Page 9 of The Girl in the Forest

The elder gaped at his hand. At the blade. Perplexed.

I made it easy and explained, “By law, it’s the elder’s responsibility to cut off the pack mark.”

He would forfeit his position if he refused—a legal detail Mosbach forgot, or he wouldn’t have been so zealous in this public challenge.

I would not be doing his dirty work for him.

Mosbach’s mouth contorted. He looked feeble as his hand shook. It took two tries to rip Karla’s blouse, exposing her shoulder. With swift, jerking slashes, he defaced the crescent moon enough to make it unrecognizable, and as blood ran down Karla’s arm, as she stifled her sobs, I said, “Now the other one. Jo-Rae Bell.”

Mosbach hesitated. I sent another set of images through the pack bond, condemning the woman’s bitterness. Maybe to some, what I did wasn’t enough. To others, suffering was difficult to watch, although a wolf’s life had a brutal side and it was better to learn young. The toddlers didn’t understand what was happening. A few mothers turned their children’s faces away. More fathers stood with hands on the shoulders of the pups, those eight years and older. I imagined the lectures taking place that evening, about pack loyalty and why alphas enforced the rules.

But even if these females had lied, betrayed, stewed in their hatred. Even if the penalty was death, I would not allow Mosbach off the hook he’d created.

Unease ratcheted up as Jo-Rae Bell glanced to the side, her expression bleak. The small mercy Mosbach gave her was to be efficient. Perhaps he realized how his scheme was failing and feared I might not stop with the women.

“Are they mated?” I waited until two men stepped forward, then said, “The sentence is exile instead of death. The women leave now. You may go with them if you wish. Seek medical attention in Priest River because I doubt Leo Bishop will provide it. Take what possessions you have. I won’t break your pack affiliations, but do not return unless it is alone.”

A gamble, allowing them to leave while their ties to Sentinel Falls remained in place. But I’d searched their minds; both men had been unaware of the treachery, and I wouldn’t manipulate them, the way I’d manipulated Karla. Instead, I’d risk their free will, since the pack understood my offer. Being exiled with a defaced pack mark meant a miserable life. It meant constant danger from other wolves, and a lack of pack resources. But they would be alive, and their mates would offer them some safety and financial support. A compromise, when some within the pack would have conflicting loyalties.

But the men surprised me. Producing their own knives, they sliced through the mate marks on each woman’s wrist. A lightning-swift, brutal ending. Then, with a nod to me, to Mace and Fallon, each man returned to the audience—although they did not sit behind Mosbach.

I found it curious that the elder did not have his own settlement’s full support. But the betrayal of the women didn’t rise to the same level as a traitor on the battlefield. Jo-Rae Bell acted with emotion, pain, while Karla reacted out of spite. She’d deserved to be driven to her knees. But when I’d held her in thrall, sent the images through the pack bond, I’d alarmed the wolves for a different reason.

I’d revealed a power even an alpha shouldn’t have, and while I’d won the current confrontation, I’d handed Mosbach—and any elders like him—the opening they needed.

They would argue that the old stories were true. Faille energy was dangerous and disruptive to the pack. Noa Bishop had corrupted the alpha, increased his power to an abusive level, and someone else should offer a challenge.

Idly, I waited for someone brave enough to act.

Strong enough to issue a challenge.

Reckless enough to face certain death because, in the mood gripping me, someone would die.

Tension simmered. Minutes passed while I waited and hoped no one would be goaded toward a senseless death through emotion alone.

But no one moved, and without another word, I stood and left the dais, ending the meeting. I had nothing more to say to Mosbach, at least not in public. But as I walked down the aisle, a child wriggled free from his mother. Dashing toward me, he skidded to a halt, his shoes locking toe-to-toe with my boots. I guessed he was five, perhaps six years old, dressed in his finest, although the grass stain smudged on a tan trouser knee told me he’d been impatient.

He tipped his chin the way all mothers taught their children to do, then bent backward until he could see my face.

“Owl-fuh. I picked these for you.”

In his hand, he clutched a fistful of crooked stems with the wildflowers dipping down. The muscles around my eyes tightened. I dropped to one knee, down to his level, meeting him face-to-face. “What’s your name, young wolf?”

“Charlie Curra, sir.”

“Well met, Charlie Curra.” I took the flowers and watched as he scampered back to his worried mother. Then I stared at what I gripped in my hand. They were like Noa’s wildflowers, the ones she picked for Leo, ripped from the ground.

For a long heartbeat, then a second beat, I wondered if I’d ever again feel the flicker from her wolf rune, telling me she was safe. Hear her call me bastard with every stomping step she took, knowing I was listening.

And when I found the strength to stand, the entire pack was also standing, even the old men and women. All of them kissed two fingers and held their hands out toward me before pressing against their pack marks. Then each one tipped a chin in silence as I walked past.

CHAPTER 3

Noa

Five days ago, the night of the rite…

The passage I entered was unlike any I’d experienced since learning of their existence.

---