a time.”
She knew he was pacifying her. How could it be anything else? It wasn’t like anyone had all that much experience with changing latent werewolves into full-fledged versions as adults. They’d done it with Lilliana, but she had no idea if her sister could partially shift or not. It was sweet Cyrus made the effort, but he might as well have told her the truth—that it was really odd she kept doing that. Even if it had proved a useful tool when dealing with the true believer earlier.
“Relax.” His voice moved over her when he placed his hand on her claw. Warmth travelled up her spine, and her hand shifted back to human. “See? No big deal.”
“Right.” She tried to smile but must have failed because he furrowed his brows.
“Cyrus,” Beaux called out. “Come say goodbye to these fools. They have to go meet their maker.”
Her mate smiled at her. “Give me a second. Then we’ll talk about what to do with your parents.”
That was a subject she really didn’t want to broach. It obviously had to be dealt with, and apparently Cyrus wasn’t a fan of hide–under-the-covers-and-hope-it-goes-away behavior. “Sure.”
He turned and walked toward Beaux. What was she going to do? Just hang out by the tree line and wait for him? Surely there had to be something she could do. Was there a place to order dinner somewhere within fifty miles? Her hand throbbed, and a second later, it shifted into its wolf form again.
“Oh. Damn it.” What the hell was going on? Maybe she should have Lake take a look. Was something wrong with her?
A scent caught her attention, and she turned around. What was it? Foul, like rotten meat, the aroma wafted over her nose. She turned back at the group of werewolves. No one else seemed to notice or else they weren’t concerned. Maybe the scent hadn’t reached them yet.
Betsy covered her nose with her hand and started walking in the direction of the smell. Something had to be dead. That could be the only explanation. An animal that needed to be disposed of before it stunk up the entire surrounding area.
This was something she knew how to do. Growing where and how she had, she knew how to take care of maintenance issues, including the removal of dead carcasses. Probably not something she’d have to do in New York City anytime in the future.
First, however, she needed to find the thing. Her nose would go a long way to helping, and at least it gave her something to do while Cyrus and Beaux did whatever Alpha thing they were going to do.
The dead deer had been there a long time. She bent over to look at it. Why had Beaux and the others left this to rot so close to their home? Maybe they had some weird thing about not moving things they had killed? Had they been the reason the deer had died?
She sighed. Why did she care? Was she looking for ways to distract herself from the fact that things kept getting worse and worse?
Betsy bit her lip. Was she going to start killing deer and other animals when she shifted? Was that what happened?
“I didn’t expect to catch you alone so quickly.”
Betsy jolted. It had been months since she’d heard her mother’s voice, and rather than the pleasant tones she was used to, even if the words the woman spoke were distant recently, the menace in the other woman’s tone made goose bumps appear on Betsy’s skin.
She could now smell her mother, although her approach had been completely masked by the scent of the rotting animal. Her mother’s scent came across as spicy, and it burned Betsy’s eyes.
“Mom.”
Her mother had always looked as though she stepped out of a sitcom. Now gray-haired and wrinkled, she raised a gun and pointed it at Betsy. “Why did you have to succumb to the darkness? Why couldn’t you have remained pure?”
Betsy raised her hands in the air in what she hoped was a gesture of surrender. Her mother’s eyes widened when she did, and Betsy silently cursed the impulse to have brought her hands up since they were, in fact, claws.
“Look at you.” A tear slipped from her mom’s eyes. “You’re a monster.”
“I’m not a monster. I promise you. I’m still the same as I ever was. I’m as I was meant to be. But I’m still the same girl I was before. The one who lived with you—who loved you.”
“No.” Her mother shook her head. “You’re not.”
“Betsy.”
Cyrus called her name, and Betsy tried to swallow through the fearful lump that had formed in her throat. He would find her. The second she didn’t answer, he’d sniff the air, and even though she stood near what she now suspected was a purposefully placed dead carcass, he’d find her.
He’d stop this.
“Mama, if we can talk about this, then I’m sure we can—”
The loud noise stopped her breathing, and she blinked rapidly as she tried to identify where the explosion had come from. It was then she noticed the smoke coming out of her mother’s gun. They’d had that thing forever. It was antique, belonged to her great-grandfather. Strange thoughts but all she could focus on…
“Mom?” Something was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to make any sense of it. What had happened?
