When I get to Winter’s yard and park the Explorer, I think I might go into my cottage and sit in my own space for a moment. A little breather from all the werewolf nonsense. Then I walk up to the front step and know I won’t be doing that.
Because there are a line of sacrifices waiting for me, each one of them pinned to my door so that the blood runs down, thick and dark.
There are four. One for every night I’ve spent in the den.
Yet none at all on the path to the den, I’ve noticed. Not since the day McCaffrey turned up.
I stand there in the dark, staring at the four separate slaughtered creatures and what’s left of their bodies. There’s blood everywhere, still pouring down the door from what must be the newest one. It’s turning everything a dark and sullen red.
“Maddox,” comes a voice.
I must recognize it before I turn, because nothing in my body goes on alert. Sure enough, it’s Winter. She comes toward me, frowning when she sees my expression. Then makes a little noise when she looks past me and sees what’s on my door.
“It’s like a psycho-killer collage,” she says. After a moment. “Donotput the lotion in the basket.”
“I think it’s a little worse than that.” Once again, it’s hard to tell which animal is which. I’m beginning to think that’s the point. It’s just senseless ritualistic killing for the sake of it—and the presentation is what matters.
It’s supposed to be gross. It’s supposed to be unsettling. Yet, all things considered, I have to think that it’s down on my list of things to be concerned about right now.
“I had the weirdest dream the other night,” Winter tells me. “Not as muddy as they’ve been lately. And I haven’t seen you since. There was a big fire in some kind of clearing with huge rocks all around, but no trees. High up, under the stars.”
What she’s describing is our gathering place on the hill above the den, and I know there’s no possibility she’s ever been there. In case I needed proof that her oracle shit was real—and I didn’t—she’s giving it to me. I don’t think she even knows it.
“There are wolves everywhere. They’re howling, but it almost seems like they’re singing?” She shakes her head. “At some point, I realize that I’m a wolf. But I’m also you.”
“I am, in fact, a wolf. So that tracks.”
“So I’mwolf you, then,” Winter says, her indigo eyes bright. “And suddenly, out of nowhere, this other wolf attacks me. It’s a boy wolf.”
“Male,” I correct her. “Unless he’s a baby.”
“Male,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He comes at my back and his claws are everywhere, deep and terrible. I have this feeling that I ought to be able to fight back, but it’s such a surprise—such a betrayal—that I don’t. I can’t.”
I let that sit a minute. I try not to let it turn sour. “Can you see the wolf?”
She makes a face. “Not with my eyes. But I know what he looks like.”
I think about what my mother told me. And for a moment, I wonder—
But I don’t believe it. I don’t believe for one second that anyone could convince Ty to hurt me. Still, I’m nothing if not a proponent oftrust, but verify.
Winter might not be able to tell a whole lot of wolves from one another. But she got to know Ty in a different way, a more personal way, up on Mount McLoughlin two months ago when he helped her get up the trail to the sacrifice that was supposed to kill her. Enough to recognize him, I’m betting.
“Did you recognize the wolf who attacked you?” I ask.
Despite myself, despite my very real trust in Ty, I feel myself tense.
Winter considers. When she shakes her head, I feel a profound sense of relief wash over me.I knew it.
“No,” she says. “The only wolf I would recognize besides you is Ty, and it wasn’t him.”
She takes a peek at my face then, and her eyebrows rise.“Oh.Did you think ...?”
“I didn’t.” That comes out a little too intensely. “But it’s nice to be sure.”
“All my oracle stuff has been weird lately,” Winter tells me, her gaze steady on mine. “But this was crystal clear.”
“Maybe the muddiness is specific,” I say, something a little too close to giddy that it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. As long as Ty doesn’t betray me, I’m okay—and maybe I need to sit with that. I focus on Winter’s visions instead. “Maybe there’s a reason for it. Like someone or something is deliberately cloudy in your head.”
