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There’s no other word for what she does. Launching herself off of the floor, her paws land dead in the center of Remy’s chest. The last thing I see is a look of fury replaced by one of surprise, his ponytail swaying before the force of Jeannie’s hit has him falling backward.
She’s on him immediately. With fangs even sharper than mine, she does exactly what I did when I went after Lucas during my first shift: she clamps her jaw down on Remy’s throat.
Unlike me, though, she doesn’t instinctively recognize the male she’s attacking as someone she shouldn’t. Nope. With a wild jerk of her head, she rips the whole fucking thing out.
And I watch her do it, unable to look away. I’m gagging, moaning, whimpering… but I’m still watching as she mauls Remy.
Then, as he gurgles on his blood, choking on the stuff, Jeannie bites down on his shoulder. The white wolf drags the dying witch across the room, hiding his body on the other side of the bed I once slept in.
Because of me, I think hysterically. Even as a murderous wolf, Jeannie must’ve remembered my thing about blood. Instead of taunting me with it like she used to do when we were in school together, getting her kicks seeing me go pale after she showed off the slice from a paper cut, she’s actively trying to hide the aftermath of her attack.
Um… I guess that’s thoughtful.
Right?
I mean, I still bend over and throw up my breakfast all over Remy’s floor, barely avoiding Eleanor’s sandals as the shock and his blood has my stomach rebelling, but at least I don’t faint.
Instead, I wipe the back of my mouth with my hand, trying to swallow back the urge to hurl again as Remy goes silent. A moment later, Jeannie reappears, the only sign that she just went furry and freaking ripped out Remy’s throat like that is in how she comes back from it without a stitch of clothing on.
No blood on her face, thank goodness, but shit. She doesn’t even have a strand of hair out of place as she greets me with her tits on the other side of my old bed.
I… I…
Holy. Shit.
“Jeannie? What the fuck!”
That’s all I can think to say. As thick as my throat is right now, I’m lucky enough that I managed that—but when Jeannie’s dark brown eyes suddenly turn silver, a faint whitish glow emanating for her tanned skin… I lose my voice entirely.
But I still think: holy fucking shit.
Jeannie laughs softly. The tinkling sound is nothing like the husky laugh I’m used to from her.
Because the glowing skin and eerily pale eyes weren’t a clue that something really fucking weird was going on, it’s her strange laugh that has me admitting that, whatever it is, something’s not quite right…
And then?—
“Forgive my guardian. She had her orders. By admitting he set into motion the events of the last seventy years, she was to dole out death to the traitor. It was her duty.”
Excuse me?
What the…
Look. That’s Jeannie standing right there. Like, that’s Jeannie Lipton. I see her. I know her.
But that wasn’t her laugh. That’s not her voice. The way she’s standing, straight-backed instead of slouching slightly, her arms across her chest as she rolls her eyes at whatever phone game Lorelei and I were obsessing over at the time…
That’s not actually Jeannie, is it?
My guardian… her orders… her duty.
If she’s not Jeannie, then?—
“Who are you?”
“Me? I’m the Luna.”
No fucking way.
