There probably wasn’t much she wasn’t capable of.
“You’re not suggesting that your mother is responsible for this.” The Luna Mesa alpha—the one who’d challenged Shay to prove that this Rabid was Senate business at all—was incredulous. Of all of them, he seemed the least taken in by Shay’s performance, the most skeptical.
“My mother,” Shay said, glancing meaningfully at Callum, “is otherwise occupied. But this Rabid is female, and I think you’ll all agree that complicates things.”
That was putting it mildly. The standard operating procedure with Rabids—with the exception of the one who’d managed to bargain with the Senate—was immediate execution, brutal and absolute. But there wasn’t a man in this room who would willingly kill a female werewolf. There were too few of them. Even with the addition of the six females in my pack who had been born human, there were fewer than two dozen female Weres in the country.
I wasn’t sure Shay’s pack had even one.
“What evidence do you have that our killer is female?” Callum asked. If he’d seen this turn of events coming, he gave no visible indication of it, but there was no surprise in his features, either.
Shay leaned forward and delivered the answer to Callum’s question. “The police in Wyoming have a witness that puts a female between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one at the crime scene. No one knows where she came from or where she went, but there’s an indication that she may have been living in the woods.”
A female werewolf. Living by herself. In the unclaimed land between Callum’s territory and my own.
No.
I didn’t want to give purchase to the thought. I didn’t want to consider that it might be possible. It wasn’t possible.
“I trust that no one here is missing a female?”
At Shay’s question, every single person in the room turned to look at me. More than a third of the female werewolves in the country were members of my pack, and if anyone else had been in possession of a female Were in that age range, they almost certainly would have kept her close to home.
“I’m not missing any wolves,” I said firmly. I wasn’t. My pack only had twenty members, and each one was accounted for.
But Maddy …
Maddy wasn’t.
“You have two peripheral females.” Shay played those words like a trump card. All eyes were on me, and this time, I didn’t just feel the power—I felt the animosity. The violent, animal rage that I had something they wanted. The suspicion that I might not be protecting that most valuable of resources.
The Ash Meadow alpha, the alpha from Flint Creek, Shay—none of them would have let a female live on the edges of their territories. None of them would have given her that kind of freedom. Even Callum had probably only let Lake live in Montana when she was a part of his pack because her father lived there, too.
“The Cedar Ridge Pack has two peripheral females,” I said, my voice steely and utterly unapologetic. “And I know exactly where they are. At all times. Always.”
Not because they were female. Because they were Pack.
“Phoebe and Sage haven’t been anywhere near Wyoming,” I said, allowing the others to smell the truth in my words. What I didn’t say was that Maddy could have been there, and I wouldn’t have known it. She’d broken off from the pack, and I’d willingly withdrawn my mind from hers. I had no idea where she was, or what she was doing, or if she was even okay. She certainly hadn’t been okay when she’d left. She’d been heartbroken and bowled over by grief and angry—at me, at Lucas, at herself.
And I’d let her go.
I couldn’t let myself think about that, couldn’t risk a tell working its way onto my face. Unless Shay specifically mentioned Maddy, I could answer his questions in a way that would smell true to the other alphas, without giving a hint to the fact that I knew more than I was letting on.
I just had to bank on the likelihood that none of the others, Callum included, would ask if I’d withdrawn my claim to one of the females in my pack. I had to hope that none of the men in this room would consider that possibility, because they never would have entertained the idea themselves.
Most alphas didn’t even like losing males. The larger a pack, the stronger the alpha, and werewolves weren’t naturally inclined to make themselves weak.
“If you deny that one of your wolves is responsible,” Shay told me, lingering on the word if, “then we have to consider the possibility that Samuel Wilson may have Changed at least one additional female of whom we had no knowledge up to this point.”
Samuel Wilson. I’d never even heard his first name before. In my mind, he’d always been “the Rabid,” the monster who had killed my parents and haunted my dreams. But now, we were dealing with another Rabid, and the monster from my nightmares had a name.
“You think Wilson made another female Were?” the Flint Creek alpha asked, his eyes alight with hunger.
“So it would seem,” Shay replied.
I wanted to latch on to the possibility—wanted to ignore the reality that Maddy was missing, and a female had turned up in the middle of a murder investigation in a place she might well have gone. But I knew my pack. I’d been in their heads, and they’d lived with good old Samuel Wilson for years. He’d been power hungry, abusive, psychotic. He wouldn’t have let a female wander away from the fold any more than Shay would have.
That meant that if there really was a female Rabid, in all likelihood, it wasn’t some unknown girl, who’d never had a pack. It was—
No.
I wasn’t going there. Not here. Not now.
“And if there is a new Were out there on her own?” Callum met Shay’s eyes, and though there was nothing aggressive in the motion, I could see Shay actively fighting the urge to turn away.
“If there’s another female,” Shay said, his voice a whisper that cut through the air like a snake through the bushes, “a lone female, then there’s a question of what’s to be done about it.”
The Ash Mountain alpha was the first to catch on. “It goes without saying that we can’t kill her, Rabid or not. But if she’s out there, without a pack, it’s our duty to offer her protection and guidance.”
I didn’t know which was more sickening—the way he said the words, or the expression on his face.