Noah didn’t sit, instead leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest in defiance. If either Pritchard made one false move…
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Andrew. From what you said, you found your sister’s room empty, blood on the bed, floor, and walls.” Mac painted a gruesome picture.
Andrew nodded, staring out the window again, rubbing a hand over his solar plexus. He didn’t say a thing about the punch. The contrite look on his face might mean he thought he deserved to be hit.
He deserved one hell of a lot more.
Mac continued, “Your father told you wolves killed her to get at him.”
Again, Andrew nodded, more despairing than Noah had ever seen anybody. He hardened his heart. No pity for this bastard!
“For years, he searched. When he finally found the pack he said killed her, you wanted to avenge your sister. He said no.” Mac kept his voice even, not giving away any emotion.
“Yes.” The son of a murderous bastard spoke in monotone. He did know he’d never leave this room alive, didn't he?
“Because he didn’t want you to know your sister left willingly, joined with the pack alpha, bore him two sons.”
Two sons. Noah’s younger brother. A Pritchard. Noah was a fucking Pritchard.
“She was pregnant again at the time of her death,” Mac added.
All eyes turned to Noah. If they wanted some sign of his feelings, they’d wait a long time. He’d become numb, the words hitting his brain, not sinking in.
“Your father killed his daughter for defying him,” Mac addressed Andrew.
This time, a muscle flinched in Noah's jaw, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. Slade moved closer. Mac shook his head. Noah needed Slade’s comfort but couldn’t move. If he left this spot against the wall, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions.
He stayed put.
“There have been human-wolf pairings in the past. But, unfortunately, few resulted in children.” Mac absently twirled an ink pen on his desk with one finger. “Modern medicine has helped mothers carry these babies to term.”
“The hybrids can shift?” Well, duh. If Noah was half Pritchard—please let him not be—then, of course they could shift. He shifted.
Mac nodded. “Some can, some can’t. There’s still too few of them to study. One difference is, when they die, they leave a human body, not wolf. After the slaughter, your grandfather disposed of his daughter’s body and two boys who appeared human. Later, he realized the second boy was too old to be you. You’d gotten away.”
A recent thought came back to him. “Aunt Debra said they lived in the Green River Pack in North Carolina.”
“They did.” Mac’s expression never changed, seemingly stuck in neutral.
“Paul said he found me in Michigan.”
Mac studied Noah for long moments. Oh, shit. This couldn’t be good. “What did Paul tell you about his pack?”
“He found them all dead.”
“I think he returned, found one survivor, and took the child with him. How old were you the first time you shifted?”
“Fifteen.”
Mac nodded. “Wolf pups generally start shifting around age two. Not being around a pack, you wouldn’t know. Paul took you. When you didn’t shift, he likely thought you were more human than wolf. A Pritchard. His insurance against hunters, possibly."
They’d stayed in one place for fifteen years. The hunters came after Paul left. Had his mentor set him up? “No, he couldn’t have thought that. He was good to me.”
“After you shifted, he started talking about finding you a pack.”
“Yes. He’d always said our kind didn’t like to be left alone. He told me I was a wolf, like him.” Where was Mac going with these questions?
“He’s gone. I can’t know his motivations. I do know at the end, he tried to do right by you.”
