Page 93 of Pack Rage
Glen squinted at the mess and mumbled something that sounded like, “Flat as a pancake.” He wasn’t wrong. “Where’d they go?”
Brand just straightened and crossed his burly arms. I suspected he was trying not to let the way his stomach was churning show on his face.
Glen turned to me. “Where’d her bones go, Joaquin?”
I chewed at my lip while I checked for residual magic in the dust that spilled out of what was left of her face. Elina’s magic had been bone deep—removing all of it meant that I’d had to draw it out forcefully. Though if I was being honest, I hadn’t taken much care to leave her intact. I’dwantedher to be pulverized. “All her magic has been dispersed,” I assured Brand when he growled. He wasn’t glowing now, but I could still feel the thrumming of magic in him. “Given back to the moon.”
“Makes sense to me. She was bad to the bone.” Glen hummed a few lines of a song, for some odd reason. Had he sustained brain damage from the fight? Brand and I exchanged concerned looks.“You two worked together really well,” Glen went on, ignoring us. “What are you gonna do with the rest of her?”
The scraps of Elina really were clean, not a shred of magic or intent left. Safe to use, though Brand was a sculptor.
Asculptor, of course. I cringed. No wonder he was disturbed—I’d taken an artistic opportunity from him. “I apologize. I should have left some bones for you to carve.”
Glen chuckled, and Brand rubbed a hand over his beard. “Why would you think that I’d want to carve her bones?”
“Flor suggested we might participate in some kind of joint artistic effort with the bones I kept back at Southern.” I shrugged. “We could have made something to remember this night by as well. A souvenir.”
“You’re not serious.” A thought drifted through my mind.Not a single point of any fucking kind on his moral compass.
He wasn’t wrong, but perhaps he couldn’t see the possibilities. “I apologize for the lack of bones to carve. But there’s enough left to make a purse. I could even make a backpack.” The idea had merit. I wasn’t allowed to kill shifters indiscriminately anymore, which meant I might have more time on my hands than I was used to. “I might need a hobby of some kind,” I mused aloud. “I’ve never done leatherwork.”
Now Brand covered his whole face with both hands. “No. Just… no. Remember?” He pictured Finnick in his mind.
Ah, yes. Of course.“I apologize again.” I sent a burst of magic toward the remainder of the witch, and it burned up, leaving only a slight stench in the air that the night breeze wafted away quickly. Brand relaxed, dropping his hands, and I looked up at him. “Thank you, brother.”
“For what?”
“For being my… moral compass. I would never want to hurt one of our pack, but I might do so inadvertently. Killing is second nature at this point.”
He nodded once. “Perhaps you do need a hobby. Have you ever tried whittling?”
“Or music,” Glen added helpfully. He was gathering up fallen silver weapons, including the garrote, though he’d wrapped his hands in a length of fabric first. “You’re already a decent guitar player, Joaquin. And I don’t mean to brag, but I can play the tambourine like a pro. We can court Flor with duets.”
I nodded, but cautioned, “You do need to provide a few more courting gifts of your own, if you don’t mind me saying so. Not just songs, pup. Our queen enjoys more substantial offerings.”
“The heads of her enemies? Their entrails?” He curled a lip, but his eyes sparkled. “Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. I’m giving her the boxed set of the 1995Pride and Prejudice. We’ll watch itby the lake, and I’ll wear a white shirt, fling myself into it, then ardently declare my affections. She’s gonna love it.”
“Moon save us all,” Brand muttered. He shifted back into his wolf form, moving across the battlefield, sniffing at dead shifters, and making sure there were no more magical surprises left for us.
With a smile, I wrapped my hands to gather silver alongside Glen, though I answered Brand in my mind.The moon already did, brother.
Chapter 45
Hurting and Healing
LUKE
Flor was pretending. I’d watched her for far too long not to know the difference between a real smile and one she plastered on to cover up what was really going on inside. She was doing a good job, and I knew why she felt like she needed to. If the Eastern girls and women hadn’t felt safe before their Alpha and his witch wife died, they felt even less so now. They didn’t know who was safe, who to trust with their injuries, or who might be every bit as bad as the Eastern Enforcers we’d locked in the lower levels, until we could sort them all out.
Flor needed to rest. We all did, but I could feel how close she was to the edge of collapsing. I could see her hands trembling as she barked out orders to make sure everyone got food, water, medical help, and a place to sleep inside.
“They don’t want to sleep in the Mansion,” a young woman explained, indicating a group of girls who were huddled together, sharing some blankets that had been taken out of the house. “It’s full of strange males, and… we’ve been locked up in there for so long.”
“Of course not, Vanya,” Flor said, pasting the smile back on after it slipped. “How about in the forest?”
She shook her head. “Maybe in the garage…”
“The laundry room?” Flor suggested. “Turn on a dryer?”
