Page 90 of Moonlight & Mayhem

“That isn’t the standard I use for healthy,” she said.

“Should be. It’s a solid standard.” Moon glared at him, and Mayhem smiled. God, she loved that smile. The realization hit her so suddenly that Moon forgot how to breathe. She loved him—not because some ancient wolf bloodline told her she should. Not because their wolves recognized each other. Not because touching him kept the night root from consuming him. She just loved the aggravating bastard.

Mayhem frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” she breathed. This wasn’t the time or place to tell him how she felt about him.

“Bullshit.”

Moon shook her head. “Later.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Good later or bad later?”

“If you stay alive, good later,” she promised.

Mayhem grinned. “Best motivation I’ve had all night.”

Morrigan started toward the trees. “We need to move.”

Tempest stopped her. “No.”

Morrigan turned. “You want to reach Black Hollow before sunrise.”

“And I want answers before I walk my people into whatever the hell is waiting up there.”

“They already know you’re here,” Morrigan warned.

“Then another five minutes won’t matter,” Tempest insisted. Morrigan looked frustrated, but Moon didn’t care. Tempest was right. Her Prez crossed her arms over her chest. “How many wolves are there?”

“In Black Hollow?” Morrigan asked. Tempest nodded. “Maybe forty.”

Howler swore, but Tempest didn’t react. “How many are loyal to you?”

“Eleven,” Morrigan answered instantly.

“And the others?” Tempest questioned.

“They are the elders,” Morrigan breathed.

Mayhem frowned. “You keep saying, elders.”

“They control the Hollow,” Morrigan said.

“How many elders are there?” Tempest asked.

“Five,” she said.

Christmas snorted. “Five wolves control thirty-plus wolves?”

Morrigan looked at her. “Fear controls thirty.”

Chris’s expression hardened. “Not for long.”

Moon’s wolf stirred. The vision flashed through her mind again of Chris driving the blade into the symbol, the ground splitting, and chains breaking. The wolf destined to break it. Moon was beginning to understand. Maybe the Hollow wasn’t afraid of Christmas because of some magical bloodline. Maybe it was afraid of what she represented—choice and defiance. She was a woman who didn’t bow because someone told her to, but that described all the women of Dark Chaos.

Morrigan looked at Moon. “The elders will try to separate you from your mate.”

Mayhem laughed. “Good luck.”