 
; “Goodbye, Betsy. I won’t let them take me.” With that, her mother turned the gun on herself. A second blast later, her mother fell to the ground. Dead.
“Mom?”
She tried to move forward, but her body wouldn’t comply. Betsy knew she needed to look down. She had to. But she couldn’t make her neck work. It felt like it took a year but with no other choice, she glanced down and saw a large red spot seeping through her shirt. What had happened?
“Betsy.” Cyrus rushed toward her.
“I’ve been shot, honey.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “How could my mother have done this?”
The world went black. In the distance, she thought she heard wolves howling. And then she heard nothing at all.
****
When Betsy woke up, she was alone. Raising her head, she looked left and right. The world felt ten degrees colder than it had been when she’d…. when I’d what? She couldn’t seem to remember.
She pulled herself to her feet, hearing the sounds of wolves howling. Where was she?
A sound caught her attention, and she sucked in her breath. Although there was no light except from the full moon, she could see three figures approaching her. They were male, and each one was naked. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
This had to be a dream. It was too…bizarre.
“Relax, fair princess, the moon has returned you from where you came. You are back with us, where all the sons and daughters of the moon come when their time on earth has passed. In a few more minutes, you will be fully with us. And then you will no longer know any pain.”
Betsy reached out in front of her as though she could stop their words with her hand alone. “Are you telling me that I’m dead?”
The figure in the middle spoke. “Almost. My name is Lucian, little sister. I don’t think we knew each other on earth.”
“No.” She backed up a step. “No. No. No.” Betsy shouted to the moon as though it might listen to her. “I’m not dead. It’s not time yet. I refuse. Do you hear me? Put me back. I’m not done.”
Because Cyrus would destroy the world if she didn’t wake up, and she’d never want him to know that kind of pain.
Chapter Nineteen
“Fix her.” Cyrus’ hands shook as he stared at his sister. The last few minutes were a blur but they’d moved her back into Beaux’s house. They were in a back bedroom that had become Lake’s makeshift healing room. Betsy was sprawled out on a bed, her red blood soaking into the sheets beneath her.
Lake leaned down over his unconscious mate. Blood flowed way too quickly from her open wound, and he worried that she soon might not have enough in her to live. What did humans do when this happened? Transfusions. He would gladly give Betsy his blood. “What do you need, Lake? I’ll give you anything. Do you understand? Anything in the universe, it’s yours.”
Lake had her eyes closed, and she sat unmoving with her hands positioned over Betsy’s body. Why didn’t she say something?
Cyrus was hauled backward. He snarled, whirling around to attack whoever had dared touch him. To no surprise, it was Beaux who yanked him toward the door.
“Your Healer can’t do what she has to do with you badgering her. You want your mate healed? Give the woman some room to do that. She has your mate’s soul in her hands at the moment. Do you want her to lose focus and let the moon take her?”
“It’s all bullshit.” He shoved Beaux through the open doorway. “She’s got the ability to help werewolves. That I can understand. All of this moon-taking shit has always been crap, and the fact that you buy into it makes you pathetic.”
On a normal day, he would never speak to anyone like that. Even as he said the words, he almost couldn’t believe they’d come out of his mouth. But his mate lay dying, and he didn’t want to hear shit about the moon and souls. He wanted her fixed. End of story.
Beaux shook his head as he closed the door to where Lake worked. “That’s tremendously sad. The moon has gifted you with so much. Health, strength, power, money, a pack of your own to run, the intellect and instinct to do that relatively well, safety most of the time, and a true mating that most werewolves will never know. The fact that you cannot believe, even now as your sister performs magic that might save your mate from a fatal gunshot wound, makes me enormously sorry for you.”
Cyrus didn’t have it in him to have this kind of discussion with Beaux without ripping his fucking head from his shoulders.
“It’s always a choice,” Beaux called after him when he stormed from the house out onto the lawn. His pack was giving him space, which was a smart move. If Betsy died, he’d start tearing things, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
Her damned mother had shot herself before he’d had the chance to end her. Or keep her tied up until the pack could eat her alive.
Betsy might already be dead. Betsy might already be dead. He fell to his knees on the grass. If she perished, he’d go wolf and never turn back. He was Alpha. He didn’t have to be human. Mitchell would run the pack. There could be no life without Betsy. No way to exist in a world without her presence.
