A radio crackled. Maybe ten yards away. “Alpha to Bravo, do you have her?”
Crap. Have who? I sped up, moving away from the noise.
“Negative. The wolf has slipped the trap.” The crackling of static faded and boots tromped away.
To hunt my friend.
That was not part of any deal.
Final y inside and breathless from running the last distance, I grabbed the phone and cal ed the Rusakovas.
“Allo?” Max.
“Is Cat home?”
“Da, Jessie. She just came in.”
“Put her on.”
“Demanding,” he snorted. “I see why you like this one,” he said away from the receiver.
“Allo, Jessie?”
“They’re hunting you.”
“Da.”
“Why didn’t you tel me?”
“What good would it do? They are looking for an excuse to take one of us.”
“They couldn’t do it if you showed up here as— you,” I insisted. “Max could have driven.”
“I did show up as me,” Cat’s accent deepened. The phone made a noise, shifting hands.
Ugh. “Why give them the chance to take you?”
“This is who we are, Jessie,” Max rumbled across the phone lines. “If the CIA chooses not to abide by our agreement let them try to take us.”
The phone clicked off before I could find the words I wanted. The sudden knot in my stomach proved I missed Alexi as leader of the Rusakova household. On the outs with the ful -blood Rusakovas since they learned of his involvement with the Russian Mafia, he would have been more sensible than Max. But when the wolves discovered that Alexi, long believed by Pietr, Cat, and Max to be their biological brother, was not who he claimed to be …
Everything changed.
* * *
That night I wrestled with sleep. When I final y closed my eyes my brain refused to stop rol ing the violent images in my memory. I was thrown into the meadow at the old park the night Pietr turned seventeen.
The night Pietr became a wolf.
The unmarked SUV rocketed into the meadow, spewing leaves and bul ets.
Dropped by my attackers, I scrambled to the vehicle’s side, staring in dul horror at the fight raging so close. Officer Kent fel , wounded, gun rol ing out of his grasp just before Wanda slid beneath the vehicle and hauled him to safety.
The Mafia dropped around us in slow motion and I barreled under the SUV, going for the gun just before Wanda reached for it realizing she was nearly out of bul ets.
The leader’s second, Grigori, targeted Wanda. Squeezed the trigger. Wanda rocked back, blood a blooming red flower on her shoulder. Groaning, she steadied her gun and returned fire.
Grazing him.
In the leaf litter my hand closed on Kent’s gun as Grigori adjusted his aim to finish Wanda.
I fired.
Grigori’s eyes rol ed and he fel . Blood dribbled from his mouth, il uminated by the light of the ful moon sparkling serenely above. He coughed, a wet rattling sound.
Then he was stil .
The gun tumbled from my grip. I’d kil ed a man. Entrenched in my nightmare the sound around me muffled, my ears felt fil ed with cotton. The pop-pop-pop of gunfire slowed, dul ed to the thump-thump-thump of an ax chopping wood.
Everything went dark and grim, the bel ow of the werewolves—slick with blood—muted by the rush of my pulse as it thrummed in my ears.
A man yel ed curses at me, and I spun to see Nickolai, his gun pointed at me.
Shutting my eyes against the end, my world blinked black. I heard a roar—a cry—a gurgle … My eyes opened to find Nickolai staggering, his pistol dropping …
… as his head landed on the ground with the same thump as the muted gunfire. Landed two yards from his body.
In his wolfskin, Pietr stood over Nickolai, claws dripping gore, his muzzle and chest streaked with blood.
Very little of it was his own.
For the first time I saw a wildness to the glow of his eyes—something beyond the predatory sparkle of red reflection—a beast surpassing the definition spinning in my mind. Werewolf. Earlier, beneath the rising moon, I’d first seen him change.
But I realized then we were both changed.
Forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sophia caught up to me outside my literature class. In her breathy little voice she explained, “You’l need to find a new photographer for the paper. I can’t do it anymore.” She passed me the communal camera.
“But, Soph—”
Her lips tight, she shook her head, blond hair shimmering in the weak light of the hal way. “I’l continue to co-edit, but no pictures. And here…” She withdrew a stack of old photos from a pocket in her backpack.
I rummaged through them quickly. “Wait. Weren’t these hanging in your locker?”
“I’m cleaning house,” she said.
I didn’t buy it. “Everything okay?” I thought about the recent rash of teen suicides on the train tracks that had sliced Junction up like a huge pie. We’d lost an athlete most recently. I hadn’t know him personal y, but he’d been part of Derek’s circle.
“Fine,” Sophie said, her brow crinkling. “And…” She inhaled deeply, like this was the worst piece of news yet. “They want us to cover a new school lunch program.”
I knew instantly who they were. The faculty and staff. It wasn’t real y us against them at Junction; it was more like we worked for them rather than with them.
We technical y ran the paper, but they reminded us who granted the right to have a paper at al . So we spread propaganda from time to time. Most of it was good—helpful to students. Sometimes it just felt bogus. Completely commercial.
“What’s the big deal about a new school lunch plan?”
So softly I strained to catch the words, Sophia explained, “Some corporate sponsor gave the school angel funding to make lunches cheaper and more nutritional y sound.”
“Woosh.” I skimmed a hand just above my hair. “Right over my head. Angel funding? Like, do it or die
—get angel wings?”
“No.” Sophia stared at me a moment and rol ed her eyes. “Like they don’t want money back. At al . They donated the money for al the food. They’ve arranged a distributor. The school keeps whatever money we spend on lunches.”
“Huh. So why aren’t the lunches going to be free?”