“Jesus Christ.” Beau breathes.
Natalie emerges from the passenger seat, a blanket already in her hands. She slowly moves toward me, her expression carefully neutral as she waits to see what mental state I’m in before getting too close.
Shifters who’ve met their mates are notoriously unstable, let alone after going through something like this.
“Emma’s in the car,” I tell them, needing to distract them from me. “She’s okay. Physically, at least.”
Chase nods and moves toward the sedan, while Natalie drapes the blanket around my shoulders. Her nose wrinkles at the pungent stench of blood, but she doesn’t comment.
“You did what you had to do,” she says quietly.
On my side, as always.
Chase crouches beside Emma’s window, speaking to her in low tones.
Beau approaches the cabin entrance and stops, his face going pale as he takes in the carnage inside.
“Bodhi...” He turns to look at me, beyond shocked at the sight before him.
I’m unrepentant.
“They were going to… attack her. Film it. Kill her after.” Clenching my teeth together as my blood pressure rises, I growl loudly. “What did you expect me to do?”
Beau’s jaw tightens. He looks back at the bodies, then at me. “Fuck them. They deserved it.”
It’s the same sentiment Emma had. Like the violence was justified. Like becoming a monster was the right choice.
Maybe it was, but that doesn’t make it easier to live with.
“We need to clean this up,” Chase says, returning from the car. “There’s going to be questions. The Ashworths were prominent people.”
His calm demeanor and practical thinking irks me, like he’s everything I’m not, but should be.
“I don’t care about the Ashworths.” I’m so tired. The adrenaline is fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion and the weight of what I’ve done. “I only care about Emma.”
Beau crouches beside what’s left of Kozlov, methodically checking pockets.
“Bodhi.”
Something in his voice makes my stomach drop. He’s holding a photograph, edges crumpled and stained red. Whenhe turns it toward me, I see a woman. Young, beautiful, with striking features, the kind of face that belongs on magazine covers.
She seems vaguely familiar, but I don’t recognize her, although from the way Beau’s jaw has locked, the way his hand trembles slightly, I’m guessing he does.
“Emma.” Beau crosses to the car, holding up the photo. His voice is carefully flat. “Do you know who this is?”
She leans forward, squinting in the dim light.
“I think it’s the other girl. The VIP.” She frowns, trying to remember. “It was so dark, and I only saw her for a split second, but I felt like I recognised her…”
“Do you know where she is now?” Though his tone is casual, I know Beau well enough to know better. “Is she still at the mansion?”
Emma shakes her head slowly. “Dimitri took her. They were talking about it before they grabbed me.” She looks between us, clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere. “Kozlov was furious about having to leave. Said they needed cash in a hurry and told Dimitri to bring her to some buyer that had made an offer before.”
Beau’s eyes meet mine. The devastation there is gut-wrenching.
“Who is she?” Emma asks quietly.
Nobody answers.
