The pack house is quiet when I get back. Practically spotless save for the scent of sweat, sex, and brew lingering in the air. No doubt Dame had everyone clear out as soon as the body was found. It’s standard protocol for Fright Night. We can have the house swept and cleared in about eight minutes flat.
It’s always confusing your first time, but most people get the hang of it by second year. And no one’s dumb enough to resist Dame’s command, so I’m not surprised to find everything is in order.
I take a deep breath as I enter the foyer, sorting through the scent threads and plucking Iris out from the cloud.
Her trail begins by the door, then veers off toward the kitchen and down into the den. From there, it should lead out onto the back porch, then deep into the forest where they encounter St. Grey’s sweaty desperation and bloody end. But it doesn’t, not anymore, because the scent lines have been rewritten.
Beyond the den, our paths are tied together. Two clear lines drifting around the house as one.
I made sure to eliminate any trail leading outside, changing the path to go up the stairs, through the residence hall, and terminate in my bed. I even left the door cracked for the nosey inquisitors.
Usually, I don’t like people sniffing around my things, but there was no room for error this time. So I left it open, just a hair.
Not enough to raise concern, but enough for our tangled threads to seep out into the hallway.
I laugh a little as I stand there inhaling the odd concoction.
Together, our fragrance is spicy and potent, almost cloying.
She’d hate it. Probably complain that it gives her a headache.
Which would at least make us even.
I press my thumb into my eye socket as I roll my shoulders.
My head feels like it’s going to explode, and the dampener around my neck has been seconds away from strangling me all night. I pry at it as I wander into the kitchen for a glass of water.
I know it won’t do anything to calm the rage in my chest, but it’s better than standing around letting the events of this evening replay on an endless loop.
I can still hear her quiet sobs. See her tear-stained cheeks and the hollow look in her eyes as she told me what he’d done.
The sound of my name passing through her lips echoes in my mind like a bell that can’t be unrung. It makes my heartbeat pound in my ears, and I wince as it grows deafening.
A love potion.
A fucking love potion.
And I didn’t smell a thing.
I choke down two more glasses of water and force myself to think of anything else before I make myself sick. But the only thing that comes to mind is her love-drunk babbling.
It seems so obvious now. She was so eager, I should have realized something was wrong.
Iris never feeds in public. And all that touching…
My wolf rises as I remember her fingers dragging across my chest.
Gods, it was so obvious.
I walk the lower levels again, just to be certain there are no remnants of the truth, and head upstairs. But I don’t make it very far before fate decides to test my patience one more time tonight.
“Ah, there he is.”
A voice calls as I pass by the upper den, and my feet drag to a halt.
It’s Deacon.
He’s lounging in one of the big, leather armchairs with a few other wolves idling around him. Two second-years I know by name, one I don’t, and a pretty, blonde first-year girl who has no business sitting propped in his lap like a doll.
