Chapter 7 7

"I'm not talking about Silas." I turned back to Reynolds. "Who called you out at one in the morning?"

"Brethren members. Female. Too drunk to drive herself home. I dropped her off, came straight back."

Silence.

He said it like it was nothing.

Ivan was dead. Reynolds had a two-hour gap nobody could account for. And somewhere back at the mansion, the pack was already deciding what story made the most sense.

I had a feeling ours wasn't going to be the one they believed.

"A taxi exists for a reason." I kept my voice flat. "Why'd she call you?"

"She doesn't know anyone here. It gets lonely when you're posted somewhere new." Reynolds didn't look at me. "She needed a friendly face."

Two hours. Round trip. For a friendly face.

I said nothing. But something ugly was sitting in my chest, and I knew exactly what it was.

I'd been so sure about us, me and Reynolds, locked in, solid. Then one woman's phone call and he'd moved without hesitation. Didn't think twice. Didn't look back. Yes, he'd left me with four fire elementals who could level a building. That wasn't the point.

He'd also lied to me about Ivan.

I needed to stop leaning on him like he was the only thing keeping me upright.

The portal swallowed me whole  and on the other side, the world clicked back into place.

Raven returned.

Not gradually. All at once. A weight in my chest that felt more like home than anything else ever had.

Ivan is dead, I said before she could speak.

Tell me something I don't know. Her anger was immediate, hot beneath the surface. Whoever did this doesn't get to walk away.

Her protectiveness surprised me. She'd never had cause to feel anything for Ivan.

Could've been an accident, I tried.

Wolf. Flat. Final. We don't have accidents.

A 6am call from Cador in full panic didn't exactly argue otherwise.

You need food, Raven said. Before this day destroys us both, eat something.

The café wasn't open yet but the kitchen was already alive with smell. I hit the bell once.

Blake surfaced from behind the counter.

"Cappuccino. Sausage sandwich. To go."

He poured the milk, wrapped his hand around the jug for three seconds, and the steam rose without a single button pressed. Fire elemental. Of course.

I took my food. Reynolds shouldered both our bags without being asked. Outside, the rain was merciless.

I ate in the passenger seat with zero apology. Raven was right. Whatever was waiting at that mansion, we'd need every bit of fuel we had.

Reynolds pulled out of the lot. Let two full minutes pass.

"So we're fine?"

I looked out the window. Not even slightly.

"Yeah." I took another bite. "We're fine."

He didn't believe me. I didn't care.

The mansion rose up through the downpour  and parked right out front was a police cruiser.

My stomach dropped.

Accidents didn't get police cars.

I crumpled my empty cup, tucked it in the holder, and mentally buried every hope I'd had for a clean, explainable death. I turned to Reynolds and held out my phone.

"The brethren woman. Name, number, address. Now."

He took it. Typed. Handed it back.

I looked at the screen.

Lena.

Lena.

I bet she can't hunt to save her life, Raven said pleasantly.

A laugh almost escaped me. That was her version of comfort, vicious, petty, and completely effective.

Thank you, I told her.

She hummed. Go deal with the body.

The door opened before I reached it.

Mrs. Vivian stood in the frame and she was completely undone, eyes raw, face swollen, the permanent warmth she carried entirely gone. I didn't say a word. I just stepped forward and pulled her in.

She sobbed quietly against my shoulder. Not long. She collected herself with the kind of practiced dignity that made my chest ache, pressed a handkerchief to her face, and straightened.

"The police are inside," she said. "I'm sorry  I don't know who contacted them."

"It's fine."

It wasn't fine. I didn't know what to do with the police or a crime scene. I was an accountant. Numbers. Spreadsheets. Problems with one correct answer at the end. This was nothing like that.

How did Ivan die?

Mrs. Vivian's face broke open again.

"Horribly," she breathed. "You'll need to see it yourself."

The pack's communal room swallowed my entrance in silence.

Then Claire stood up.

"You've got nerves." His voice shook with it. "He died in your house. Under your so-called protection. You did this." He took a step forward. "Leave. Run hard. Maybe you'll get a few hours before I find you."

Reynolds didn't speak.

He just walked across the room and broke Claire's face with one clean punch.

Claire hit the bookshelf hard enough to shake the shelves.

"Next time you open your mouth at her," Reynolds said quietly, "there won't be a warning."

"Pretend I saw nothing."

The voice came from the far side of the room  dry, unbothered, almost amused. I turned.

Alex Hale.

We'd grown up in the same town. Sat through the same terrible history classes. He'd dated Priya for nearly two years. I hadn't known, back then, that he was Other. I hadn't known any of it existed.

Both triangles marked his forehead  sharp and visible. Other realm, full access, Connection clearance. He wasn't local enforcement.

He was the big gun. His eyes met mine and said don't.

"Alpha." Zero warmth. Zero recognition. Like we were strangers. "The scene is untouched. You have a window before forensics."