Page 72 of Pack Ruin
“It’s one my mother taught me. A look-away. Very simple, though it would usually require a full coven to weave a solid one around an entire structure.” I almost called him on his bragging, but then realized he was probably only stating a fact.
“I wish we could shower,” I mused aloud.
Grigor ran a hand over his chin in thought. “I could include a silencing spell. It should muffle the sounds of the pipes. And of your young mate’s unfortunate snoring. Wait a half hour before you use the water.”
I nodded. “Aren’t you tired? Won’t all that magic take a lot of energy?”
“A fair amount.” He winked. “I find myself much rejuvenated, though. Sleep. I will remain outside, watching. No one will enter while I stand guard.”
He slipped out the door, and I wandered into the bathroom, finding a toothbrush and using the bottled water to brush my teeth. Once I’d done as much as I could to get clean without running water, I lay next to Luke on the bed and crashed.
I dreamed of Finnick and Brand. Not sex dreams, though. Clearly, I was too exhausted for that to seem fun. But in the first dream, Finnick was in a cell somewhere, with…
“Trevor Blackside.” Finnick spat out the name like it was poison. His hands were slick with blood, and he held a scalpel in the bloodiest one. “You disappoint me. I thought you Southerners were tough. Chased a girl in the Hunt for years, night after night, didn’t you? Tormented all the unranked shifters at your hellhole of a pack, and I assumed you’d be this big, bad Enforcer. But look at you. Begging, covered with piss and blood. If you’d been born into Eastern, you’d have been culled years ago.”
A shape—it was almost unrecognizable as a man—quivered on the wall opposite Finnick. “Please… no more.”
I hadn’t recognized Trevor, but I knew that voice. It had taunted me about my mother’s death, and threatened me in graphic detail for years about what he wanted to do to me after he caught me in the Hunt.
I wanted him to die slowly, and as painfully as possible.
But as Finnick stepped closer to him, I saw something in his eyes that disturbed me more than any of the wounds on Trevor’s body. The brilliant green of them had dulled to a flat gray, and I had a feeling that his soul was changing. Like whatever it was that made him Finnick was fading. He was as filled with shame and self-loathing as I’d been when I’d killed the young wolf.
Killed with silver.
I heard Brand’s voice in my mind. “Finn seems hard and cold, but he is the gentlest of us all. The most broken. Help him, little flower.”
I thought my reply. “This isn’t a dream.”
“It is not,” Brand’s voice said before he drifted away. “It is the nightmare his parents created. Only you can help him wake up.”
I didn’t know how to help Finnick, but I knew I didn’t want him to torture Trevor any longer. Not if it was hurting him.
But even if this wasn’t a dream, even if it was some kind of vision, I couldn’t do anything, change anything.I let out a frustrated scream.
Finnick’s head shot up, and his eyes darted around the blood-spattered room. His lips formed my name. “Flor?”
Could he hear me? I felt the vision fading, like I was being pulled away. Suddenly, I knew what he needed to do.
“Drop the blade,” I whispered to myself. “Claws and teeth.”
My eyes opened before I could see if he’d heard me. “Flor, you were crying out in your sleep.” Luke’s voice had me sitting up in the bed. Del’s bed.
I had on one of Del’s t-shirts, and a pair of boxers. Luke was holding a cup in his hand. “Coffee?” I scrambled out of the bed and took the warm mug. “How?”
I blew on the liquid and sipped carefully, taking in Luke’s appearance. He was standing straight, and even though his armsseemed a little less muscular than before, and his beard a lot scruffier, his eyes were bright.
“You look rested,” I said after a moment. “How long did we sleep?”
“Most of the day,” he replied, holding out a hand. I took it, loving the feel of his skin under mine. He had on the shirt and pants I’d laid out for him. “Glen’s made us a late lunch.”
“He cooked? I could eat a gator. I guess Grigor got the look-away spell going?”
“He did. He’s watching the house, but so far no one has come anywhere close. The compound is teeming with activity, though it’s hard to hear. The spell, I guess.”
“It’s weird to have someone who can do magic around, isn’t it?” I asked as he pulled out a chair for me at the table. Glen grinned at us both, carrying over a plate with an odd collection of food on it: pieces of cold Spam, some crackers, a small pile of canned mandarin oranges, and a vanilla pudding cup.
“I wouldn’t call my meal prep skills magical, but you’re welcome,” he said, dropping a kiss on my head. “Your Del’s food-hiding skills were pretty spectacular, though. He had cans in just about every place no one would ever think to look.”
