Page 142 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

He and Rory ducked behind the vehicle. After pained grunts and cracking bones, a massive grey wolf joined us. Rory followed moments later, his golden fur catching the moonlight as he shook out his smaller frame.

Flynn took a sharp intake of breath. Despite his weakened state, wonder blazed in his eyes as he watched the wolves. His hand lifted from where it had been wrapped around his middle, reaching tentatively towards Rory, who padded straight up to him.

“They’re beautiful,” Flynn whispered. His fingers trembled as they sank into Rory’s golden fur. Rory pushed his head further into Flynn’s palm, tail wagging slightly as Flynn scratched behind his ears.

Kit maintained a more dignified distance, his grey bulk a sentinel presence beside the van. But even he couldn’t resist moving closer when Flynn cast an uncertain glance his way, as if seeking permission to admire them both.

Flynn’s blue-tinged lips curved into a smile as he ran both hands over Rory’s head, examining the way moonlight caught his fur. “So they can understand me like this? Just like normal?”

“More or less,” I said, watching Rory press against Flynn’s legs like an oversized house pet. “Their base instincts are stronger in this form—the urge to hunt, the urge to protect. But they’re still themselves. Still perfectly capable of rolling their eyes at me when I give orders.”

As if to prove my point, Kit huffed what could only be described as a derisive snort.

The moment shattered as another violent shiver racked Flynn’s frame. Rory whined, pressing closer.

“Let’s go,” I said. The sooner we got there, the sooner we could face what was to come.

Through the pedestrian gate, Pen Ponds was a distant glimmer through the mist. The twenty-minute walk there was deathly silent. Kit took point, with Rory bringing up the rear, nipping at our prisoner if he slowed. The shifted wolves from Dale’s pack melted into the darkness on either side, their presence betrayed only by occasional glints of eyes in the murk.

I couldn’t help but attune to Flynn’s stuttering heartbeat, growing more erratic by the moment.

The causeway between the ponds emerged from the fog ahead of us. Something caught my eye—a hulking shape in the mist, but not one of our wolves. Those distinctive sloping shoulders, those gleaming yellow eyes…

“Do you see that?” I asked, pointing. But as soon as the words left my mouth, the hyena shape dissolved into the mist.

Kit and Rory moved to flank me, ears flattened against their skulls.

A figure emerged, as if from thin air.

Marcus Vale himself.

Months of cleaning up Vale’s messes, of hunting down his feral offspring when they crossed lines, and this was our first meeting.

He stood exactly as I’d imagined him—tall and aristocratic, his silver-streaked dark hair swept back from sharp features. His navy-blue suit seemed untouched by the fog curling around us.

“Sebastián Salazar.” His voice carried the weight of centuries, tinged with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “How many of my children have you killed now?”

“Only the ones who threatened innocent lives, Vale. Perhaps if you maintained discipline among your progeny, I wouldn’t need to.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. His gaze slid to Flynn, behind me. “I must say, your pet human makes quite the lovely ice sculpture. Tell me, does it hurt watching him freeze from the inside out?”

The surge of protective rage nearly overwhelmed my control. “Shall we move forward with the exchange of Adrian for Damien? Or did you come here simply to trade barbs?”

Vale’s laughter echoed across the water, a sound that belonged in an opera house. He spread his arms wide, as if addressing an invisible audience.

“Oh, my dear Salazar. Do you truly believe that’s what we’re here to do tonight?”

My gaze swept the parkland—the empty causeway, the still waters, the complete absence of Vale’s entourage. No Damien in sight. Just Vale, standing alone like an actor on a stage.

“No.”

Of course I hadn’t. But Vale had left me no choice but to go along with this ridiculous game.

Vale clapped his hands together in mock delight. “I must say, watching you scramble to arrange this meeting has been thoroughly entertaining. The great Sebastián Salazar, dancing to my tune.”

“Where’s Damien?” I demanded, stepping forward. The fog swirled around my feet, carrying the scent of damp earth and decay. Flynn’s labored breathing behind me drove steel into my spine—every second wasted was another moment closer to losing him.

For a fleeting moment, I was back in my office that morning, Flynn perched on my desk as he fixed my laptop. The sunlight had caught in his hair, turning it to molten gold. He’d looked up, caught me staring, and smiled that smile that made me forget what century I was in. “You’re doing it again,” he’d murmured. “That thing where you look at me like you’re afraid to blink, in case I disappear.”

---