Page 132 of Tracking Snow

Across the street, one of the men looks at One where he’s bleeding against the pavement.

"Should we help him?"

Another man hauls Red’s limp body toward the open van. "Not our assignment."

One lifts his head.

White eyes find mine through the steam, the flashing hazards, the blood.

Pain twists across his face.

Then the van door slams shut, and they are gone with Red, leaving Brexley unconscious on the ground, One bleeding, and me half drugged and unable to stand.

Chapter 41

On Drugs with My Boyfriend

SNOW

The street’s empty except for me, The Seven, and Brexley. Just us and the streetlight buzzing and my own breath sawing in and out.

I keep waiting for it to switch off. The part of me that wants him. I keep waiting for what he is to reach in and kill it cleanly, the way it would in any woman with sense left in her head.

One just took a bullet to protect Red, and now she’s gone.

Any doubt I had that The Seven were behind what was happening to my friends is gone. It’s him. It’s been him this whole time. I want to hate him. I want to scream at him and hit him and beg him to tell me why, but even a partial dose of that sedative turns my blood to lead. I’m still conscious though, unlike Brexley.

"Where..." My tongue drags through the word. "Where are they taking her?"

One grunts as he pushes onto one elbow. Blood slicks his hand where he clamps it to his side. His face is waxy and pale beneath the streetlight.

"To a facility that can help her."

"She doesn’t need help." I try to move toward him, but my arm gives out. My shoulder hits the wet pavement. The impact rattles through my teeth. "Who has taken them?"

He simply shakes his head. He’ll never tell me.

Brexley lies a few feet away, huge and silver and still breathing. Smoke curls off his burned muzzle. His paws twitch once, claws scraping the street.

"Is Four dead?" I whisper.

One’s face collapses. He presses his bloody hand harder to his side, but his other hand goes to the center of his chest. His fingers claw at his shirt.

"He’s gone," he says.

My throat closes.

Four’s red eyes. His wicked smile and the way he called me baby. The way his heat met mine, reckless and wild, like we were both made of the same dangerous fire, burning too bright, too fast, daring the world to try and put us out.

And now he is gone.

Snuffed out like he had never existed at all.

Gone.

"I couldn't let them hurt her," One says. "I would never let anyone hurt your friends."

I believe him.