Page 24 of To Keep A Wolf
Tripp.
He’s worried.
I want to tell him to chill, but that would require moving my lips. An effort I’m not ready to make.
“The bullet was dipped in venom.” Levi sounds furious. “That makes three times in two months.”
“Four, actually,” Tripp corrects.
“What?”
“She was stabbed in Green Hills. Long story. Relax, the asshole’s dead,” he adds, and Levi blows out a breath.
“Thanks.”
“Not me,” Tripp says. And then, after a pause, “We never should have left her.”
Levi doesn’t say anything.
“Grey said Jadick really took her down a notch with that gunshot wound,” Tripp says quietly. “Apparently, he refused to let the docs treat her for it.”
“I heard the story,” Levi says in a hard voice. Like he doesn’t want to hear it again.
“What you didn’t hear is that Jadick made her walk naked and covered in a thin blanket all the way back to her room while Gregario and those asshole guards just stood back and watched.”
More quiet. This time, I’m pretty sure it includes teeth-grinding.
“Why does he want to marry her?” Levi asks. “It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t give a shit about her.”
Tripp sighs. “Who knows? But none of it changes the fact that he needs to be taken out.”
Levi grunts at that.
I want to tell them. That Jadick has found a witch. That he’s planning to use me for some kind of ritual-murder that will ensure fated mates are a thing of the past for our pack. That all he needs now are the bones of his ancestors to make it happen. But words won’t come. Awareness is too far out of reach.
Eventually, Tripp asks, “You think the herbs will be enough this time?”
Levi’s quiet for a beat too long before he says, “They’ll have to be.”
I listen to the sounds of rustling and movement. Then, something cool is pressed to my wound. A bottle of water held to my lips. I drink, and that seems to appease some of their worry.
But then I feel the ether reaching for me, and I let it carry me away again.
When I wake, the air reeks of something bitter and rotten. I wrinkle my nose, coughing against the acrid odor. Leaning over the bed, I feel the contents of my stomach roil with the depth of my gagging.
I vomit until there’s nothing left.
Beside me, the mattress moves, and a chiseled body leans over me, holding a shallow pan beneath my mouth. It’s not necessary, but I don’t bother trying to say so.
When the coughing subsides, I force myself to breathe through my mouth, and finally, against my best judgment, I open my eyes and look around.
We’re in a van. Levi’s van, if memory serves.
I have no idea how he managed to get it back or where it’s been. Where he’s been.
Living in the van from the looks of it.
The mattress is the only clear space, and that’s because we’re currently on it. Besides that, clothes and various gear litter the front two seats and the console between. A short counter is wedged against the wall behind the driver’s seat. It’s stacked with trash and takeout wrappers. Bottles of water, most empty, have been tossed or wedged underneath the seats.