“She’s not dead yet.” He spoke aloud so he could hear his own words. Why hadn’t he told her everything that needed to be said? Why hadn’t he simply explained to her that he needed her to hide in the basement because if this happened, if this very scenario took place, his life ended? Why hadn’t he shared with her his intent to come to Montana and why he needed to risk his life for her, for the pack? Why the fuck had he left so many things unsaid?
The light of the moon shone down on him. It wasn’t full, but it made him shiver. Cyrus stared up at it where it sat in the center of the sky. He never looked up at it anymore. Not since he was a child. His knees gave out and he hit the ground.
“Hello,” he called upward. “Can you hear me?” If anyone else could, they’d think he was nuts. This wasn’t how werewolves communed with the moon. Silent prayer was fine, but no one shouted at the big blob in the sky.
Except he didn’t give a shit. Wasn’t this how his forefathers had done it? Hadn’t they howled for the dying Lily and begged to be human to save her?
“I’m here. I’m right where I’ve always been, one step from lost and making all of this up as I go along. I can’t seem to figure out the damn plan. I don’t really even understand why we are werewolves. What good does it do in modern life? It gets harder and harder to hide us. And we’ve all fallen from whatever purpose we were apparently supposed to have.”
He cleared his throat, knowing he needed to shut up. Instead, he kept speaking because, really, what did he have to lose anymore?
“I killed Shepherd. I won where so many had failed, and I’ve worked every damn day since to take care of everyone. You took my parents. You took Lucian. I fight, I struggle, and I work. I don’t sleep. I never complain. And then you give me Betsy, the first thing that I ever really wanted for myself, for only me. And now you take her back like this?” He growled. His whole body ached, feeling as though it were being torn from the inside out.
“She’s not dead yet.” Beaux knelt down next to him. Cyrus hadn’t noted his arrival outside. The whole world could come marching in, and he’d probably not note it.
“What are you doing out here?” Cyrus didn’t want company. Of course, Beaux might be the perfect person to begin his rampage of destruction on. Why hadn’t he made this whole lair more secure? Why had he dragged them to his place to begin with?
Betsy would not be in this situation if it weren’t for Beaux…If the other Alpha hadn’t attacked their car, they wouldn’t be now faced with Betsy being critically injured. .
Cyrus growled. Maybe Beaux did need to die.
“You think I’m not blaming myself?” Beaux correctly interpreted Cyrus’ growl, which really pissed Cyrus off. Why did he have to be so correct all the time? “I’ve found myself here more than once. On my knees. Particularly when my mate died.”
“What?” He hadn’t known Beaux had mated. Not that he’d kept up with
him. He hadn’t even known Beaux still lived in the world. But the news of the mating still took him by surprise. It seemed something the proclaimer of all things wolf would have mentioned.
“She wasn’t my true mate, but we loved each other.” A muscle in Beaux’s jaw ticked. “She was killed, struck down by a car on the street when she’d gone to the grocery store. Ten years ago. We’d been living like you live—pretending to be human most of the time—when she died. After that, I hit my knees and swore I’d find a way to return to the way things should be.”
“I’m sorry about your wife.” Cyrus sighed. “But I don’t pretend to be human.” He gritted his teeth. “And I actually owe you some thanks.”
“What for?” Beaux shifted on his knees.
“For reminding me I’m on my knees.” Cyrus stood up. “I’m never on my knees. I’m the fucking Alpha of Manhattan, and someone still needs to be punished for this. That I can take care of.”
His mouth watered. He could still spill blood to avenge his mate’s pain.
****
Betsy’s childhood home smelled cold. It made his nose tingle and his hands itch. Had it always been so completely soulless? He doubted it. Anywhere Betsy lived would have been lively and joyful, but her scent no long permeated the walls.
He took a deep breath, searching for her scent somewhere, anywhere.
“Have you come to kill me?” The man, Betsy’s father, or kidnapper depending on how he wanted to look at it, leaned against the wall sipping a cup of coffee. He had a gruff voice like he’d smoked too many cigarettes. Cyrus took another breath and then cursed the urge that had made him do so. Betsy’s father was riddled with disease.
“Looks like I needn’t bother. You’re a dead man walking.”
The other man laughed and then exploded into gut-wrenching coughs that doubled him over for a few seconds. Cyrus waited, not moving. He ached for the man’s death, but a fast destruction of the husband of the woman who had shot his mate might be too kind an end. Maybe it would be better to leave him like this, to cough himself to death alone in a stale home with no one to love him in the end.