Page 13 of Filthy Fae

“They were laughing,” he whispered, a shudder wracking his wide shoulders. “They were…happy.”

“The ones doing the maiming?”

“Both,” he said. “All of them. It wasn’t one against the other. They were all slashing and biting, tearing at each other with their hands, teeth, claws… I saw at least a few knives. No one was trying to get away. They were reveling in it, even those being attacked. They were smearing themselves in the blood. It was on their faces, their hands, their bodies…”

Fur rippled along Zane’s arms again as his claws extended, clicking together in his lap.

I reached across the table. “Take a deep breath. You’re safe.”

“I didn’t know what was happening,” he mumbled past his extended wolf teeth. “I… I shifted. I was fucking terrified. My wolf just took over, and then we were running through the room, blood raining down on our pelt. We banged into something, a glass door, and it wouldn’t open, so we just kept banging until it shattered. I had an injury, and I was bleeding. On the porch, my wolf and I fell asleep to heal, I think. I’m a healer.”

“I know,” I said, keeping my voice as calm and steady as I could.

“I ran and slept,” he said. “I woke when it was all over. The police caught me with a silver net. Every one of them was dead, and I was alone.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” I said, my voice soft even as I seethed. Whatever happened in there, twenty-two fae and four humans had died needlessly, and one wolf would probably never recover from what he’d seen. “I’m going to do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this, Zane.”

“Who changed with you in the laundry room, Zane?” Jane asked, her tone inflectionless.

“No one.” He shook his head.

Jane blew out a breath. Grabbing the recorder off the desk, she rewound it for a minute, pressed play and rewound it a couple of times. Then she played Zane’s voice. “I got dressed and grabbed my stuff. But when we came out of the laundry room, I saw…” Jane shut off the recorder and poised a pen over her notes. “Who was with you in that room?”

Zane’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “Me and my wolf,” he said after a moment. “My wolf was riding me hard. If that’s all, I’d like to go home now.”

“Well…” How could I tell him that the moment he left police custody, the fae queen would demand his head? Literally.

I quavered, but Jane answered.

“Ninety-six hours is the soonest I can possibly get you out without iron-clad proof of your innocence.” Jane tapped the pile of papers before Zane. “You’re going to have to be strong and smart. I’ll go talk to the sheriff now to ensure that you get a room alone.”

“Four days?” Zane demanded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Zane, do you have any evidence to back up your story?” I asked. “Did the others take some kind of intoxicants that you didn’t? Anything like that?”

“No, nothing. I didn’t do anything, Alpha. You have to believe me. Scarlet, please. I’m a healer, not a killer. And I need to get out of here.”

“Why?” I asked. “Is it just about talking to Zeezee? My parents got in touch with her earlier, and I’ll check in on her. But you probably should give your mate a couple of days to cool off, anyhow.”

“I just need to speak with her.”

“What do you need to say?”

He shook his head. “I love her.”

“I can tell her for you—”

He slammed his injured hand on the table. “It has to be from me!”

Zane was starting to sound hysterical, so I helped Jane gather her papers, reassured Zane that I would check in on Zeezee, and notified the sheriff that we were ready to leave the meeting room but that someone should keep an eye on Zane in case he needed sedation. When the sheriff had promised that Zane would be held alone, Jane and I walked with the officer to the lobby.

“What you saw today… Werewolves don’t do that,” I said. “We kill for dominance, territory, defense—”

“Food.” The sheriff lifted her dark brows, her mouth set in a grim line.

I acknowledged it with a nod. “There have been some sick werewolves in the past—not here, not now, but they do exist. It wasn’t him. All you have to do is talk to him for five seconds to realize he’s a submissive wolf. He doesn’t have any violent drives except defense. Even then, submissive wolves always choose flight over fight.”

She held up her hands. “I have a room full of mauled people and one werewolf survivor who was covered in blood.” She tilted down her chin, and though she wasn’t any taller than I was, I had the distinct feeling the woman was looking down at me. The sheriff sighed. “The wounds are being examined by experts. If you’ll approve of us taking casts of his teeth and claws—”