“I went to the police,” she said. “They asked me for proof. I told them Aidan put a tracking device in the Jeep. They called me back saying they’d gone to the impound lot and checked the car. They told me they didn’t find anything.”
“Oh, Lucy,” Jeb said. “The police . . . they’re corrupt. You should’ve come to us.”
“You hate me.” Her voice trembled. “You all hate me.”
“Lucy . . .” He squeezed her tighter to him.
“Stay out here with her,” August told my uncle whose face had gone as pale as his beard.
I started toward the door when Lucy called out my name.
Her lids were so puffy her eyes were mere pinholes. “I’m sorry for . . . for everything.” Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with the blood splatter. “Everest, he was my baby. He could do no wrong.”
My uncle’s lips wobbled.
“But he did do a lot of wrong.” Lucy’s body shook anew, jangling all her bracelets. “And I helped him. And now he’s gone.”
My aunt’s apology was so unexpected that it rooted me in place.
“Ness . . .” The urgency in August’s voice broke the spell.
“Get her out of here, Jeb,” I said. “In case-”
“We’ll wait for you.”
“Jeb, if she killed him, the Creeks will hunt her down.”
Lucy released a whimper that had my uncle’s face contorting with indecision.
“Go!” I hissed.
He jolted, then latched onto her arm and guided his ex-wife to the car. After he shut the door, he sprinted back toward me and crushed me against his chest.
In a rushed whisper, he said, “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
I nodded. “Just keep her safe. Keep yourself safe.”
He broke away and jogged to the car. As the van rumbled to life, I sent a silent prayer up into the heavens that someone would watch over them so they didn’t end up in a ditch like their son.
I watched the car turn before drifting into the house behind August. As soon as I stepped into the foyer, I pushed out my senses for sounds other than my gunning pulse. A faint thump hit my eardrums.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
August nodded, narrowed gaze sweeping the house.
Canine whines and scratches ensued.
“Just his dogs,” August murmured, but he nonetheless raised the umbrella he’d grabbed from beside the front door, positioning it over his head like a baseball bat, before stalking toward an open doorway.
When I realized he was following a trail of bloody footprints, my stomach contracted.
“Stay behind me, Ness,” he said as we crept through the kitchen that was white and black like a checkered board, and glaringly bright.
The only color in the room was an abstract neon-yellow painting on the far wall and crimson droplets on the shiny floor. As we passed the knife rack, I grabbed a small paring blade that almost slipped out of my clammy fingers. The damp scent of blood wafted through the air, made my lungs cramp.
August was calm, his pulse barely speeding, a person used to the sight of carnage, a person used to storming into homes and seeking out criminals and corpses. He tipped his head toward a door smeared with red handprints, gaping like an open wound.
Were those Lucy’s handprints?
Nausea made monochromatic dots dance in front of my eyes. I’d wanted the man dead, yet the idea of finding him swimming in a pool of blood had my stomach roiling. I flung my hand out to clutch the black marble island before I blacked out. The knife clattered from my fingers, and I heaved, but nothing came out.
August hissed my name.
“I’m okay,” I murmured, blinking to clear my eyesight.
His concerned and lengthy gaze told me he didn’t believe me.
“I promise,” I added.
Another long second passed before he raised his hand to the door and drew it open. The hinges creaked like in a horror movie. He touched his ear, and I understood he was asking me to listen. I closed my eyes and concentrated.
A faint but steady thud had my eyes flying open.
Either there was someone else in the house or Aidan Michaels wasn’t dead.
August nodded once in understanding, and then he started down the stairs just as an arm hooked my throat. I screamed as I was hauled backward.
August spun and lunged back up the stairs but froze on the landing.
A wet voice rasped against my temple, “I called Sandy . . . She’s on her way.” Aidan’s speech was slurred, as though he were gurgling on mouthwash. “So you go on . . . and leave now, Watt.”
Something sharp prodded the skin on my neck. Without moving a muscle, I glanced down and caught sight of a glinting blade soaked in blood. I thought of my own knife and flexed my fingers, but then remembered I’d dropped it.
“Let Ness go, and we’ll leave,” August said calmly.
Aidan didn’t let me go. The blade even nicked my skin.
For a brief second, I wondered if Lucy had set us up, but the pain in her eyes . . . her apology . . . No, she’d really tried to put an end to this man’s life.
“Who do you . . . take me for?” Aidan’s voice was jagged and slow. “The village idiot? Ness will be staying with me . . . until my pack arrives . . . to make sure no other . . . Boulder attacks me.”
Something hot dripped down my neck, over my collarbone.
I needed to get out of Aidan’s chokehold. I concentrated hard, trying to force magic into my extremities to sprout claws and fangs. As my neck thickened and lined with fur, the knife burrowed deeper into my flesh, and I yelped.
“Don’t you shift,” Aidan warned, his tinny breath reeking of death.
Howls sounded outside, and Aidan flicked his gaze to the doorway.