Page 72 of To Keep A Wolf
“I never should have brought you here,” my mother says. She crouches beside Marilyn, regret and concern tightening her features.
Marilyn looks up at her, smiling. “I told you I would make you sorry you dragged me back to this hellhole town.”
“You did,” my mother says.
Marilyn sniffs and then winces in pain as my boot leans harder on her hand.
“Where’s Jadick?” my mother asks.
“Planning his wedding, of course.” She glances at me. “His bride is dead, though.”
I shudder at the insanity in her eyes.
“Mac isn’t dead, but you’re headed that way. Let me pull that knife out so you can shift and heal.”
Marilyn laughs bitterly.
“No healing exists in a place like this,” she says. Another blink and her eyes clear. “He knows you’re here,” she whispers. “He already knows.”
My mother frowns, but she doesn’t look particularly concerned.
A ripple of unease shoots through me as she turns her attention to me. “Your mate won’t survive what waits for him now.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand. “What is Jadick planning?”
“She’s just talking nonsense,” my mother says.
She moves toward the door, but I crouch, grabbing Marilyn’s hand. “I’m nothing like him,” I say. “Tell me what he’s done so I can make it right.”
“Right?” she scoffs. “There’s nothing right about him. About you. And he’s already won.”
“I can stop this,” I insist.
“Did you know I went to see an oracle?” she asks, and the question is so off-topic I can only stare at her.
“Mac, let’s go.” My mother hovers in the doorway, favoring her injured leg. But I don’t move to join her.
“What does an oracle have to do with anything?” I ask.
“Three times three,” she says. “It told me things. Dark, twisted things. My son cannot be saved. His heart is cursed. And now, yours is too. She told me.”
“She lied,” I say, releasing her hand angrily.
“A pack of lies,” she whispers, falling back into her own blood. “A pack of black hearts—all of you. The only way to win is to die.”
The sound of the tranquilizer gun jolts me.
A dart lands in her shoulder, and Marilyn thuds against the floor.
I look up sharply at my mother, whose mouth is set in a hard line. “The only way to win.”
Neither of us bothers to finish the sentence.
“She could be a problem when she wakes up,” I say.
“She’ll either leave, or she’ll seal her own fate,” my mother says. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Outside, neighbors have finally emerged to investigate. A small crowd has gathered in the patch of deadened grass where Gregario and the other guards lie. My mother still holds the gun at her side as she motions me past the onlookers and back toward the Jeep.
