Ethan finished sealing my wound and sat back.
“Neither of you should be going anywhere,” Ethan said sharply. “You’ve both been shot with silver bullets.”
Jaime and I looked at each other. No words passed between us. We both knew.
“We’re going back,” I said.
Ethan glared. “Chris?—”
“I’m not letting him hurt anyone else,” I said. “Not the dogs. Not the pack.”
Jaime nodded. “We end this. Together.”
17
CHRIS
The ride back to the hotel felt like a blur.
Jaime sat in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dash, the other clenched in his lap. Color had returned to his face, but tension wrapped him tight as wire. I didn’t blame him, because I was tense too.
Everything felt too slow.
“We have to hurry,” Jaime said, already leaning forward. “They’ll be starting the morning runs.”
My wolf paced under my skin, nails scraping at the inside of my ribs. I pushed harder on the accelerator, ignoring the ache in my shoulder and the warning throb from half-healed muscle.
We skidded into the parking lot and barely shut the doors before moving. There was no need for words or hesitation. We split automatically, like we’d trained together for years instead of days.
Something had changed between us in the cabin, and both Jaime and I felt it. Jaime headed straight for the relief area. I angled toward the main hall.
Noise crashed over me the moment I crossed the doors. There was barking, announcers, and applause. The normal chaos of a dog show. Perfect cover for something ugly.
I breathed deep, sorting scent from scent. Then it hit: bitter, chemical, and wrong. My head snapped toward the water station near Ring C. A volunteer was already kneeling there, refilling bowls.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Too late. The first dog drank. A sleek shepherd, tongue lapping eagerly. Three seconds later, it stumbled. The handler dropped to her knees with a scream.
I vaulted the barrier and skidded across the grass, shouting for space, for help, for everyone to get back.
“Don’t let them drink the water!” I roared.
Panic rippled outward. Handlers yanked leashes up, bowls overturned, and dogs barked in confusion.
I was on the shepherd in seconds, fingers already glowing faintly as I pressed my palm to its chest. I wasn’t a healer, not like Ethan, but I could slow it. Stall the poison long enough.
“Jaime,” I yelled out. “Ring C. Water station.”
“I’m on the way there with the vet,” Jaime yelled back.
The shepherd shuddered but stilled under my hands. I stayed there until another handler rushed in, tears streaking her face, and Jaime arrived with the vet. Jaime nodded to me.
I was already moving again. I followed the poison’s trail like a line of fire. Marion had been busy.
He had targeted multiple stations and probably administered smaller doses. Enough to make it look like an accident or incompetence.
I rounded a corner toward Jaime when he called out to me again.
