If I could get away, I’d have to relearn to live only as a human, my body frozen in a single shape. I’d done it once. I could do it again, but did I want to? The need to shift had become visceral, part of me, like the blueness of my irises and the blondeness of myhair.
I watched the horizon as it yellowed and greened, and then I turned and started to run back, savoring each tread of dewy earth, each crunch of crumbling rock, each crush of springy grass. I breathed in heavy lungfuls of the sweet dawn, cherishing them as though each breath were to be mylast.
I thought of Liam. Of his mouth and hands. And my muscles swelled with adrenaline. I was thankful for last night. Thankful to have felt desired. I almost wished I hadn’t pretended to sleep, that I’d stripped Liam of his clothes and let him peel mine off my body so I would finally know what so many accused me of taking againstpayment.
But it would’ve been greedy andunfair.
I was grateful for what we’d shared, even though I was haunted by the hatred he’d feel once he knew who the girl he’d calledperfecttrulywas.
Ahead of me stretched the hedge of pines that separated me from the inn like a picket fence. Islowed.
If these were to be my last moments in wolf form, I’d savor eachsecond.
* * *
Imadeit back to the inn without being discovered, leaping onto the little balcony Liam had scaled just a few hours ago. I trotted back into my bedroom, my claws clicking on the hardwood floors, and then I changedback.
Swift as it had appeared, my fur retracted, leaving behind flushed skin. Sweat salted my lips. I licked it away as I pushed off the ground and rose to my feet. I headed toward the shower but stopped when I spotted a folded sheet of paper by my bedroom door. Muscles tensing, I approached and snatched the letter up, unfolding it in the samebreath.
If you want to see Evelynagain,
go through with the lasttrial.
Speak about this note and shedies.
My fingers turned as cold and hard as ice chips and crimped the paper. I read the words; reread them. The letters blurred and fragmented, then knit back together andsmoothed.
Who would do this tome?
Someone who was aware of how much I cared for Evelyn. I’d never made it a secret, but still…how many people possessed this knowledge? She so rarely left the inn that it would have to be someone close tome.
Who could possibly want to blackmail me into killingLiam?
Or was their intention to getmekilled byLiam?
Could it be Julian? He’d guessed Liam cared about me—made several allusions to it last night—and wouldn’t want to murder me, which would forcemeto kill Liam and become the Alpha Julian so desperately desired as anally.
But Julian didn’t know about Evelyn. Or did he? I’d told Sarah about her when we’d had lunch. Had Sarah been spying for her uncle? Was her friendship anact?
My stomach turned as cold as myfingers.
But Julian had seen how determined I was last night. He couldn’t possibly know I’d chicken out of the last test. Unless he’d heard what itentailed…
Something hardened inside my mind. Whoever sent me this note knew what the last test would be. They knew blood would be spilled. Mine or Liam’s. Whose death were they rootingfor?
Lucas hated me and had never hidden how much he wanted Liam to become Alpha. It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to find out about my relationship with Evelyn. I could go to him and confess my plan, but if he hadn’t sent me thenote…
I brought the paper closer to my nose—crushed flowers. The scent could’ve drifted from the dirt embedded underneath my fingernails. I sniffed the paper again. There was another scent. Something almost sour but also a little sweet. I inhaled so many times that my head started to spin, and all the smells melded together. I crumpled the paper and tossed it against thedoor.
A violent chill curled around my skin but was soon replaced with heat. My body smoldered with anger. One person would die today…and it wouldn’t be me or Evelyn orLiam.
It would be whoever fucking wrotethis.
Chapter Forty-Four
Itossedon the first things I found in my closet and then flew through my bedroomdoor.
Evelyn’s door was unlocked, her bed unmade. Whoever had taken her had snatched her from sleep, because she always made her bed. I touched the creased pillow—cold. And then I crouched next to the bed. The fabric smelled faintly of menthol but also of something else—coldsmoke.
