Page 88 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“You know who. You saw us that day.”

“Why do you care so much about Bronwyn?” I was tired of dicking around with the guy. He was working the situation, and though he might not be on my side, he and Margaux had some weird deal going. I wanted to know what it was.

Plus, at this point, I was enjoying Floyd’s underground panic. I hadn’t really expected Mason to tell me anything I didn’t know.

He surprised me.

“I’m in love with her.” His tone was tight and uncomfortable. “I’ll help you find Ronan, I swear. Just get Bronwyn and Margaux out of here and let me have the alpha. This isn’t the way.”

“You say that, but I can’t help thinking this is exactly the way. If I keep him under here for another few seconds, neither of us will have to make that choice anymore. So, you can assure your wolves that?—”

“Ronan has to challenge him, or this is all for nothing.” Mason rage-whispered the words. “Release the alpha, and I’ll owe you a favor. You collect those, right?”

First, Floyd with the demon thing, now Mason with the favor thing? Damn it, how did these wolves know so much about me?

“You seem sure Ronan is alive. Where is he?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s alive. He escaped the witches.” Paws feverishly dug into the soil above me. Obviously, Mason had shifted back to mostly wolf—though not fully, or he wouldn’t have been able to speak. “Why can’t I pull him out?”

“Because I don’t want you to,” I said.

“It’s been too long.”

“He’s okay for now. He just shifted. That gives him at least another few seconds.”

Mason snarled. “Think, Betty. You know I’m right about this.”

“Fine. Two favors, and one of them is you warn me if Floyd gets near Ronan before I do.”

Was it smart to push him? Maybe. Maybe not. But I needed to find Ronan, and if Mason could help me with that, I’d make any deal—even if it meant giving up my vendetta against Floyd for the night.

“Deal.”

“Fine, I’ll let him go.”

Release him. I thought the words into the soil, and it immediately belched up the enormous wolf. I followed him up, perching on the ledge of a hole filled with loose soil. The dirt on my body heated, vaporized, and absorbed into my skin. It stung, but less than before.

I wished I understood the significance.

“He’s not breathing.” Mason, once again in mostly human hybrid form, glared at me.

“Try the Heimlich,” I said, as I examined my nails. I’d just painted them black two days ago, and they already looked as if they’d been sandblasted. If I intended to spend more time underground, I was going to need a stronger topcoat.

Mason lifted the alpha, the muscles in his biceps and forearms straining, cupped a hand over his fist, and drove it into Floyd’s chest, just below his rib cage.

At least, that was what it looked like. I wasn’t great with wolf anatomy.

“It’s not working,” he said, as he performed the maneuver over and over.

I sighed. “You’re sure we have to do this for Ronan?”

“Godsdamn it, Betty, I’ll give you three favors.Three. Plus, I’ll forgive anything you owe me.”

“Where is he, Mason?”

“I told you. He escaped the witches somehow and is in hiding.”

“Is he hurt?”

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